Sam's head snapped up hearing the girl's scream and immediately looked round for his brother, hand curling into fists as adrenaline shot through his system. It was a natural reaction, the fight or flight response in overdrive – both Winchester boys automatically slipped into fight mode at the slightest hint of danger in the air. Just another part of their Father's legacy.
Dean was stumbling unsteadily towards the bar, one hand groping for purchase on the tables, trying to keep himself upright, as the other remained tightly pressed to his throat. And there was blood – so much blood. It covered the front of his shirt, his jeans, all over his hands and arms. He looked like he'd stepped straight off the screen of a horror movie.
"Dean… Oh God, Dean?" Sam cried, sliding out of the booth. His beer bottle tipped over, spilling his barely touched Bud Lite all over the tabletop before it rolled off the edge of the tabletop and smashed on the hard wood below, spilling the beer all over the floor. Sam never even noticed it.
"Sam?" Dean yelled. Black spots had begun to dance in front of his eyes and his hand, slick with blood, slid across the table he was trying to hang on too, dropping him to one knee. He closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth against the nausea and dizziness that swept through him. "Sammy?" He gasped, rocking unsteadily back on his knees.
Blinking furiously to try to clear his vision, Dean blindly grabbed for something to hang on to before collapsing backwards but Sam had him in his arms before he hit the ground and he gently lowered his brother to the floor.
Dean opened his eyes and peered up at Sam's frightened face. Half a dozen other concerned faces appeared behind his brother's and he sighed. Great, now I have an audience.
He gave his brother a crooked smile. "Is this what I gotta do to get you to take notice of me now, Sam?"
-o-
"I called an ambulance, Son." The bartender told Sam, handing him a clean damp bar towel. "But I think they are going to be a while... Been a big crash down towards Henrick's Farm."
Sam nodded. He had no idea where Henrick's farm was but understood what the guy was trying to tell him - that there was no guarantee that the ambulance was going to get to them in time, and taking the towel, he quickly folded it up and turned back to Dean who was laid out on the floor. His head was resting on Sam's jacket and the pretty blonde waitress was gently stroking his hair, whispering small words of encouragement to him. She seemed genuinely worried and the sight of someone actually showing concern for his brother's wellbeing touched Sam. Apart from himself, there weren't many people left in the world that cared whether Dean Winchester lived or died.
"Dean, let go of your neck. I need to put pressure on it. I gotta try and stop the bleeding." Sam told his brother.
"Nuh uh…" Dean replied, frowning. "I don't want to let go, Sam. I'm kinda running on empty here..."
Sam glanced up at the waitress whose worried face mirrored his own. He was trying to ignore Dean's usual attempt at humour. Whenever his brother got hurt, he tried to laugh it off, hide his pain behind a smile and a joke. Anything to keep anyone, especially Sam, from getting in. But Sam didn't buy it anymore – he had seen his brother hurt too many times. It wasn't funny anymore. Nothing was funny anymore. One way or the other, Dean was going to die before his time and Sam was struggling with this fact – really struggling. "Can you hold my brother's head still for me?"
"Um, yeah... Of course." The waitress replied, nodding, and she placed her hands either side of Dean's face, biting her bottom lip anxiously.
"No, Sam. Don't!" Dean growled, knowing what Sam was about to do. He tried to grab his brother's arm to stop him, but Sam easily batted his hand away and grim-faced, he forcibly prised Dean's other hand away from his throat. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in a frightening gout and Dean let out a cry of pain through gritted teeth and screwed his eyes shut as Sam pressed the towel firmly down.
"I'm sorry, man." Sam sighed kneeling over his brother, keeping his hands firmly over the towel.
Dean cracked opened his eyelids and swallowed dryly. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool and he clamped his shaking hands back to his throat. Underneath, he could feel that Sam's hands were shaking just as badly as his own.
"Dude, this is bad, isn't it?" Dean murmured, blinking owlishly. The dark spots in front of his eyes were quickly joining up and he could only see half of the waitress's face above him. She was pretty, in a small town kind of way, and under any other circumstances Dean thought he might have been hitting on her right about now. "You have a brother?" He asked her instead. "Or a sister?"
The waitress shook her head. She looked terrified. "Only child."
Dean muttered something inaudible in reply and closed his eyes, hands slipping from his throat.
"No Dude, wake up!" Sam yelled. Dean looked dreadful - The smudges of blood on his face standing out in stark contrast to the deathly whiteness of his skin. He was going into shock and Sam knew he wasn't going to make it if they waited around for much longer. "Don't go to sleep. You gotta stay with me, ok?"
"I'm not asleep." Dean groaned, forcing his eyes open again. "And don't yell at me, Bitch. My head hurts!"
"Jerk!" Sam replied automatically, and he looked up at the Bartender. His smile disappearing as quickly as it came. "You think you could help me get him to our car?"