Dean tried to push open the door, panic consuming his entire body, adrenaline kicking in

at the sight of Sam prone on the bathroom floor, his long gangly legs tangled in a knot,

and his head lolling from his shoulders at an angle that made Dean cringe in fear.

"Damn it Sam," Dean yelled, as he shoved at the door one last time, quickly squeezing

his body through the crack, not caring as he scraped his shoulder blades on the frame of

the door as he went through.

He was on the floor next to Sam in 3 seconds flat, scanning his body for obvious signs of

distress, all the while mentally taking inventory and trying to figure out what to do next.

Dean couldn't risk moving Sam, as his head hung at an awkward angle, and he could

possibly have a neck or spinal injury, and Dean wasn't even going to go there.

He took a deep breath in, and called out to Sam again. "Sam, wake up… C'mon Sammy."

Nothing.

"It's Dean, your big brother, c'mon Sam, help me out here," Dean tried.

He was about to grab his cell phone and give in to calling 911 when he heard a low

grumble come from Sam.

"Oh thank God, Sammy," Dean inched closer to his brother. "Can you hear me? Are you

OK? What the hell happened?" He was throwing questions at poor Sam a mile a minute,

desperate to get an answer to not only why Sam was currently lying on the bathroom

floor, but why he had been acting weird all day long.

Sam managed to slowly pick his head up, shifting his legs so that they could stretch out

across the floor when Dean saw it. There was a gash on the side of Sam's head and his

hair was all matted with blood, which continued to drip slowly down the side of Sam's

face as he tried to sit up.

"Sam, your head, it's bleeding pretty bad." Dean instinctively went to reach for his

brother's face when Sam suddenly lurched forward and vomited what seemed like 3

weeks worth of meager lunch into his lap, groaning and closing his eyes, fighting against

the pain and sickness that was consuming him.