AN: Eek! I know I promised I'd have this out sooner, but one again I had trouble with the delivery. I post each chapter as I write it, so sometimes it takes longer than anticipated. Also, I really was trying to get our boys out of the hospital, but things just kept dragging on. No promises on the time of my next post…hopefully it will be sometime this week.

Uzi

Chapter 8: Another One Bites the Dust

"Dean," Sam whispered as the echo of the gunshot died in his ears. His breath caught painfully in his throat, seemingly cutting off the flow of oxygen rich blood to his brain. He sat there dumbly, terror-stricken eyes riveted to his father's face.

"Go, Sam!" John lurched forward and took a frightfully strong grip on his son's forearm.

"But…Dad…" Sam shook his head, his mouth working silently.

"Now, son!" John's face hardened, morphing into the mask he and his oldest son had crafted for use while hunting. "Go to your brother…I'll be right behind you."

Hearing his father's concession to leave, Sam snapped from his fog and bolted upright, the Glock's familiar weight finding his hand. He paused half-way to the door to shoot a distressed glance to John who was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"I'll make it an order," John growled, and then Sam was gone.

-O-

He didn't relish in this kind of kill. It was wrong. Dreadful, horrible, ungodly kinds of wrong that caused the images of death to writhe like worms inside his already pounding skull. He'd been able to reason before that he'd pulled the trigger to save his brother, his father, and mankind in general. But this time was different. He'd shot a man to save his own sorry ass. To make matters all the worse, he hadn't even had the Colt, so the demon had gotten away. The black vapors had dispersed in the air, escaping a one-way trip to hell while the innocent human life was stilled in the span of a heartbeat.

Dean would beat himself up over his decision later and he would ponder at the shallowness of his own soul. But now wasn't the time. Now, he was crashing to the floor in a moaning heap as the lifeless fingers released the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck!" His abdominals spasmed afresh as he twisted to keep his battered cranium from making contact with the tile yet again. He rolled to his side upon impact, squeezing his eyes shut to quell the onslaught of nausea. "Oh Jesus," he muttered, willing his stomach back down his throat and forcing himself up on one elbow.

The .45 lay within easy reach, the lights glaring painfully off the grip's pearlescent finish. Carefully and deliberately, Dean scrambled up on hands and knees and reached out towards the weapon.

The activity just beyond the elevator droned like the annoyance of so many flies. Patients, nurses and the like were going hysterical in the ER, a wrought iron bullet just having ripped through the air and undoubtedly ricocheting off of something.

Dean made a poorly formed mental note to thank Sam for having the sense to load his gun with iron just in case. Sometimes the kid could be downright thoughtful. Good boy Sammy…

Focus dammit! He scolded himself for the lapse in awareness. A mild concussion was no excuse for falling down on the job, literally. He stretched his left hand further towards his gun. His fingers brushed the butt, began to close around the grip…

In one startlingly quick motion, someone took hold of his ankle from behind and jerked him backwards. He belly-flopped on the tile, just barely managing to hold on to the .45, and swore painfully as this new threat began dragging him from the elevator. He recalled the dim figure standing behind his original captor and wished like hell he could kick himself. Of course they would come in sets after what happened with Meg. No since risking your evil ass if the brothers Winchester could take you on so easily. Better to use the buddy system from hell.

Dean allowed the monster in cop's clothing to drag him free of the narrow elevator chamber, waiting until he had more freedom in which to make his move. He winced as every crevice in the tile rubbed across his staples, further bruising the puckered flesh. Something brushed his hip, and he saw the bleeding body of the first host from the corner of his eye. Anger coursed through him in fresh waves. He felt nothing but pure hatred for the being that gripped his ankle like a vise, for the thing that threatened his family yet again.

It pulled him into the middle of the ER and the crowd scattered up against the walls, the screams becoming deafening. This is it Dean thought as his elbow cleared a chair-leg, his entire body now in the open. He sucked in a shallow breath, willing away the pain and bracing for his next movement. Here goes…

He pushed off from the floor with his left arm and twisted his torso around to bring the right hand that clenched the S&W. The pain was incredible, nearly bringing stars to his eyes, but he blinked them away and took aim at the uniformed "officer" that still held him. The angle was off, way off, but Dean figured it was his only shot and pulled the trigger.

The round grazed the thing's shoulder, eliciting a cry of surprise, and burrowed into the plaster wall.

Dean writhed and brought the gun around again, preparing to fire a second shot.

"HEY!" One voice boomed above all others in the emergency room and the small knot of people sheltered in the stairwell alcove broke apart like water on rocks. A similar, staccato gunshot rang against the walls and Dean's raised ankle fell to the floor along with the possessed officer.

With a hiss and a groan, Dean pulled up into a sitting position to see…Sam. Amazing, wonderful Sam came charging through the crowd, stowing the Glock in a baggy pants pocket and reaching out towards Dean.

"Dean! Are you okay, you hurt?" Absolute panic ran rampant across the younger man's features as he finally reached his brother.

"Nice shootin', Sammy," Dean forced a weak smile. "Man am I glad to see you."

Sam crouched in front of the older man, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Can you get up? We gotta get out of here." Apparently the panic was leeching over into his voice as well.

"Where's Dad?" Dean shrugged his brother's hand away and fixed the younger man with the sternest expression he could muster.

Sam chewed his lip in frustration. "He's coming, I swear," he added in response to Dean's arched eyebrow. "Come on!" he took hold of Dean's bicep and gathered himself to rise.

A set of unidentified fingers closed across Sam's shoulders and squeezed gently, drawing his attention and preventing his escape. He spun in his crouch, already reaching for the Glock, and registered a woman standing just behind him. She leaned down towards the brothers, her lightly freckled face flushed, chunks of reddish hair swinging loose from a once tidy bun. Almost unconsciously, she tucked an ID card fixed to a petite chain back into the neck of her blouse, but not before Sam had a chance to glimpse the name: Carolyn.

"Are you alright?" she asked breathlessly of Dean, swapping her gaze between the two men.

Dean leaned back in surprise, completely dumbstruck. "Yeah- I guess," he finally managed. He swapped a look with Sam who seemed to be at a complete loss as well. The younger brother was squinting at the newcomer, apparently trying to decide if he was hallucinating.

"We have to hurry, come on!" she whispered urgently and motioned for them to stand.

The brother's shared another disbelieving frown, but decided it might be better not to press their luck. If this Carolyn person turned out to be some undercover fed or demon-harboring zombie, they would deal with that when it became necessary. At the moment, they just needed help.

Sam wrapped a strong arm around his brother's waist and pulled them both to their feet. Dean struggled to regain his balance, desperate to avoid looking weak or impaired. His legs wobbled dangerously, knees threatening to buckle, but he gritted his teeth and stayed upright.

"I'm fine, Sammy," he lied quickly to his brother's unasked question, earning a dark look. He ignored Sam's penetrating stare and began shuffling across the now empty ER, grasping at the backs of chairs for balance.

Sam cursed under his breath and began to follow Carolyn, one hand hovering near Dean's shoulder should it be needed. He supposed the staff had ushered those awaiting treatment into a hallway somewhere, away from the lunatic gunmen. Several interns were huddled behind the reception desk, gawking at Carolyn as she led the shooters down a narrow alley marked Records. Sam knew it was only a matter of minutes before a fresh batch of untainted cops arrived. In fact, he was surprised hospital security hadn't already pinned him and Dean up against the wall.

Dean staggered at the mouth of the hall, grabbed wildly for Sam's arm and nearly pulled them both down to the floor. Sam took several wobbly jogging steps forward to regain his balance, catching a fistful of Dean's shirt and righting him as well.

"Shit!" Dean leaned heavily against his brother, hating his own weakness.

Sam slipped an arm around the older man's broad shoulders wordlessly. He knew that Dean always refused help if at all possible, but this time he wouldn't take no for an answer. It worried him when Dean didn't protest this time. "Slow down!" he called to the redhead who was already rounding a corner up ahead.

Carolyn halted and looked back toward the brothers, worrying her bottom lip between small white teeth. "We have to hurry," she whispered, dabbing at the sweat beading up at her hairline. "I think Julie called the cops. Lucky for you we don't have security, so I think I can buy you some time," she began to wringing her hands nervously. "If someone finds out what I'm doing…oh God…"

"No one's gonna find out," Sam assured quickly, adjusting his arm around Dean. "I swear you won't hear from us again."

She smiled a bit sadly at his words, an odd reaction Sam thought. "Come on," she jerked a thumb down the hall. "You can get out through the back loading dock."

Sam nodded, motioning for her to lead the way.

"Wait," Dean spoke up suddenly, his voice rusty. He willed his knees to lock and he stood up a little straighter beneath Sam's hold. "Why are you helping us?" His question was blunt, to the point, and edged with a little disbelief. Typical Dean.

Carolyn flicked her gaze back and forth between the two men, eyes lingering over Sam's features. "They were looking for you," she spoke at last, voice clouded with uncertainty. "The guy in the suit, he had your picture," she pointed a manicured finger at the younger Winchester.

Sam swallowed hard, feeling Dean's gaze cutting in from the side.

"And," she continued, brow crinkling. "He seemed so…so…so wrong." She wrapped her arms around her torso as though overcome by a sudden chill. "When you…shot him, there was this…I don't know…this cloud or something. Call me crazy, but I don't get the feeling you two are the bad guys here."

"Now that, Sammy," Dean mustered a scrap of a devilish grin. "Is our kinda woman."