Chapter II

Tourniquets and Panic Buttons

Being shot was not fun. Dean would know, because it had happened to him a ridiculous amount of times. First there had been the bullet that had torn its way through the palm of his hand when he was six. It had happened the first time he had handled a gun, stumbling upon it while playing in his father's room. Then there had been the time he was sixteen and had gotten into a fight with a bunch of older kids from school. One of them had drawn a gun and shot him in the gut. That had strangely hurt less than the first time, but it had also landed him two weeks in the hospital.

Of course there had also been the several bullet wounds he had sustained while on the job. Being a criminal was not an easy career, and he had the scars to prove it. The bullet hole in his leg right now was not new to him, though it still hurt like a bitch.

"Can someone please get me a tourniquet or something?" he yelled at no one in particular. "Maybe a bottle of whiskey while you're at it…" he added under his breath as he examined the expanding stain of blood that was soaking his jeans.

Unfortunately, the large businessman was shouting at everyone in the room and Dean doubted a single person had heard him over the din. This whole night was messed up, but at least there was some freaky drugged out dude walking around outside. Dean had been able to see him up on the street from his sitting position, and the guy had been dragging himself along in a very inhuman way. It had reminded him of the woman he had shot, and he hadn't wanted to take any chances with another freak. So he had told the businessman to shut the door, and surprisingly, he had agreed. Ash was in the process of locking it again, and Dean was thinking maybe him and his team would get out of this predicament with no jail time in their futures.

"You're all fucking insane!" the businessman screamed. "Why are we locking ourselves in here? We should be calling the police and-"

"We tried that already," The sasquatch-looking man said in a hard voice; the one who had somehow landed a punch on him. "The lines are busy. And you're the one who closed the door again. What the hell for?"

That seemed to stop the man from shouting. "There's someone out there," he said, pointing to the glass doors, his voice suddenly getting higher pitched. "You saw it, didn't you? Some guy probably messed out of his mind on drugs or something. I didn't want to go out with someone like that just walking around."

Mr. Winchester sighed but said no more. It seemed everyone had seen the man outside, and no one was willing to risk taking the venture to the street. Not even with three bank robbers inside. Not after seeing what that woman had been able to do, the one who had taken several gunshots and had continued on like nothing had happened. It made Dean shiver just to recall it, and he sure as hell wasn't going to look back at the gory mess lying on the bank floor to his right.

He felt light headed for a moment and had to shake his head to refocus on his rapidly worsening situation. "Shit…" he cursed. He was losing too much blood. He needed a tourniquet. Now.

"Hey!" he called out, but it seemed he had been forgotten, because everyone else was arguing about what to do. They had gathered in a messy huddle in front of the doors, and those that weren't involved were still sitting in front of the tellers, watching the group with round, scared eyes. He guessed a few of the hostages had used the distraction to disappear into the hallways and offices in the back of the building. Ash was looking out the glass doors and Jo had joined the group at some point and was now yelling while pointing an accusing finger at the hot brunette in a business suit.

"Hey, can you guys stop arguing for a second?" he called out again, but it was no use. "Useless, good for nothing…" He struggled to undo his belt, planning to tie it above the wound in an attempt to create a makeshift tourniquet. It was a shitty solution, but it would have to do for now.

Problem was, his fingers wouldn't work as he tried to tighten the belt around his thigh. It was like they had become numb, and there seemed to be no strength in his arms. He had already lost too much blood. The bullet must have grazed a major artery. He was going to go into shock pretty soon, and then-

Something banged on the glass doors and everyone jumped, a few screams echoing around the room. Everyone's heads turned towards the noise, where the man who had been on the street earlier was now pressed up against the glass. He was pawing at the doors like a wild animal, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He didn't seem to find it demeaning that his nose was pressed up against the glass like a child staring into a candy shop. In fact, the look of longing in his expression was similar to the situation. The man was looking at all of those behind the glass like they were something to be eaten.

Dean watched with a blurry gaze as the group dispersed, some of the hostages running back to the tellers while shrieking. Jo and Ash had taken a few steps back from the doors and now stood gazing at the man alongside the hot brunette, the bald businessman, and the sasquatch-looking man.

"What's wrong with him?" Jo asked as the drugged-out man continued to press himself against the door, her voice unusually meek.

"Isn't it obvious?" the businessman spurted out, his tone nervous. "He's some lowlife druggy who's tweaking. Probably sees us all as giant, dancing candy apples or some stupid shit like that."

"I've been around a lot of drug users in my lifetime, sir, and I can assure you that this man's problems do not involve drugs of any sort," Ash drawled in his know-it-all way that surprisingly didn't make you want to punch him. "This man here is sick, but with what, I have no idea."

Dean's vision faded to black for a moment but flooded with images again when one of the women who had run to the back began to scream. "Can't you see? He's just like that woman!" She pointed a shaky finger at the remains of the female body slumped on the floor.

There was an eruption of voices as everyone seemed to suddenly have an opinion on the matter. Dean wanted to voice his own, to tell everyone to shut the fuck up and pay attention to the bleeding man with the gun wound, but he couldn't form the words. There really was no point, anyhow. He was going to have to accept that his career, and his life, was about to end; terminated on the marble floor of a New York City bank on the night of his last heist. This haul was supposed to fund his retirement, but he had pictured a different type of 'retirement' at the age of 29; more along the lines of a house somewhere on the beach with its own butler and a batch of pretty ladies by his side.

So much for that dream. Life was shitty. He knew that. He never should have gotten his hopes up in the first place.

"Everyone calm down!" the brunette yelled in a booming voice. Surprisingly, everyone listened, the room becoming silent but for the squeaking of skin on glass. Dean knew this was his chance to say something, to call for help and perhaps gain the attention of someone who might give a shit about a bank robber bleeding out on the floor of the bank he had just tried to rob, but before he could make a noise his vision swung and he felt like he could no longer support his own head. He knew his skull was about to make contact with marble, but before he lost consciousness he heard the brunette say something about maintaining order and reason.

Good luck with that, sweetheart, he thought. Order and reason don't exist in this world. Never have, never will.

Crack.

/

Lisa Braeden was considering bankruptcy. Being a single mother was as hard as they made it seem in the movies, and with three mortgages on her house and two and a half jobs on her list of responsibilities, she was about to break. She was staring at the worn-out nameplate sitting on the desk, the one that spelt out the name 'Bobby Singer', as she listened to the man list the steps she would have to take in the coming weeks.

"There's no shame in it these days," Bobby said in that kind, grandfatherly voice he had. Lisa had always liked the man, but that didn't make it any easier to accept the news that she had failed financially. She looked up at him, and upon seeing the genuine concern on his wrinkled face, she forced herself to smile. "Thanks, Bobby," she said, meaning it. "I think that tomorrow I'm going to-"

Bang.

The sound was loud and came from the direction of the main lobby. It had been short and powerful, and Lisa swore that it was a familiar noise, but she couldn't quite place it. She sat still for a moment, her mind racing to identify the sound. She was about to turn to Bobby and ask him what it had been when two more similar sounds came in rapid succession, and by the time a third reached her ears, Lisa was confident that they were gunshots. Her mind rapidly ran through all of the possible reasons why someone would be unleashing bullets in a bank, and she quickly jumped to the conclusion that it was being robbed.

She glanced at Bobby, but before she had time to say anything another shot rang through the room, this one sounding slightly different from the others, as if fired from another gun. "There's more than one robber," she thought aloud. Bobby must have come to the same conclusion as her, because he simply nodded his head as his face hardened. Suddenly he was no longer the kind old man who helped her with her financing, but was a determined soldier who seemed to know what he was doing as he stood up from his chair and went over to the door.

Pushing one ear against the wood, he turned the lock and switched the light off as he listened for any more sounds that would hint to what was going on out there. They remained silent for a few minutes, but when there were no more shots, Bobby turned to her. "Stay here," he ordered her. "I've pressed the panic button already. The police should be here any second."

"Where are you going?" Lisa asked, her voice high pitched due to the terror it held.

"I'm going to check out the situation," he told her. "Lock the door when I leave and don't open it for anyone."

As he disappeared and she turned the lock again, Lisa suddenly became aware of her pounding heart. She leaned her head against the door, listening with bated breath as she heard rapid footsteps approach and pass, as if a woman in high heels was running down the hallway. She inhaled deeply, praying that she wouldn't have to suffer through another panic attack. She had experienced the last one when her son, Ben, had fallen out of a tree and hit his head. She could still remember struggling to breathe in the waiting room of the hospital, a pain taking root in her chest as she had the thought that something horrible was going to happen. But Ben had been fine, and so had she when the doctors had given her the good news. It had taken her awhile to calm down, but the pain had eventually gone away.

Oh god, Ben… What if she didn't make it out of this bank? What if he was left with no mother? Lisa didn't have any family that would be willing to take him in. She had never given him godparents. Her sister was all the way in California, and was already struggling to raise her own daughter. Lisa doubted she'd be able to raise a four-year-old and an eight-year-old. Ben would be thrown into the system.

There was another shot. "Oh god, please, no," she prayed, looking up at the white ceiling. "Let me survive this. Let me see my son's face again."

Lisa jumped as someone banged on the door. She ran over to the desk and crouched behind it, waiting for the door to be blown down with a volley of bullets. But instead she heard Bobby's voice again. "Lisa, open the door," he shouted through the wood. "It's okay. It's just me."

Bobby had told her not to open the door for anyone, but she supposed he had not included himself in that command. She quickly got up and turned the lock. Bobby entered like he was a man on a mission. Without saying a word he strode over to his desk and reached inside a drawer, withdrawing a white medical kit. "Follow me," he said as he exited the room.

"But what about the-"

Bobby answered her before she had time to finish asking her question. "The robbers are still in the building, but they're not a problem at the moment." She followed him into the brightly lit hallway, glad she had not dressed up for the bank meeting. If she needed to escape, at least she had her runners on.

"I don't understand," she said, processing what Bobby had told her. "Did the police come?"

"The police aren't coming," he replied, his voice grave. But before Lisa could inquire further, they entered the bank lobby.

The first thing that drew her eye was the group of people standing near the doors. Most of them were facing the glass, the group including both men and women dressed in all levels of fashion. There were two men dressed in suits, one bald and the other tall with a shaggy mess of hair. Two women stood between them, one in a blazer and skirt, the other strangely dressed in a cowgirl outfit. There was also a man with a mullet standing closer to the doors. Others were spread out across the room, a number of them crouching by the tellers. Lisa couldn't see what they were all staring at, but a flash of red caught the corner of her eye and she swung her head to the left, stopping in her tracks.

A corpse was lying in the middle of the lobby. It was a woman, dressed in casual clothing that was now stained red. Half her head was missing, brain matter sprayed across the tiles. Lisa wanted to scream and throw up at the same time. She had never seen a dead body in person before, and even from this distance it struck a horrible, cold fear in her.

She tore her eyes from the body and searched for Bobby's comforting gaze, but the man had not stopped walking. He wasn't headed towards the doors, but to a bunch of plotted plants off to the side. A man in a tuxedo was lying on the ground, a puddle of blood surrounding his legs. Lisa swallowed and then followed Bobby, her legs shaking as she tried not to look at the woman's corpse again. Glancing at the crowd of people, she realized that a few of them held guns, and she quickened her pace to catch up with Bobby, praying they were too distracted to notice her.

When she caught up with the old man she wanted to ask what was going on, but they had reached the man in the tuxedo and Bobby was already kneeling down by his side. She heard Bobby mumble something about blood loss as she stared down at the wounded man. She couldn't help but note that he was good looking, though his face was deathly white.

"Lisa, I need you to open the medical kit and hand me some bandages," Bobby said as he grabbed a belt that was loosely wrapped around the man's leg. It looked like the man in the tuxedo had tried to create some sort of tourniquet with his belt, but had passed out before he had succeeded. Lisa fumbled with the kit as Bobby tightened the belt, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of the wound. The man had obviously been shot, and Lisa glanced nervously at the crowd by the door, wondering who had shot him.

Now she could see then what they were all staring at. A man was on the other side of the doors, his face pressed to the glass like he really wanted inside. His hands were scratching against the material, his teeth gnashing as his jaw moved up and down. His eyes did not look right.

"Lisa!" Bobby called her name sternly, and she refocused on him. "The bandages." She glanced down at his open palm and placed in it the white wad of bandages she had pulled from the medical kit. She watched with a growing sense of detachment as he undid the wad and began rolling the white material around the man's leg. He had pulled the man's pants down, revealing black undergarments, but Lisa did not blush as she stared. She felt sick as she saw the raw bullet wound in the man's thigh, and then the bright red blood that soaked the bandages as they were placed over it.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she mumbled.

A high pitched squeak came from the direction of the crowd. "Dean!" Lisa glanced over to see the blonde cowgirl running towards them. "Holy crap!"

She landed hard on her knees as she dropped down next to the injured man, but didn't wince, her focus solely on the one she had called 'Dean'. "I can't believe I forgot about you," she said, and then looked up at Bobby. "How much blood has he lost?"

"Too much," Bobby answered, not looking away from his work as he continued to wrap the wound. "Maybe if you knuckleheads had paid attention to your pal sooner, he wouldn't be standing at death's door."

The cowgirl looked like she was about to respond with a nasty remark, but then looked down. "He's survived worse," was all she said. She leaned over, turning the man's face towards her. "If you die on me, Dean Campbell, I swear I'm going to resurrect you just to kill you myself." It seemed like a silly threat to Lisa, but she kept her mouth shut.

"There," Bobby said as he leaned back. "That's all I can do for now."

Cowgirl looked at him in panic. "There's nothing more? He's so pale! He's going to die!"

"Now listen here," Bobby said. "Short from a blood transfusion or intravenous administration of isotonic fluids, there's nothing else I can do. We're just going to have to wait and see if he pulls through."

Cowgirl looked angry, but she didn't say anything as she glanced back at Dean. "You stupid idiot," she said to the unconscious man, causing Lisa to raise her eyebrows in surprise. "You always have to go and get yourself shot. I'm always the one left worrying." She stood up, placing her hands on her hips. "Ash, come here and help me lift this dumbass over to the carpet, would you?" she called out to the group of people.

As heads swivelled to look at her, the man with the mullet stepped out from the crowd and began to lazily stroll towards them. "Well I'll be damned," the man drawled. "I forgot all about Dean being shot."

"It's no surprise," Cowgirl stated as she went to grab Dean's legs. "Dean getting shot is not exactly headliner news nowadays."

Ash chuckled as he reached them. His eyes took in Bobby and then switched to Lisa. "Well howdy, folks," he greeted them. "Thanks for saving my pal, Dean, here." He squatted down and hooked his arms beneath his friend's armpits. Dean's head hung limply to the side, his skin still as pale as a ghost's. "He can be a little careless at times," he grunted as he lifted Dean's upper body, Cowgirl raising his legs. "But he's a good guy."

Lisa watched them both as they shuffled towards the tellers, skirting around the corpse of the lady. They disappeared behind a desk as she followed Bobby's action and stood up.

"The bastard deserved to bleed out," a male's voice said. It was the bald businessman. He had walked up to them, and his eyes also watched as Dean was carried away. "Damn criminal."

"Criminal?" Lisa gasped. "You mean he's the-"

"Those three come in here dressed like Halloween freaks and start threatening everyone. They shot that poor woman. They disconnected the phones or something too." The businessman turned away, addressing the whole room as he raised his voice. "Now we're all stuck in this goddamn bank because there's some sick drug addict scratching at the door, and everyone in here is too much of a pussy to go out and face him."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one who shut the door and said you didn't want to face him," the tall man in the suit commented, obviously annoyed. "And we don't know what's wrong with that man." He pointed to the doors. "He could be on drugs, or he could be some whack job who will take out a knife and stab whoever steps outside. We don't know."

"Oh please," the bald man scoffed as he paced in an arch, as if circling the other man. "The guy is probably harmless. Nothing a little punch couldn't handle. Just like the woman those fucking criminals decided to mow down, while all of you did nothing to stop them."

Lisa noted that the tall man did not seem to show guilt at the other man's words. If what was being said was true, everyone had let an innocent woman be shot to death. Lisa was trying rapidly to figure out what had occurred while she had been huddling in Bobby's room in the back, but it was all too shocking. Tensions were high, and in front of her, the confrontation between the two men was beginning to escalate.

"What's your name again?" the younger man asked.

The bald man replied warily. "Richard."

"All right, Rich. Why don't you go out there and deal with the man if you believe it's so easy. We'll tell the police and the city that you were the one who saved us all. How about it?" The tall man smiled. He obviously thought Rich wouldn't accept.

"I'd be happy to," Rich stated, rolling up his sleeves. Get that mullet head in here and have him unlock the door."

"I'll get him," a woman volunteered. She trotted off in the direction of the tellers, disappearing behind the desks where Dean had been brought. A few moments later she reappeared with Ash.

"Pamela here tells me you are in need of my assistance," he said as he stopped and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Open the door, you fucking mongrel," Rich ordered.

"Now, now," Ash raised his hands in a calming manner. "I have a name."

"I don't care what you're fucking name is. Open that door so we can all finally leave this place and send you and your dumbass friends to prison where your kind belongs."

Ash shrugged. "Suit yourself." Lisa watched as he strolled towards the doors, grabbing a hold of the lock that chained the handles together. He took a moment to look at the man pressing himself against the glass. "Damn, you're an ugly mofo," he said, grimacing. He looked over his shoulder. "Y'all ready?"

Rich shouldered his way through those who were backing away from the door. He positioned himself in front of the exit. "Do it," he ordered.

Ash pulled the chains away and then stepped back. Rich charged the doors, pushing with his shoulder as he came in contact with the heavy, bullet-proof glass. The man behind the doors was pushed backwards from the force, stumbling onto the steps that led up to the street. The door slowly swung closed as Rich stood in the partially underground entranceway, his fists raised as the drug addict struggled to get up.

"Come on!" Lisa heard Rich yell, his voice muffled due to the glass. She watched as he swung a fist forward, his hand connecting with the other man's jaw and sending his head twisting to the side as he collapsed to the ground. Rich's shoulders were rising and falling as he looked down at the man, as if he was breathing heavily, but then he turned around and swung open the door, poking his head into the bank. "There you go," he said, his comment mainly directed towards the tall man who had challenged him. "Wasn't that hard."

A deep moaning drifted into the room and Rich whipped his head to look over his shoulder. Lisa could see the man on the ground beginning to rise, but the sound had not come from him. A pair of shoes appeared on the stairway, seeming to be unsteady as they slowly shuffled down the steps. Lisa watched in fascination as the owner of the feet was slowly revealed, an unexplained terror gripping her as a slack jaw and filmy eyes appeared. They belonged to an older man this time, dressed in a trench coat with a head of white hair.

Lisa heard a number of gasps around her. Someone began to pray in Spanish. Rich had turned around outside and was swearing. She could hear him through the closed doors. "What the fuck is going on?" he shouted. "Fucking drug addicts!"

The old man had reached the bottom of the steps and was reaching his hands out, letting out another moan as he stumbled towards Rich. The businessman seemed to find it a little more disconcerting to clock an elderly person, so instead he put his hands out to fend off the approaching elder. "Look, man," Lisa heard him say. "Get back or I'm going to have to hit you." The old man didn't slow down.

"I swear to god, I'll-"

Rich screamed as the man on the floor bit his leg. It seemed Lisa and the others, including Rich himself, had been too distracted by the entrance of the old man to notice that the other drug addict had dragged himself over to where Rich was standing.

"Fuck!" Rich swore as he tried to shake the man off. He bent down and hit his head a number of times, until his grip finally slackened and Rich was able to take a step back. But the old man was still coming at him, and caught off balance, Rich fell backward as the old man ploughed into him.

"God damn it," the tall man hissed as he ran to the doors and pushed them open. Once outside, he wasted no time in grabbing the old man by the collar and hoisting him off of Rich. The elder was torn away, but something red was between his teeth. Lisa almost emptied her lunch on the floor when she realized it was flesh. He had bitten Rich, who was still screaming on the floor.

The tall man threw the elder onto the steps before turning back and helping Rich to his feet. As he pushed the businessman back into the bank he made sure the doors were shut behind him. "Ash, lock these up," he ordered. As Ash began to quickly tie chains around the door handles again, the tall man backed away, his eyes large and round and focused on the two people outside, who were both beginning to pick themselves up again. Lisa noticed his hands were shaking as she tried to still her own trembling body.

"They bit me!" Rich screamed as he fell to the ground, one hand pressed to the wound at his neck and the other raising his pants to see the other one on his ankle. "Fucking savages. Who the hell bites someone?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Lisa wouldn't have been able to answer it anyway. She had seen drug addicts before, even when they were tweaking, but never had she seen one bite another person. Most of them went for chips or Twinkies instead.

"Hey!" someone protested. The short brunette dressed nicely was staring wide eyed at Bobby as he passed her and came to stand in front of Rich. Lisa realized then that he had stolen a gun from the woman, and was now pointing it down at the businessman's head. Rich looked up at the barrel of the gun with a shocked expression, the pain from his wounds momentarily forgotten.

"What are you doing?" the tall man demanded to know, taking a step forward but not daring to intercede.

"We have to kill him," Bobby said in a steady voice. "We have to kill him or else we all die."

To Be Continued.