I do not own Supernatural. If I did, there would be a lot less blood and many more chick-flick moments.

My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta-reading this chapter. I also appreciate the comments from Fanpire101, Samanthawolfe2, and Marblewolf on the previous chapter. Any remaining errors are mine.

Note: I am not a doctor. But then, Jess and Sam aren't either. Triaging medical injuries is best left to the experts. (And the Winchester brothers, especially if Castiel has his angel mojo on him.)

Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.


Jess stood back from the brothers, shivering in her tank top, and watched as Sam tended to Dean. The light from her car's headlights showed her fiancé's face in stark relief. Instead of tense and worried, as she had expected, he wore a mask of grim determination. His large hands gently poked and prodded at the man on the ground, assessing him for injuries with a detached proficiency that she wasn't aware he possessed. Surely, when he had helped her to study for her anatomy classes, he would have mentioned that he already knew how to triage injuries?

Unless ... what if Sam learned all of this from direct experience? Is this part of the mysterious past he never talks about? It might explain the large number of scars on his body.

The man on the ground, the famed Dean, looked nothing like the cocky superhero of Sam's few childhood stories. Pale and beaten, his face appeared waxy. Blood dripped from his forehead; a new gash to rival the chain of stitches over his right eye. Sam was now tucking his brother's right arm back into the sling, causing the injured man's eyes to lose focus. Even from a distance, Jess could tell that Dean's irises were an intense shade of emerald green, quite different than Sam's warm hazel.

Cleaned up and in decent clothes, she mused, Dean would be quite attractive. Not as handsome as Sam, of course, but then really, who was?

The object of her affection walked over. Only when he was out of his brother's line of sight did Sam let the worry show on his face. "We need to take him to the ER," he revealed, voice strained. "He's busted at least one rib and he has an open fracture of the wrist."

"No hospital!" Dean growled from the ground.

Sam whirled, anger overriding fear. "Dean! This isn't up for debate." He swallowed hard and turned back to Jess. "I need you to help me get him into the car."

Jess tipped her head up at him. "We should wait for an ambulance, Sam. He might have internal bleeding." She took out her phone to dial, but Sam clamped a hand over it.

"It will take them thirty minutes to get here! He's in a lot of pain. We need to -"

She held up a hand. "I'm checking him over first." At Sam's annoyed huff, she glared at him. "I am not moving him if he has a spinal cord injury."

"Jess! He walked out of the car! He doesn't have -"

Ignoring Sam, Jess hurried over to Dean and knelt by his side. His eyes were closed, but they popped open the minute she placed a hand on his forehead. Cool and clammy. With her other hand, she checked his pulse: weak but steady, slightly elevated.

"How're you feeling, Dean? I'm Jess." She smiled at him, pleased when his eyes locked on hers.

"Sammy's Jess?" He gave her a half grin.

"The one and only."

"Where'd you come from?"

Her smile faltered slightly. He was less alert than she'd thought if he only just now realized that she was here.

"We need to move him now!" Sam insisted, wearing a track in the muddy earth as he paced around them.

Jess' fingers deftly travelled over Dean's neck and spine. When she didn't feel anything amiss or elicit any indication of pain, she relaxed. "Sorry we had to meet like this," she said to Dean. "You up for moving?"

When he grunted in the affirmative, Jess and Sam locked eyes. On the count of three - but right after Sam said one - they hoisted the older man to his feet. Dean groaned. "No hospital," he ground out, wincing as he tried to carry his own weight.

"Dean! Stop fighting me. Just lean on me, all right?" It was only after Dean acquiesced, and the brothers were side-by-side, that Jess realized the older of the two was a good three or four inches shorter. "Where are your keys, Dean?" Sam demanded.

Jess checked the ignition of the Impala. "I've got them, Sam," she replied, sprinting over to her little Subaru to open the back door.

"Nice wheels, Sammy," Dean teased. His voice was raspy.

Sam ignored Dean as he gently maneuvered him into the back seat. "Jess, can you get into the Impala's trunk and get his duffle?"

Jess ran back over to the classic car and opened the trunk, where she found a warm flannel blanket and an army surplus duffle bag. Taking them both out, her eye caught a glint of metal peeking out from under the felt floor of the trunk. On instinct, she pulled up the false floor. An array of bizarre weaponry assaulted her senses, all sharp and nasty, reeking of entrails and blood. She shut the trunk with a shriek.

"You okay there, Jess?" Sam was by her side in an instant.

"What is all that stuff?" she whispered. "Is your brother an axe murderer? Is he running from the law? Is that why he doesn't want to go to the hospital?"

Sam took the Impala's keys from her and sighed as he ran his hands through his long hair. "Jess -"

"No, Sam Winchester, you answer me! Or I am not taking that man anywhere, brother or not." She folded her arms and glared up at him, trying to hide the shaking.

"He's a hunter," Sam tried to explain, his voice pained and tinged with guilt.

"You are such a bad liar. Does this have anything to do with why we are constantly running out of salt? Or why you buy silver knives at yard sales?"

"Jess! We're leaving now! We can have this stupid argument at the hospital. If you trust me enough to marry me, believe me when I say that Dean is one of the good guys. He would never hurt you."

She studied him, mouth twisting uneasily. "Okay."