Dean had seen a lot of blood in his life, but no blood had ever scared him like the blood that was now dripping between Buffy's fingers. He didn't think he had ever seen anyone bleed this quickly. Maybe it was a Slayer thing. Maybe her blood worked differently than other people's.
Or maybe he just wasn't moving fast enough. Time seemed to be in slow motion, and as quickly as he moved, Dean didn't know if he had enough time.
"Woah," he said, rushing over to catch her as her knees gave out. "What are you doing fainting on me? This was not part of the plan."
Buffy grimaced. "We may have to change the plan slightly. There have been a few complications."
"Not today," Dean said while he stretched Buffy out on the ground. "We're going to clean this up and still have time for burgers." Trying to move her as little as possible, he slid his jacket off from around her arms. He folded it and stuck it under her hands.
"Put pressure on this," he said and then started tearing long strips from the bottom of his shirt.
"This is what I get for not bringing my own jacket," she complained. "Now I just feel terrible for getting blood all over yours."
Dean began wrapping the strips around Buffy's waist, taking care to move her as little as possible. "If that's what you feel worst about at this moment," he said, "And not the holes in your stomach, I would say you're doing pretty well under the circumstances."
He finished wrapping the strips and prepared to tie them. "Ready?" he said, looking down at her.
She nodded, closing her eyes. He tightened the knot and she screamed. Dean shut his eyes tightly so he didn't see her face.
She took a few deep breaths. "Okay," she said after a few moments. "I'm still raring to go."
"Come on, you, " he said, scooping her up. "I'm getting you out of here. It's all going to be okay. I've got this taken care of."
"You remembered how to fix bullet wounds?"
Dean rolled his eyes as her carefully walked toward the exit. "You know, it's your own fault if your last words end up being some stupid quip."
"I always said I was going down swinging." They were both quiet for a few moments.
"Dean," she said, and her voice had lost some of its bravado. "I don't want to die again."
"Of course not," he said. "Forever fields of gold and plucking harps? Naw, that's not really our style."
He thought he felt her laugh against his chest. "No, that's not it."
"Is it because you think you're going somewhere else? Because let me tell you, I'm pretty sure that if anyone gets a free pass through the pearly gates, it's the Slayer."
Her head shook slightly. "No. I don't care where I'm going after this."
"Then what?"
"I don't want to leave. I just want to be here. With you."
"It's okay," he said after a moment. "The car is just outside and there is a hospital in the next town. Not even a long drive. You're going to be fine."
He kicked the front door open, still cradling Buffy in his arms. But his stomach dropped when he saw the Impala: her hood was propped open, and parts were scattered across the lawn.
"Damn," Dean said. "Damn damn damn damn DAMN!"
"What?" Buffy wiggled and Dean could hear her sharp intake of breath. He wasn't sure whether it was from the movement or from the sight of the Impala.
"Just sit right here, okay Buffy?" Dean walked down the steps and set her down next to the Impala. He forced himself to look down at her hands, clenched tightly against her stomach. Her hands were completely red.
"Not even that bad," he managed to choke out. "Hey, a measly bullet can't take my girl out, right?"
"No," Buffy said, her voice nearly inaudible, "but these two might be enough."
Dean didn't reply.