Five minutes earlier...
Using the butt of his gun, Dean struck the back of Sommers' head, who went down like a sack of potatoes.
"Uh uh, don't even think about it," Dean aimed for Jeff's head when the man reached for a weapon, "move away from the gun."
Jeff was oddly compliant, probably because of the gun trained on his head, but it still made Dean uneasy. He could totally hear the gears turning in Jeff's head. Without moving his focus away from Jeff, Dean closed the door with a kick to avoid anyone sneaking up from behind him.
"Tell your men to stand down," Dean barked.
"Or what? You gonna shoot me?"
"Don't think I won't. You know that he," Dean nudge the body on the ground with his foot, "is just using you. He doesn't really mean what he said, about being a fan of satanism or whatever crazy shit you kids are into these days."
"Doesn't matter. Jason gets his fix, Satan gets his offerings, and everyone goes home happy. Well, everyone who doesn't end up dead by the end of the day," Jeff shrugged.
Dean knew that he was not going to win the argument. He pointed the gun at Jeff's kneecap instead. "Last chance, Jeff. Stop them, or you're going to spend the rest of your in a wheelchair, behind bars."
"Do you know what bothers me the most? Cops like you who have seen so much evil and still believes that doing good is the way to go. C'mon! It is so damn obvious that it is evil which is running the world, why still choose to fight the losing fight?"
Images of his time in Hell, purgatory and when he was a demon flashed in front of Dean's eyes.
Why?
Because Sam. He had to keep Sam safe.
"Because it is my job."
Dean squeezed the trigger, but Sommers swept him off his feet and the shot went wide.
Son of a bitch had been playing possum all this time! Dean grunted as he fell onto the floor. The two of them were a tangled heap on the ground as Sommers wrestled for Dean's gun. Dean managed to land a punch or two on Sommers' head but his opponent was still fighting fiercely.
Finally, Dean kneed him hard in the groin and head-butted him. Sommers fell off to the side.
With a swift motion, Dean got up and shot him in the head. Dean pivoted around and aimed at Jeff, but it was too late.
The shot had found his mark and Dean collapsed onto the floor with a gunshot wound to the stomach.
Crap, crap, crap.
He can't die.
He can't become that thing again.
"It's time. Get 'em boys."
That was the last thing Dean heard before another shot rang out and then there was nothing.
Sam sprinted down the hallways on the first floor, trying to find the security room. Shots were still being fired away, and Sam was not sure if it was the shooters or the police. The only thought that was looping in his head was: Dean, Dean, Dean.
He rounded a corner and caught a man taking off from the security room.
"Hey!" Sam was about to give chase, when he got a glimpse into the room and saw his nightmare coming true right in front of his eyes.
"No. No, no, no. Dean?! Dean!" Sam kneeled beside his brother.
He looked dead already.
"Oh god, is he..." The sheriff appeared at the door.
Sam held his fingers against his brother's carotid. Sam half expected Dean to open his eyes and he would see the demonic black orbs staring back at him. Even now, he was still plagued with nightmares of Dean turning into a demon; and every time he got woken up by the nightmares, he would make his way to his brother's room to make sure that Dean was still there.
But this? There was no waking up from reality.
"He's...he's alive," Sam felt the faint throb against his fingertips.
The sheriff proceeded to radio for help before he received more reports from his men, "Alright, I've sent someone here to help your partner, but I have to go."
Sam only managed to nod. There was no time to wait for an ambulance. Dean was going to bleed out in no time and then they would be back to square one again. Except this time, Sam was not sure if Dean was going to survive the cure, or if it was even going to work again.
Sam fished out his phone from his pocket, ignoring the red smears he was leaving on its screen, "Cas? Cas! Could use some help right now! Dean needs your help! We're at-"
"Sam, I can't...after Metatron, even though we still have access to heaven, we are still cut off from most of its-"
"No! No, you're kidding!" Sam realised that actually, it had been a while since he saw the angel use his powers to get around.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I-"
Sam hung up without hearing what the angel had to say. He didn't have the time, nor the patience. It was all up to him now. What the hell should he do?
Stopping the bleeding would be wise.
Sam could punch himself in the face for not doing that earlier. He shrugged off his jacket and pushed it against the bleeding holes on his brother.
Tricia tightened her grip on her first aid kit and the backboard as she stepped into the room. Normally, she would be working with the partner Andy, but there were just too many people needing help today, and too little people available to give it.
One of the bodies on the floor had a hole on his forehead. Must be the bad guy then. A guy with floppy hair was working on the other body. That must be the FBI agent she was sent here to help.
"Sheriff Walton sent me, what have we got here?"
"Uh...umm...gunshot wound to the chest and abdomen. I can't...I can't stop the bleeding," the guy was shaking.
"Alright, Agent-"
"Sam. This is Dean, my...partner."
"Sam, you can let go for a moment, I got this," Tricia removed the bloodied jacket.
Tricia checked Dean's vitals and damn, they had to move quickly. She applied the haemostatic gauzes over the wounds and guided Sam's hands over them, "Keep pressure on that. Are there any exit wounds?"
"I don't...I don't think so," Sam shook his head.
There wasn't any blood coming from beneath the guy, so Tricia took Sam's words for it.
"Now we're going to slide him onto the backboard so that we can transport him to my rig, You think you could help me with that?"
The both of them managed to carry Dean down into the ambulance within minutes. Sam rubbed absently at the dried blood on his hands as the lady hooked Dean up to the machines in back of the vehicle.
"Andy, you good to go?" the paramedic spoke into her radio.
"Trish! I'm on my way to the rig with a critical GSW, 30 seconds out."
"Roger that," she answered and turned her eyes onto Sam.
Sam was aware of what that look meant, "I'm not leaving him."
"I'm sorry, Sam. There's just no room for another person. I promise you I'll do everything in my power to help Dean."
"I can't-"
He was interrupted by the arrival of Andy and his patient, and after a flurry of activity, Sam found himself staring at back of the departing ambulance.
"I can't leave him alone right now."