A/N: Yes, I know, sorry about the cliffhanger! Believe me, it was no fun for me, either! Thanks to the support of Silver Lights, suggestions from monkeymuse, and K Hanna Korossy for edits, not to mention many others who encouraged via review or favoriting, I have plans to make a proper H/C Adventure out of this. Which means whumpage all around! :D

Aaaaaaaanyway, the title of this work will change…maybe when I'm all the way done, or now just to avoid confusion, kind of in honor of the latest episode (which I actually wasn't a huge fan of, but there you go), to The Dark Side of the Moon. All chapters will then be after song titles from the Pink Floyd album in question, because driver picks the music, and shotgun shuts his cakehole.

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke and his Machiavellian machinations.

ON THE RUN

"Dean!" Sam bellowed. Dean heard the motel door slam hard, and the sounds of rushed packing followed it. "Dean, come on, man, you gotta get up!"

Dean groaned and shifted, groaning again as the movement caused more pain. "Come on, Dad, five more minutes," he slurred. The macabre was all Dean's blood-drained and vampire-oppressed brain could come up with in the department of humor. Sam didn't think it was funny. Neither did Dean, really.

Sam's involuntary bitch-face wasn't wasted on his brother, however, no matter how delirious he was, nor was the regression into little-brother-mode. While Sam busied himself getting all their crap together, throwing things into duffels helter-skelter—Shit, things must be bad, Dean thought, he's usually the anal one about not putting guns in the clothes bag, and food in the shoes bag—Dean managed to haul himself into a sitting position. He was pretty sure the Winchester stubbornness came into play here, because mind and body, he literally felt as if he was running on empty. But Sam needed him up, so he was up.

Okay. Clothes. Am I dressed? Miraculously finding himself already sitting up, Dean gingerly pulled the covers down to check. Sorta. Sweatpants? Great. So I look like an invalid but at least I'm not naked. Could use a shirt, though. Hey, Sammy, where's—

Suddenly Sam's face was hovering three inches from his vision, and Dean jumped a little. So much for those lightning reflexes, or spidey-senses for that matter. Sam was already loaded up with two duffels and a backpack, and, once his ears played catch up, Dean realized Sam was talking to him and ready to go:

"So no shirt?" he asked, trying to make light of the situation but coming across only weary-sounding.

"What? Dean, there's no time. I'm gonna help you stand up and I need you to hang on to me, okay? I think we got more vamps out there. We need to be gone, like, yesterday."

Dean nodded, too far gone to do much else, and managed to solidify his spine and legs enough that Sam could sort of drape him across his shoulder. Seeing his brother accepting assistance without a fight both calmed and worried Sam, but he didn't dare push the issue. "Let's go," he said. "Car's just outside." He didn't add that if the vampires decided to crowd them even a little bit, ten yards was as good as a mile, but Dean guessed as much.

It took all Dean had just to stay conscious, as with every movement the bright white light of pain exploded behind his eyeballs. He hoped he wasn't actually whimpering out loud. Once immediate pain was under control, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. There was skirmish noise and movement outside his immediate consciousness, the sound of a machete slicing flesh, heads hitting asphalt, and as much as Dean wanted in on this fight, he knew Sam had it as under control as it was gonna be, and if he could just concentrate on not being an unnecessary burden, they'd get out of this no problem.

Sam had a second machete in his belt, though, within reach. And Dean made careful note of that.

As adrenaline began to wake Dean from his doped, blood-deprived existence, out of the corner of his one swollen eye he spotted the Impala, gleaming and friendly and safe, not far away. But there were still two vamps sitting on her, like vultures on a carcass. This filled him simultaneously with rage and dread, but—everything moved so fast, or at least his brain was slow to recognize what was going on—suddenly there was blood everywhere and Sam was taking care of those problems.

But Dean had seen Jurassic Park, and he wasn't about to let some vampire bitch out-flank his brother. The next thing he knew, Dean had a machete through the throat of the vampire who had tried to sneak up on Sam, just as Sam completed the decapitation of the last vampire on the car. Stop, freeze-frame, circle camera angle. That's right, like that one scene in 300. Damn but he and his brother were one bitchin' badass vampire-slaying team.

"Whoa, Dean!" Sam shouted, and suddenly reality returned, hard. Dean shook himself, wanting to make sure he hadn't just hallucinated that, but no, three dead vampires lay around them, Sam was congratulating him even as he scolded him for being a monumentally heroic numbskull, and cussing at him because he was bleeding again. But Sam was also dragging him to the Impala and depositing him in the passenger side seat, and Dean could deal with anything else now. They'd made it to the Impala. It was all good.

Shit, but he hurt all over. No, don't let the adrenaline fade. Stay with the program. Dean forced himself awake, keeping his eyes open, as if this would help. The car started with a rumble, and the world began blurring past outside the window. He had all the bags on top of him, which was nice because they were added warmth, but they were also added pressure, and that kinda hurt. But at least the weapons bag was on top.

With fevered sluggishness Dean eased the zipper back. A switchblade spilled out and fell beneath his feet before he could catch it, but Dean's eyes had found their prize:

"Whoa, Dean, easy, put it down, man." There was a heavy hand suddenly on his, on his gun.

"Nooooo," Dean tried not to sound petulant, tried to sound more focused than he felt. "Need it. Riding shotgun."

"Dean, vampires. Beheading. Machete, remember? You okay man?"

Nothing could rile Dean up like Sam's patient voice. If only he wasn't so tired, and confused, he'd learn Sam a thing or two. "Desert Eagle, Sammy. .50 cal."

"That's for Zombies, man, not vampires."

"Dude, do I look in machete-wielding condition to you? Anyway: beheading, exploding heads, what's the difference when you get right down to it?"

Dean proved his point by shooting out the driver's side window at a vampire that had latched on and decided to take a peek inside. The window shattered outward, but then, so did her head. And yeah, so long as the head was gone did it really matter whether you were a traditionalist or not? Dean never got his kicks by playing by the rules.

"Fuck! My car!" Dean said, only now realizing what he had done. It was all very surreal, actually. Able only to focus on one thing at a time, while he had shot at the vampire he had been ignoring Sam, but now that the vampire was gone, Sam came back into his periphery, pushing him back against the seat and shouting at him.

"Dean! What the hell? Are you okay?"

Yeah, not so much, he admitted. Probably not the best person to be holding an automatic weapon right now. He managed to flick the safety on before his fingers went slack, and Sam eased the gun from his hands. Now he felt very naked and exposed, but they were in the car, almost on the highway, and Sam had first watch. Okay, calm down, he tried to tell himself. It's all right now.

Or maybe that was Sam talking: "It's all right, Dean. Relax. We're outta there, now. Easy. We'll head up to Bobby's, okay?"

"Yeah…'Kay…" Dean let his head fall against the seat and his eyes slide closed, but he didn't want to sleep just yet. "How many were there?"

"I killed three, you got the fourth...and the fifth. Do you…" He heard Sam huffing the way he did when he was doing something he didn't like, and then he continued. "Were there any other vampires around when they had you, Dean? Any other covens you may have…uh, run into?"

"Dined with?" Dean joked. Sam clearly didn't think it was funny. "Uh. Yeah. Three or four other families. Heard about me. Us. Wanted to see…" Dean's face was suddenly far-off and pained, like when he thought or spoke of hell, or their mother. "What the fuss was about, I guess. Anyway. Yeah. Two more may still be in town."

"Vampires?"

"No, numbnuts, two covens. Try like fifteen vampires."

"Look, just hold on, all right? Bobby's is only a few hours away. Look, we'll get you patched up, and we'll just start over, all right? Just have to find these suckers again and—"

Dean's sense of déjà vu was already overpowering enough. The big angry truck slamming into Sam's side of the car sure didn't help.