Darkness still hung in cobwebs to Sam's mind as he came to, sprawled on his stomach across a carpet. And right after he registered the darkness, he felt the pain. There was a generalised ache throughout his whole body, localising somewhere in the vicinity of his left thigh and again in his head. He instinctively reached to his head, feeling something sticky and wet. Briefly, he wondered why someone would have spilled something sticky and wet on his forehead and where he could be so that could happen. Then he remembered that, in his business, sticky and wet substances on skin were usually blood. Okay, so he was bleeding. His other hand reached for his thigh and felt more blood.
"He's moving," came a distinctively familiar voice, cutting through his shattered thoughts.
He knew that voice from somewhere, but he couldn't place it right now . . . not with the pounding going on in his head.
"I can see that, you moron," came another familiar voice – but this was one that Sam recognised almost immediately: Dean.
Something had to be wrong if Dean could see that Sam was hurt but wasn't coming to help and see if he was okay. There was only one reason, and that was that Dean couldn't come. What would stop him from coming to Sam's aid? He didn't sound injured. He must have been trapped. But what could have trapped him when his brother was in trouble? It was like he was possessed or something . . .
Sam's eyes snapped open as his brain fully latched on to reality. It had taken far too long, and he realised that, since he was lying in an uncomfortable position, sprawled on the ground without being attacked by the two demons in the room, he must have been successful in finishing the devil's trap.
He sat up too quickly and fought off vertigo before attempting to look at his handiwork on the ceiling. Even he was impressed. The last stroke was sloppy but good enough. Sam's eyes roamed downward, until they lit on the back of the couch, where Jo and Dean were both leaning over to see him.
"It's about time," Dean muttered, his black eyes watching his brother intently.
"What, you two are getting along now?" Sam asked.
"We've given up on trying to kill each other until we're not stuck in a rather small area," Jo answered. "And then we've decided to just have a good, fair race to see who gets you first."
"Oh, yeah," Sam murmured. "Demons are always fair."
"We're not stuck here forever, Sammy," Dean growled. "We'll find a way out and then you're toast."
Sam grinned in spite of the situation as he realised he could now perform the exorcism. Even though Dean assured him that they could get out, Sam knew it would take them a while before they figured out a way. And luckily, after many bad experiences, he had written the words carefully down and stuck them in his wallet, so he had them on his person when he needed them. His leg refused to hold his weight and his head throbbed unmercifully when he tried to stand, so he gave up on that endeavor and stuck with sitting down.
The second the first few latin words were out of the youngest Winchester's mouth, Jo snapped, "Oh, no you don't!"
Sam ignored her and continued the exorcism, while Dean yelled, "You'll stop if I break precious brother's body!" He grabbed his own arm, and Jo viciously slammed it down on her knee with a loud crack.
Sam flinched but kept reading, blocking the horrible noise out of his already painful head. As he neared the end of the ritual, he had to dismiss the sounds of screaming agony as the demons were being ripped from Dean and Jo. And the force of wind at having two demons leave at once threw Sam back into the table that had knocked him out when he first fell off the couch. For the first time in about a year, luck was with him, and he managed to not pass out. The black demonic clouds shot from the mouths of the hosts, collided with each other, and flew out of the house. Dean and Jo both rolled off the couch as they collapsed into a heap.
Sam closed his eyes in relief at the placidity that followed, taking a deep breath to steady himself before trying to move. Not surprisingly, his body refused to cooperate with him, and he found himself more or less stuck on the floor.
"Dean?" he called out softly, hoarse with exhaustion.
"Ugh," came the grumbled response as the elder brother was obviously picking himself up. Then, Sam saw Dean's head pop up over the back of the couch, confused but clear eyes taking in the devil's trap drawn with blood, broken furniture, and semi-conscious Jo nearby. Then he looked over at his brother, eyes widening in horror as he took in all the blood, and he practically dove over the back of the couch.
"Sam!" he yelled, dropping on his knees next to his brother. "Are you okay?"
"Wonderful," Sam snapped sarcastically. "That is, as long as you're you."
"Of course I'm me," Dean answered. "Why wouldn't I . . ." He trailed off as he realised what Sam meant. "Oh, please tell me I didn't cause some of this."
"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam asked, trying to be patient.
"I went to make us something to eat, and then I think I hit my head on something."
"Owwww," Jo grumbled as she stood, one hand to her head. Then her eyes widened, too. "Sam!" she shouted, joining the brothers. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe I did any of that! I tried to stop it, but I –"
"Stop, Jo," the younger Winchester interrupted tiredly. "Do you remember everything that happened?"
She got a revolted expression on her face. "Unfortunately, yes," she said. "At least now I know how you felt when you came to find me and shot your brother." An uncomfortable silence ensued, as Dean glared at her and Sam looked guilty. "Oops; wrong thing to say."
"No kidding," Dean grunted. "So does someone want to tell me what happened?"
"Later," Sam said. "Right now, we need to get that arm of yours fixed."
Dean glanced at his left arm, as if noticing it for the first time. It was bent at an awkward angle. And when he saw it, the pain shot through it. "Sam, did you break my –"
"I did," Jo interjected. "Please don't ask me to explain right now."
Dean nodded, unsatisfied but knowing it wasn't a good idea to push anything right now. "We've got to patch you up, Sammy," he said. "It looks like you tried to single-handedly turn this cabin into a blood donation center."
"Well, there wasn't much else to do," Sam said in an attempt to keep Dean's humour as he tried to sit up again. Dean and Jo both jumped forward to help, drawing him to his feet and taking him toward the bathroom in an unspoken consensus. His wounds needed to be cleaned out, and fast. The poor kid was already pale, weak, and in pain, and judging from the amount of blood in random places throughout the cabin, he couldn't stand to lose any more blood. As it was, he was situated on the toilet, leaning against the back to hold himself up.
"I'm gonna need to stitch that up," Dean said as he wiped a towel across Sam's forehead to clear the blood away.
"Not with that arm," Sam griped. "You might accidently stitch my eyes shut."
"I'll do it," Jo offered. Both brothers looked over at her sharply, not used to having a third person around to help them tend to their wounds. Their eyes caught, and Sam shrugged.
"Fine," Dean said. "But you better be really careful."
She got out the needle as Dean continued to wash out the cut with one arm. By the time the wound was clean, Jo was ready. She leaned forward, but Sam spoke before she could even begin.
"Shouldn't someone salt the windows and doors or something so we don't all get possessed again? Multiple possessions don't make this one of my better days."
"Right after you're settled, Sam," Jo said softly.
"You're in luck, then," the young hunter went on. "I'm about to pass out." His voice was weaker and his words were slurred together. "I'm getting sick of being unconscious." Then his eyes rolled up in the back of his head.
"Just hang on, Sam," Dean cried out as Sam let his head drop backward. It hit the toilet with a sickening thud before Dean could catch it. Unfortunately, his failed attempt at protecting his brother resulted in him slamming his almost useless arm into the side of the toilet. The pain that shot through the entire left half of his body made him involuntarily jerk, which knocked Sam off the toilet and unceremoniously onto the cold tile floor. His brother's body hit him in the shin, and he slipped on a puddle of blood. That knocked him backwards into Jo, whose head slammed into door and she dropped to the ground like a rock. Dean finally fell on top of her, and he, too, succumbed to the darkness, wondering as he did so if Sam would bleed out before any of them managed to wake up.