I lie on the floor, blood gushing lazily out of the wound on my thigh. For a second, Sam just stares at me, a mixture of relief and revulsion on his features, and I let my head fall back to the floor. I can hear Sam's voice, high-pitched and tight, the voice he uses when everything's gone to hell and he's trying not to panic.
"Dean? Hey, Dean?" Oh, crap. Dean. I just beat the shit out of my own son, who is now lying broken and bleeding on the floor. He's still whispering to Sam, "check on Dad, Sammy, check on Dad," and I can't suppress the shudder that runs down my spine . This is seriously screwed up. I painfully pull myself to an upright position from which I can see Dean. He's on his side, blood flowing out from his torn chest, making a puddle on the wooden floor beneath him. Sam's easing him onto his back, tucking his head into his lap as he leans forward to press on the wounds. Dean squirms weakly and groans, and I shut my eyes for a moment.
"Dean? Hang on son," I mutter, dragging myself to his side. Our blood mingles on the floor. Sam looks up at me, terror on his features, silently begging me to fix everything. It's the look of a desperate son depending on his father to make things okay. Holy crap.
"Okay, listen to me Sam, your brother's going to be okay, you hear me?" Sam looks at me, seems to gain strength from what I say, nods and presses harder on Dean's chest. Dean groans again, biting his lip with a wince as he tries to stop himself from making any noise. Sam leans over and says something in Dean's ear, strokes his brother's cheek for a second leaving a smear of red behind.
Holy shit. How in the hell did this happen? I can't help the mixture of revulsion and shame that floods through me. I let myself get possessed by that son of a bitch. The bastard that killed my wife and changed my baby boy to use in some sick plan, used me to hurt my oldest. The yellow-eyed bitch has obliterated my entire family. And suddenly, I'm pissed off that it just left me here. That it would come in, violate me, hurt my son, and leave. Like a damn coward.
Sam should have killed me. I begged him to shoot me, to let me take down this monster, this demon that I've spent so much time and effort and blood on finding…he should have killed me. Now I'm lying on the floor, left behind by the enemy I've been hunting for half a lifetime, and all I want is to have gone with him. We could duke it out in hell.
I'm snapped out of my reverie by Sam's panicked bark.
"Dean! Hey, stay awake Dean, come on," he shouts, patting at Dean's face. Dean's eyelids flutter lazily open, and he slurs Sam's name weakly. His teeth are stained red and more blood dribbles down his chin as I watch. Sam gently wipes the blood from his brother's face as Dean's eyes roll. He's fighting to remain conscious, and Sam's panic is dissipating, replaced by a fierce determination.
"Dean. Listen to me," he orders, and I stare in amazement at the way he's taken charge, at how he's become willing and able to do anything necessary to help his brother. Dean's eyes drift up and meet Sam's.
"I'm going to get you out of here, okay? I'm gonna put you in the Impala-" Dean shakes his head weakly.
"No. Dad," he mumbles, and more blood cascades down his face. Sam wipes it clean again.
"I'll get Dad right after I get you, okay?" Sam says gently, and Dean finally manages a nod. Sam looks to me, clearly asking approval, and I nod. Tears prick at the back of my eyes as I watch my youngest tenderly gather his older brother into his arms, whispering soothing words to him as he nestles his broken form to his chest. Dean whimpers for a moment before quieting, and then they're out the door.
I can't believe what I've done. What it's done. I painfully pull myself to my feet; it's a time consuming endeavor, and I've only just stood when Sam comes back. There's blood smeared across his shirt, face, clumped in his hair. Wordlessly, he grabs my arm and tucks it around his shoulder, looping his other arm around my waist. We walk out to the car together, and I'm surprised by how much of my weight he's holding. He eases me into the front seat, and I look back at Dean worriedly. He's hanging on, but not by much, and it looks like there's more blood on his face and shirt than in his body.
The Impala rumbles to life and Sam takes off, driving quickly towards help, away from that room full of blood and the stench of sulfur. I risk another glance, notice Dean's eyes at half-mast, the way he's hunched over.
I can't believe what I've done.
