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After failing to wake Sam up, Dean gives up and starts banging on Lisa's (the neighbor) door. His knuckles collide with the fragile wooden surface so hard, that he's afraid it might break. But not as afraid of Sam not waking, which causes the thumping on the door to grow louder and more urgent.
Soon enough, an old women with smokey-grey hair and a tattered pink nightgown, opens the door. She glanced at Sam alarmingly with her fatigued eyes, then ushers the strangers in her house.
Dean carefully picks Sam up and throws him over his shoulder, as he follows behind the lady. The only thing he could think about was his brother, how did he let him get to this?
Lisa's house was clustered with furniture and random items. Every step Dean took signaled a loud creak from the floor bellow him, and every piece of furniture was covered with a thick layer of dust. She cleared off some old picture frames from a yellow leather couch, and motioned for Dean to lay Sam down on it.
"What happened?" She asks, her eyes tight with worry.
"I don't know! He just collapsed." And honesty, other that the more recent headaches and excessive intake of Advil, Sam had seemed fine. The idiot was sure good at hiding his pain, Dean thought- almost feeling betrayed that his brother hadn't confined to him earlier about what was going on.
"He needs a hospital," she asserts while reaching for her cellphone.
"Wait!" Dean reaches for her arm and stops her before she starts dialing. If she called the hospital, then the police would get involved- and neither boys could afford the trouble of getting swept back into the FBI's manhunt for them. However, He looks back at Sam's unmoving form, obviously needing the attention of a doctor. Healthy people don't just collapse and start seizing on the floor. But would Sam really want to get help only to be thrown into a prison cell? Dean was beyond conflicted. He frustratedly glanced at his brother and back at the phone. This was a lose-lose situation.
"No, you can't call anyone," he snaps at Lisa. He compromises with having Lisa and him try to help Sam here first, and if nothing seems to work- he'll call an ambulance himself. Lisa seems concerned with his dismissal of emergency help, but thankfully does not ask any questions.
Dean puts his ear near Sam's mouth and checks his breathing. Then, he puts two fingers against Sam's carotid artery and feels for pulse.
Not great, but fine. At least he was still alive. Lisa cleans up the wound on Sam's face, from when his face collided with the ground, and applied the back of her hand against Sam's sweaty forehead . She grabbed a damp cold towel to put on it, hoping to cool down his body temperature.
After that, there was nothing else they could do here. Dean sat on the floor besides Sam, not taking his eyes off him- and waited.
...
Sam wakes up with a dull pain in his head and is engulfed by the stench of dried blood. Even before his eyes open, he knows that he's not in his motel room. He reaches his hand to his face and feels something heavy and damp on his forehead. Where is he? When Sam decides to open his eyes, he is greeted with a jigsawed mess of fuzzy colors and shapes. After a minute of two, he can start to make sense of his surroundings. He finds Dean on the ground next to him, stuck in a restless sleep, and notices an old lady in an uncomfortable slumber on a wooden chair in the same room. This must be her house. How did he get here? Who was this women?
He thinks back to the violent and gory dream that he eluded from. This time, he witnessed the death of 64 year old Paula Shaunkins. No- it's just a dream, Sam reminded himself, the the stranger he dreamt of was never killed- they probably don't even exist. His dreams were miraculously more realistic than before. Sam didn't know how much longer he could take all this pain and sadness.
He painfully reaches his arm out and tapped Dean on the shoulder. Dean bolts up and firmly grabs Sam's arm, but relaxes after realizing who it was.
He smiles brightly, "You're awake! I thought you were gonna die Sam. You had me worried sick! Don't you ever do anything like that again-you hear me?" His usual tough guy personality was no where to be seen, it was obvious how much Sam's condition had troubled him.
Sam was too tired to answer, and just responded with a nod. He felt guilty with how much he had put his brother through. Dean diddnt deserve this constant worry and stress.
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