Something was wrong. He could not quite put his finger on what it was but something was very definitely out of balance. He lay still for a moment and tried to think back, tried to work out what was out of place.

It was that nasty pit-of-the-stomach dread that came so easily at some moments. As if he had parked his car in the rough end of town and now could not recall if had locked her doors. Or he had left a motel room after breakfast and was now unsure if he had turned off the stove.

Voices. Somewhere off to the side of him had been voices. Distant and muffled as if shielded by cotton wool. He had tried to focus, tried to listen, and turned his head towards the sound. Beside him the ruffled covers of a small bed blocked his view and his frown deepened; why was he on the floor?

His heart was pounding, adrenaline pooling somewhere deep inside, but his limbs were heavy and uncertainty lingered. Frustration surged and he opened his eyes, hoping to find a clue as to what needed sorting.

Before him was a low ceiling, it's once white paint now cracked and tobacco stained. He frowned and searched the aging plaster, his eyes resting on a missing chunk of ceiling and then the scribbled form of a familiar pattern. A vague memory stirred and he frowned in interest, staring at the sharp angles of the five pointed star.

Lifting his head a little to try and fathom his predicament, movement jarred torn nerve endings and made his already dizzy mind swirl. Swallowing back the nauseating urge to cry out in pain, he suddenly remembered in agonizing clarity hearing the loud clap of a gunshot and feeling the thud against his leg. He let his head thump back against the thin carpet and grunted in dismay. "Shit …" His voice sounded strange and he sighed out a groan, his muzzy head swimming. "Sonofa - "

The somewhat muted sound of a door slamming made him jump, startled, and fresh pain flooded through him, released in a strangled sob. He choked on the bile in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut tight, not daring to breathe in case even this made the pain worsen.

"Dean!"

Something landed beside him and nudged his raised knee, shooting daggers of agony up into his hip. "God - "

"Dean!"

Hands on his thigh pressed against torn flesh and screaming nerves and he barked out a shout of protest.

"Oh god oh god oh god - !"

"Sam?" Dean husked, suddenly recognizing the panicked voice above him. He reached out a heavy arm and his hand found Sam's jacket, grabbing a fistful and holding on tightly. More movement against the top of his leg and he sobbed loudly. "Sammy, don't!"

"I've got to stop this bleeding." Sam argued hurriedly.

"No!" Dean lifted his head again and his shoulders left the floor, the sudden strain only intensifying the fire that burned through his right thigh. "Shit!"

"I know I know." Sam soothed, one hand leaving the attempts to press against the wound and gently resting on his brother's shoulder.

Dean grabbed at Sam's wrist and clenched it tightly, desperately. "Sam - ?"

"It's okay." Sam replied quietly. "Lie still. It's okay."

Opening his eyes and blinking as improving clarity of thought only made the pounding in his head seem louder, Dean turned and saw his brother's anxious face. "Sam?"

"Hey," Sam's gaze shifted away from the gunshot and he smiled in relief. "There you are. God, Dean, you scared me."

"What?"

"You were out of it." Sam explained, his voice tight as he groaned in dismay and blinked back sudden tears. "It's a little early for all this, okay? You've got a few months of putting up with me, yet. You hear me?" Sam looked back at Dean's leg and shook his head slightly. "Fuck … this is bad."

"I hit my head ... I think ..." Dean frowned in confusion and cleared his dry throat. "She … she shot me …?"

"No. Jeff did."

"What?" He watched his brother nodding in sad confirmation. "Why - ?"

Sam sighed and his shoulders sank heavily. "It's a long story."

"But - " Dean tensed suddenly and reached his free hand down towards his leg, his grip on his brother's wrist tightening. "Don't - !"

"Dean, I've gotta stop this bleeding. I'm sorry." Sam offered hurriedly, pulling his hand free and pressing one of the thin complimentary towels harder against the wound at the top of Dean's thigh. "Shit, this is so fucked up. And it's my fault. I mean, I left Lena alone out there. I should have known better. What with everything that's happened and after all we've seen - "

"Sam - !"

"And then when he came to the door, I should have guessed. I should have shot first and torn myself up about it later." He gave a small laugh at the notion and shook his head slowly. "It's what you would have done. Right?"

"Sam? What - ?"

Sam paused for breath and glanced back at his brother's face. Dean was too pale for his liking and sweat glistened across his tight forehead. He reached up and pressed his fingers under Dean's chin, feeling a strong but fast pulse beneath the skin.

"Where's Morgan?" Dean asked quietly, frowning up at his brother, "Is she okay?"

Keeping his focus on the still bleeding wound, Sam shook his head. "He took her."

"What?" Dean levered himself up on one elbow and tried to peer around the bottom of the bed, hissing as pain seared through is leg. With a grunt of annoyance, he fell back and flopped his free arm over his face. "Dude, this sucks!"

"Yeah, I know." Sam moved closer and watched in concern as Dean's arm slipped back to the floor and he blinked up at Sam, his face full of pain. "It's my fault." Sam breathed, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't." Dean urged quietly, reaching up to grab Sam's shoulder. "Don't, Sammy."

"I saw my chance and grabbed the Colt. I just wanted to stun her, make her stop. She had a gun at your back and - " Sam sighed wearily, "I should have known that others would come. I should have known."

"Sammy." Dean urged quietly.

Sam gave a small nod and turned his attention back to the now blood-wet towel, groaning in dismay. He lifted the once white cotton to see the still oozing hole in Dean's bloodied jeans, the movement making his brother shudder and the fingers gripping his shoulder sink into his flesh. "This isn't stopping." Sam observed.

Dean flinched with each slight wipe of the towel and bit back on a sob, his bottom lip tight between his teeth. He then gasped and stared up at Sam. "Is Morgan okay?"

"Hey?" Sam frowned and dropped the sodden towel onto the carpet, his heart racing as he watched his brother panting with sudden panic. "I told you, Dean. I don't know."

"Shit ..."

Taking a deep breath, Sam rolled onto his knees and straightened up. He grabbed at his belt and unbuckled it with shaking, bloodstained fingers.

"Sam? Where's Morgan?" Dean repeated, sighing as he relaxed back against the floor and closed his eyes. "Oh god … I had to … I had to make her be still … oh god …"

"Hey." Sam slid his belt free of his jeans and dropped it beside him, leaning over his brother and pressing one hand against Dean's chest. "You did what you had to, okay?"

Dean turned his head and blinked wearily, trying to keep his focus on Sam. "Yeah." He managed.

Lifting the worn leather belt from the floor, Sam looped it around Dean's thigh and slipped the end back through the buckle. "I gotta do this, Dean." He glanced back at his brother's tired face and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry." He snapped the belt tight and pulled it hard.

"SONofa - !" Dean threw out his hands and rolled his shoulders up from the floor, trying to grab at the tourniquet. He then fell back and arched his neck, struggling to breathe against the pain that seemed to fill his entire being.

"I'm sorry." Sam fastened the buckle and moved back up beside his brother's arm. "Dean?"

"Shit - " Dean curled around the pain in his leg, knocking his head against Sam's knee and then resting there for a moment. "Oh god - " His breath caught in his throat as he sobbed quietly.

"Easy." Sam patted Dean's shoulder gently. "Lie still."

"I can't - " Dean rolled back and covered his face with his hands, panting hard. "I can't breathe. God. It hurts, Sammy!"

"I know. Lie still." Sam eased back and timidly checked the tourniquet, glad to see the bleeding had been successfully stopped.

Dean groaned and suddenly slid his hands to the floor, leaning up on his elbows and letting his head fall back as he tried to catch his breath. He shakily sat up and heaved himself back towards the small locker that separated the beds, falling back against it with a grunt of pain.

"No. Come on. Lie Still."

Shaking his head and finally taking a deep breath, Dean peered down at his bloodied jeans. He stared at the small hole part-hidden beneath the leather belt and swallowed back the bile in his throat. Somehow looking at the wound made it seem more real and the burning pain suddenly intensified. He closed his eyes and let his head flop back, wincing as he met the wooden locker with a thud.

"Dean!" Sam urged, his voice tight. "Come on, man. Take it easy."

"I - " Dean tensed against a wave of pain and sobbed out the breath that he held. "Sam - "

Sam watched in dread as his brother sank against the locker, his shoulders dropping and his head rolling to the side. "Dean!" He scrambled forward and grabbed Dean's shoulders to give him a gentle shake. "No! Stay with me. Open your eyes. Please!"

Dean gave a slight moan and blinked his eyes open. He tried to focus on Sam but then sighed weakly and his heavy lids closed.

"Dean!"

"Lay him down."

With a gasp, Sam spun and watched Lena slowly sitting up. He saw her press her hand into her head and pause for a moment to allow her apparent headache to pass. Knowing that feeling all too well and suddenly lost in the nightmare of that experience, he frowned in concern.

"He needs to lie flat." Lena repeated, nodding towards Dean. "Raise his leg and lower his head."

Sam sighed and grabbed Dean's feet, painfully aware of the lack of response as he pulled Dean away from the locker.

"Did you call 911?"

Gently easing his brother's all too quiet form down to the floor and timidly checking his pulse, Sam shook his head in reply.

"What?" Lena swung her legs out from underneath her and leaned back against the side of the bed. Catching her breath, she frowned over at Sam. "Why not?"

"They'll not get here in this weather."

Lena nodded slowly, "And you can't risk the police attending."

"It's a long story." Sam confirmed.

"What a mess."

"You can say that again." He husked, leaning over Dean to check on him once more.

"I'm so sorry, Sam."

Sam looked back up at her and saw the tears that gathered. "It wasn't you."

"But I knew what was happening."

Sam shuddered and turned away. He knew just how she was feeling and it had taken him a long time to even begin to forget.

"Where's Morgan?"

Closing his eyes and his chest aching with sorrow, Sam had no idea how to reply. He heard the gasp of shock and the start of her gentle sobbing but he kept his focus on his brother, trying to stay calm.

"We have to go after them!" Lena announced suddenly, dragging herself to her feet and perching on the edge of the bed for a moment. She took a deep breath and wiped her face, wincing as pain shot through her arm.

Sam glanced behind and watched her cover the graze with her hand, remembering how he had snuck the Colt from the bag and for a second had wondered if just wounding her would be enough. The memory of actually considering aiming a fatal shot brought bile to his throat and he shuddered in revulsion.

"We can't follow them."

"What?" Lena demanded.

"At least …" Sam sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. He dragged his arm across his wet forehead and took a deep breath. "At least not until reinforcements get here."

His brother then murmured beside him and he looked down at Dean's prone form, seeing his face tighten as consciousness returned.

"He needs a hospital." Lena offered.

"I know." Sam checked his watch. "Our friend should be here soon."

Lena frowned in concern and swallowed back further tears. "And then what?"

"We'll get you to safety."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. I need to find Morgan and - "

"Fine."

Lena watched him nodding wearily and she frowned in concern. She edged along the bed towards him and swallowed back tears. "Listen … for what it's worth … thank you."

Sam looked up at her and gave a slight nod. He then shrugged and looked back down at his brother, leaning closer to check the wound. He loosened the belt for a moment to allow blood flow back into Dean's leg, remembering his basic field medicine amid the noise of his panicked thoughts.

Lena sighed and looked away, her eyes resting on the small cloth rabbit that lay across the pillow beside her. With a trembling hand she reached out and grabbed the teddy, clutching it against her chest.

Sam pulled the tourniquet back tight and winced as he heard Dean's quiet groan of protest. He leaned down closer to him and checked the pulse at his brother's neck.

"Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam replied, distracted.

Lena nodded slowly and got to her feet. She wandered back towards the partition door and wiped her face. "I'm sorry." Glancing back, she watched Sam kneeling beside his brother and noted his lack of response, her shoulders sinking as she left the room.

"Bobby's on his way, Dean." Sam offered quietly, resting his hand on his brother's chest and blinking back tears. "Please. Just hold on."

- tbc -