A/N I have been attempting to beat this story into submission for the last three-plus months, and yet it still somehow has the upper hand. I probably shouldn't be posting it just yet, but here we are regardless.

Just a note about this the inspiration of this story because I feel like it's needed? After the boys leave Bobby's in 2x03, we don't see or hear from Bobby again until 2x14. After that, Bobby becomes a much more important and frequent character. Now, I know that is just due to various factors that don't have much to do with the actual story, but I wanted to play around with what changed and led to Bobby being around more, into what led him to be the father figure that he was to them.

With that being said, updates will be every Tuesday, and a deep thank you goes out to everyone returning. To those who are new, welcome!

Disclaimer: not mine.

This story is set right after 2x12: Nightshifter.

Chapter One

1992

Dean wiped his sweaty hands off on his jeans before digging the loose change out of his pocket. It wasn't much. Only a dollar and sixty-four cents remained of the funds that Dad had hurriedly shoved into his hands as he dropped them off at the bus station.

Setting his jaw, Dean ignored Sam as his brother went up on his tiptoes to try and look over his shoulder, probably to count the coins for himself.

"How much do we have left?" he asked when Dean closed his fist, concealing the money, and elbowed Sam back. The too-large and worn backpack slipped down Sam's thin shoulders as he fell back flat on his feet. He hitched it back up with an exasperated look before edging closer to Dean again as if proximity could solve their current money crisis.

"We have enough, don't worry about it," he lied easily as he sorted through the coins for one of the quarters. Forcing a smile in Sam's direction, he turned back to the payphone, inserted the quarter, dialed, and waited as the phone began to ring.

Sam didn't seem fooled by Dean's pretense and a pinched look was on his face as he twisted, looking nervously around at the almost empty Sioux Falls bus station.

The open line rang endlessly and at last Dean gave up and set the phone back in the cradle, ending the call.

"Bobby didn't pick up, did he?" Sam asked, clenching the handle of his backpack tighter.

Dean shrugged as he bent over to pick up his duffle bag and swung it over his shoulder. "That doesn't mean anything. He might be on his way to pick us up and is stuck in traffic." He looked around once again at the almost deserted station, trying not to get his hopes up. Their bus had arrived over an hour ago and now the only people left were the ones waiting for another bus.

There was no sign of Bobby even though he was supposed to meet them there.

Dean held back a sigh. "C'mon, let's sit back down. He'll be here soon. Dad called him and told him we'd be here, that he needed to come and pick us up."

Sam made a face, huffing. "That's if Dad even remembered to call," he grumbled as Dean tugged him back towards the benches.

Dean's temper was short, and he just managed to stop himself from snapping back that Sam didn't know anything and that he was just a dumb kid. Dad knew what he was doing.

They returned to the bench that they had staked out as theirs and dropped their bags back down. Sam, after several minutes spent glancing between Dean and the doorway finally pulled out his latest Hardy Boys book that he had picked up somewhere and opened it.

Only then, without Sam's eyes on him, did Dean feel comfortable enough to let his façade fall.

What was he going to do if Bobby didn't come? He didn't know, and it was making his skin itch.

Making his duffle into as comfortable of a pillow as possible, Dean stretched out on what remained of the bench and, checking his watch, closed his eyes.

It hadn't exactly been a fun twelve hours.

Dad had come racing into their motel room the evening before, his eyes alive like they only were when he had a lead on the thing that had killed Mom, and told them to get their gear together. Not to go hunting, though, like Dean would have liked. Dad still didn't trust Dean enough for those kinds of hunts, but he did trust him to get Sam to Sioux Falls.

That had only been the beginning and things had gone downhill from there. The buses had been crowded and Dean hadn't slept much that night as he kept guard, Sam sandwiched between him and the window. An early breakfast had consisted of three granola bars split between them that he'd stashed in the bottom of his bag, but that was it. They didn't have the money for lunch and, judging by how things were going, they probably weren't going to.

His stomach rumbled unhappily at the thought and he rubbed it. Maybe they could get a sandwich or a bag of chips and split it between them because if Dean was hungry then Sam had to be as well. Then again, they might need that money for things that were more important than food. They were just going to have to wait and see how long it took Bobby to come.

Bobby always came, he'd be there soon.

An hour passed and then another with no word or sign. Sam had finished his book and was sitting there, his chin in his hand and his eyes far away. Finally, Dean gave in and tried calling again, his heart somewhere in his throat as he waited for Bobby to answer.

They couldn't stay at the bus stop forever, and if he didn't pick up then Dean was going to have to figure out what to do next.

There was no answer and he squeezed his eyes shut before taking a deep breath.

For all they knew, Sam was right and Dad had forgotten to call and tell Bobby that they were coming. Or Bobby could be out of town and wasn't even around to get the message.

They were on their own.

It was fine. He'd figure it out. Dean had been in worse situations before.

"C'mon," Dean said tersely to Sam who was once again standing so close to him that he bumped into him when he tried to turn around. Dean's stomach growled and he willed it to shut up. They were now down to a dollar and fourteen cents, and Dean didn't want to use it unless he absolutely had to. If Bobby wasn't home, then he was going to have to make it stretch until he could find a job of some sort or steal some food.

Sam hurried after Dean, taking two strides to his one. "Did Bobby pick up? Where are we going?"

"There's a Plucky's just down the street. I'm leaving you there so I can get some peace from stupid questions," Dean snapped as he pushed the door to the bus station open and stepped out into the broiling sun. Sam's lips thinned and he glared at Dean, shoving him.

"I'm not a kid anymore and there's no Plucky's here. I would know."

"Well, maybe I wish that there was."

"Bobby wouldn't let you do that even if there was one," Sam retorted, jutting his chin out and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Bobby's not here, genius."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest, but he kept following Dean until they reached the end of the block. They were waiting for the light to turn red so that they could cross when Sam reached out, catching the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt tentatively. "Dean, where are we going?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam to shut up again but glanced down and found that he couldn't. Sam was still just a kid. He had only turned nine a few months before and he looked scared.

Dean didn't like that.

"We're fine, dude. We're just going to walk to Bobby's," he said, trying to make his voice gentle.

"Walk?" Sam protested, his eyes widening. "It's like a hundred degrees out here and Bobby lives forever away. He doesn't even live close to the city!"

"So what? It's good training. This is easy in comparison to some of the stuff that Dad has made you do."

Sam didn't look ecstatic, his lips pursing in frustration. "Can't we…I don't know, take a taxi? Or another bus?"

Dean snorted and then started to walk as the light turned. With what money would either of those options even be available?

"Two minors taking a taxi is not normal," he said instead before tacking on, "and don't ask if I can steal a car. You know what Dad has said. We aren't supposed to draw attention to ourselves or get Bobby in trouble. If we cause Bobby problems, then Bobby won't let us stay anymore or he'll get tired of us. You want him to let us keep coming back, don't you?"

"Yeah, well—"

"Then shut up and keep walking. It won't take that long."

"I wasn't going to ask you to steal a car. That's wrong," Sam muttered, kicking out at a fist-sized rock that was in his path.

"Whatever." Dean paused when they reached the next corner, looking around and trying to orientate himself. He knew vaguely what direction they had to go, but he didn't know the quickest route by foot.

Taking a gamble, he turned left and Sam dutifully followed. The sun reflected off the pavement and Dean wiped a hand over his face as he began to sweat.

Sam was right. It was hot out here, and this was going to suck.

Dean wasn't sure how many miles it turned out to be. All he knew was that morning had gone and it was well into the afternoon when—flushed and sweating—they wearily trudged into the yard of Singer Salvage only to be met with locked doors and Bobby's car gone.

Dean stood at the front door for a second, trying to control the urge to start screaming or pound his head against the wall. He once again didn't know what to do and it wasn't fair. He'd gotten them here, wasn't that enough?

Dad hadn't gotten Dean a lock-picking set of his own yet and had taken the one that he let him practice on so he couldn't pick the locks. They had tried all the windows—Dean had even boosted Sam up to try one of the upstairs ones—but they were also locked. The only feasible way in, he figured, was to break a window and undo a latch.

When Dean suggested this to Sam, who hadn't complained even as the day dragged on and the sun got higher and hotter, finally let out a disgruntled huff as he sank down onto the porch steps.

"We can't do that! Bobby won't let us come back if we do and—I told you that Dad didn't call ahead! Otherwise, Bobby would have found us by now," he snapped shrilly as he peeled off his left sneaker and shook a couple of loose rocks out of the heel before fingering a small hole in the sole. His hair was flattened against his face with sweat and he looked miserable.

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation.

He was just as hot, tired, and hungry as Sam and he was doing the damn best that he could.

"Well, it's not like I could have sat down Dad and forced him to make that call! I barely managed to get any money from him for the bus tickets, so you can be glad that I did that. Otherwise, your ass would have been walking from Montana to here, so just…don't whine, for like a second, okay?"

Sam glowered down at the rocks; his lips puckering up in distaste before he put his shoe back on. He was silent for all of about thirty seconds before declaring stubbornly, "I'm thirsty."

Dean clenched his jaw tight enough that he could hear his teeth grind together, but who was he kidding? He was thirsty too and it was so hot out that his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back. Sam's skin had a pinkish tinge to it which meant he was burning, and Dean was sure that he was as well.

They needed water and to get out of the heat for a little bit.

"Fine. Ah, there's a hose out back. We'll give Bobby another hour or two, and then figure it out."

They sat outside on the porch in the shade until the sun began to set before they finally admitted defeat. Bobby didn't appear to be coming back any time soon, and they were both starving.

Bobby would understand, or at least that was what Dean was telling himself.

Grimacing and trying not to think about the trouble that they might get into, Dean carefully broke the glass panel on the back door and then reached through, tugging the deadbolt back so that they could enter.

It was blessedly cool inside and they both breathed a sigh of relief as they dropped their bags by the door and toed off their shoes, leaving them by the door. Dinner was stale bread and a can of pork and beans that they split between them. They didn't know when Bobby would be back, and they had to make the food last until then or until Dad came to pick them up.

Still, it tasted amazing and neither of them complained even if they both eyed the other couple of cans longingly.

It had been a long day and they didn't have the energy to do anything besides take cold showers before going straight to bed.

#

Bobby didn't return home for another three days—days that Dean spent trying not to worry about what could be happening to Bobby or their dad—and it was with no small relief that he heard the sounds of a truck pulling in.

Closing the cupboards with a snap from where he had been trying to decide what to do for dinner with an increasingly limited selection, Dean darted into the living room. Sam, who had been curled up on the couch while watching TV, was kneeling upright and staring through the parted curtain. Dean jumped up, kneeling next to him and Sam pulled the curtain open wider so that he could see as well.

Bobby's old and run-down truck was coming around to park next to the door.

"Bobby!" Sam cried excitedly and clambered off the couch. Dean followed, but he grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him to a stop.

"Dude, he might not be exactly excited to see us," he cautioned and Sam slowed, frowning. Dean hurried to explain. "We broke into his house and have been hanging around doing nothing besides eating his food. So just…don't be weird and behave."

Sam nodded solemnly, but that ended a moment later when the front door opened. Before either of them could speak Bobby was striding inside as he frantically called out, "Sam? Dean?"

A grin split Sam's face nearly in two. "Bobby!" he cried as he ran and threw his arms around him. Bobby returned the hug tightly even as he continued to look around until he locked eyes with Dean over Sam's head. Dean was surprised by the sheer relief that he found there but he couldn't relax, guiltily thinking of the broken window. Bobby wasn't going to be thrilled or relaxed about that.

"Your daddy finally got word to me that you two would be here and I— I'm sorry that I wasn't back sooner, I was on a hunt but I headed back this direction as soon as I heard," Bobby explained as he tightened his grip on Sam before breaking the hug and pulling him back to look at him. Seemingly satisfied that he was alright, Bobby moved over to Dean.

Dean was a teenager now and getting too old for hugs and he stiffened in a silent warning. Bobby shifted, giving him a one-armed one instead while still searching his eyes. "How long have you two been here?" he asked.

"Three days. We walked here from the bus station," Sam chimed in and Dean glowered at his brother. He didn't think that the answer was going to please Bobby and sure enough his eyes darkened before he was able to cover it.

Dean braced himself, ready for the shouting that was sure to follow.

"And how did you get in?" Bobby asked instead in a deceptively casual voice as he crouched down to be more at Sam's eye level.

Sam glanced up at Dean and then edged closer to him as he eyed Bobby tentatively.

Dean straightened, jutting his chin out defensively as he answered instead of Sam. It had been his idea, after all, and if anyone took the blame for it, it should be him. "Broke the backdoor window, but—" he tacked on quickly, "I'll pay for it or do work to make up for it. And I already put a tarp up."

Bobby removed his cap and scratched at the back of his head before jamming it back on with a sigh and straightening. "Don't worry about it, Dean. I'm sure you did what you had to do. It's not like you boys could spend the night outside. We'll work together and get it fixed up tomorrow."

He didn't sound angry and Dean frowned, waiting for the outburst. Sam, who had melted behind Dean as he waited for the yelling, gave him a confused look. Dean shrugged.

Bobby didn't seem to notice as he rubbed his hands together. "I wasn't expecting company and didn't leave much behind for eating so I'm sure you boys are sick of canned food. Let me go wash up and then we can go into town together. We'll get some groceries and then get some dinner. There's a new buffet in town that I've been wanting to try."

Sam whooped at that and Dean couldn't completely hide his own relief. He grinned and Bobby smiled back at him.

This week may have started horribly, but it might just be turning up…

Or at least Dean thought so until he was lying in bed, uncomfortably full from having stuffed himself sick at the buffet and then still somehow managing to eat the popcorn and other snacks they had gotten while watching the latest James Bond movie.

He should have been sleeping, but instead he was listening to the raised voice coming from down below in the study.

Bobby had finally started yelling about what had happened, and he didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon. When Dean couldn't take it any longer, he crawled out of his bed. Easing the door open, he moved down the hallway, side-stepping the floorboards that creaked.

He sat at the top of the stairs so that he could hear what was being said in Bobby's yelling match over the phone. He didn't have to be told that it was John on the other end.

"They had to break a window to get in!" he heard Bobby shout and he wrapped his arms around his legs. He hadn't had a choice. If it had just been him that would have been one thing, but Sam had been there as well. South Dakota nights got cold even in the summer and they had needed to eat.

Bobby was silent for maybe a second before erupting, "They had nothing to eat except canned food for three days, John! Three days!—No, how I keep my pantry is none of your damn business. Maybe if you gave me some warning before you just dumped them off here because you couldn't be bothered with them, I could be prepared!"

Dean flinched, his chest tightening.

There was the barest whisper of movement next to him and Dean glanced over to see Sam sliding down to sit next to him. He'd been wondering how long it would take him to join and he tried to offer a comforting smile, but Sam just looked up at him, his eyes large and scared.

"It's okay," Dean whispered but Sam didn't look reassured as he leaned against him. Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to put on a brave face but his insides were squirming.

Bobby made a scoffing sound, before saying, "You can't keep doing this! You can't keep just sending them over here out of the blue without any warning. I was on a hunt. What if I had brought something bad home with me? Or what if I had been gone for a lot longer—Yes, they were fine but that's not the point. The point is that they shouldn't be left alone like that—What do you mean…? Or are you telling me that you leave them alone for long periods by themselves?!" Bobby sounded absolutely furious and even Dean shrank back, his arm tightening around Sam's shoulder.

Dad had important things to do. They had people they had to save, he couldn't always be coddling them.

"John Winchester, they're kids," Bobby growled, his voice dropping a notch but the anger there was deadly, and now Dean bristled. He was more than just a kid, hell, he was a teenager now and he had gotten them here just fine and without causing anyone trouble, unless the broken window was taken into account, but he was going to fix it, he was.

Bobby didn't need to act like that, he didn't need to question Dad.

There was silence for another second before Bobby exclaimed loudly, "You know what? I hope you rot in hell, Winchester!" It was followed by what sounded like the phone being thrown against the wall, clearly ending the conversation.

Dean's stomach clenched as he rose. "C'mon," he whispered hurriedly to Sam as he pulled him up as well. Together they crept back to their room. They didn't talk but Dean knew that Sam had to be feeling the same sick feeling that he was.

Crawling back into their beds, they didn't say anything else, pretending to be asleep in case Bobby came up to check on them. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the door to the room creaked open and Bobby entered.

He lingered there for a moment, and Dean watched through his eyelashes as Bobby removed Sam's book from the bed and pulled the covers up. He was a little surprised when he turned to do the same for him and he closed his eyes fully, breathing as slowly and heavily as he could.

Bobby's hand ghosted over the top of his head and then he moved away.

For several long moments there was silence and then the door creaked as it was shut, but Bobby didn't close it all the way, allowing a sliver of light in from the hallway.

Sam only waited a heartbeat after Bobby's footfalls had faded before whispering, "Dean…"

Dean wasn't ready for this and he shook his head, suddenly feeling tired right down to his soul. "Go to sleep, dude. You didn't hear anything new."

"But—"

"Just—go to sleep. I'm so stuffed that it's coming out of my ears."

Sam didn't laugh. Rolling over so that his back was to Sam, Dean blew out a sigh, fighting off the uneasiness.

It's okay, Dean. I didn't like it either," Sam whispered and Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

Bobby and John would work it out the next time that they saw each other. Dean and Sam would prove that they weren't a problem and this could all be forgotten. This wouldn't become a usual occurrence; it was just a one-off thing…right?

It was only a few years later that Bobby cocked his shotgun and told John to never darken his doorstep again. It was a long, long, time before Sam and Dean saw Bobby again.

#

2007

The car began to decelerate and Sam looked up from the latest copy of the New York Times that he was perusing by flashlight. "What are you doing?" he asked in surprise, giving Dean a bewildered look.

"Pitstop. Gotta take a leak." Dean didn't look over as he gestured at the sign for a rest area that was coming up. Sam frowned and Dean made a point of rolling his eyes. "Dude, I swear—Look, just because we are on the run from the FBI doesn't mean that I'm stopping to piss on the side of the road. I'm a human being, I've got rights." He gave a tired grin in Sam's direction, but Sam could see right through it to the strain that was lying underneath and he wasn't in the mood to pretend.

"I'm not sayin' that, but—"

"Henriksen isn't going to be watching this oh-so-delightful rest area in the middle of nowhere Indiana, especially not at two in the morning. We're fine."

Sam huffed, staring out the window as Dean guided the Impala toward the small building, but he had to admit that he was right. The FBI was probably not watching this spot, even if the local police might be. The building was crumbling and old, and the back side looked to be covered with graffiti. There were a couple of benches outside, but one had been overturned and the other was resting at an uneven tilt. Only one of the outside lights was working, and even then, it looked to be on its last legs as it flickered in and out.

It looked like the perfect spot for a drug deal to go down or for a murder to take place and Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust. They frequented dingy gas stations and rest areas on the norm, and this was bad even by their standards.

His opinion sank even lower when he caught sight of the car parked haphazardly out front and the lone figure of a skinny man leaning against it while smoking a cigarette. The man straightened as they pulled in, before taking one look at the Impala and sinking back down to return to his cigarette.

"He's waiting for someone," Sam said, gesturing at him with his flashlight. "Who the hell could he be meeting at two in the morning? It can't be good. The police—"

"My God, Sam. They aren't going to show up and arrest us. Quit thinking so hard." Dean pulled into a parking spot.

Sam felt a muscle twitch in his jaw as he looked over at him incredulously. He knew that Dean was upset by what had happened. He'd seen his face after they'd gotten out of the bank and Sam knew that it was bothering him just as much as it was him. Well, maybe not quite as much, but it did bother him.

Sam shook his head and looked away as he sank lower in his seat. "Easy for you to say. You can turn your brain off and on like it's a light switch," he mumbled under his breath.

He didn't like this, being on the run from the law and from demons. It felt like everything was closing in around them and one wrong move would bring what little remained crashing down.

Dean cut the engine, silencing the car. "Hey," he said quietly and more serious, and Sam looked over. "I know that this is your first real time on the run from the law and all, but just think of it like when we were avoiding the CPS growing up. We always got out of those scrapes just fine. We've put plenty of distance between us and Milwaukee—"

"—Not far enough—"

"—Yes, trust me. It is at the very least far enough to take a piss in a bathroom with actual indoor plumbing."

Sam felt like screaming and rubbed both hands down his face. "This isn't the CPS, Dean, this is the FBI. They don't exactly stop at state or county lines," he reemphasized needlessly.

"No, I know," Dean said with an air of longsuffering, "but they can't be everywhere. There is no point in us living under a rock and giving up. We do what we do, and we keep our heads down and we'll be fine, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer as he thumped Sam hard on the shoulder before reaching into the back for his jacket. Shrugging it on, he opened the door and slid out.

Sam watched him as he walked towards the rest area and then shook his head as he heaved a sigh. Flicking the flashlight off, he pushed aside the pile of national and local newspapers that he had picked up the last time they had stopped at a gas station. He had been looking for any reference to them and the bank robbery that they had been a part of, and the minor references that he had found weren't helping his anxiety.

Only two years ago he'd had a promising career as a lawyer and now he was afraid of law enforcement showing up in a dingy rest area to arrest him.

Sighing again and rubbing at his forehead, Sam looked over at the man leaning against the car. He was on his second cigarette and kept glancing around. He fidgeted, never able to stay completely still and Sam had seen enough drug addicts to know that he was probably on something.

The throbbing of a bass and the accompanying echo of music made Sam twist around to see a large, jacked-up, pickup truck pull into the rest area. The truck roared in before screeching to a halt parked haphazardly in the two spaces right in front of the rest area.

Sam's hope that it might just be some stupid teenagers who didn't know how to drive faded when the man perked up. Dropping his cigarette, he ground it out under his heel.

He couldn't believe their luck. How had they managed to find what was probably the only drug deal going down for miles? This was ridiculous, and he might have to start searching for hex bags to see if they were cursed.

The bass quieted as the truck was turned off and then four men were spilling out, laughing loudly. The largest one of them squashed an empty can and then tossed it behind his shoulder and in the general direction of the parking lot.

"Asshole," Sam muttered.

The garbage can was maybe only two feet away, and if anyone deserved to be arrested it was idiots like that, not Sam. Not Dean. They were outstanding citizens in comparison. Sam didn't do drugs. He didn't litter.

He watched them as they meandered easily up the sidewalk while the other man hurried to meet them. Sam craned his head to see where they were going and wasn't overly surprised when they made their way past the door and towards the wall that was covered in graffiti.

The unease in his gut tightened and he couldn't help but wish that Dean would hurry the hell up and get back out there so they could leave before something bad happened.

Scrunching down further in his seat, he broke off another sigh. He just wanted to get on the road again and drive until they got to a border and they didn't even have to stop there. They could go to Canada or Mexico. There were just as many monsters there and on the plus side, there wasn't the FBI.

While he was wishing, he supposed that he could also hope that the yellow-eyed demon didn't have a green card.

Shaking his head in disgust at himself, Sam supposed that Dean was right. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and start…functioning. Break out of the shock of the news that the FBI was hunting them and that all of his dreams were destroyed and—Sam took a deep breath.

Raised voices made him look up to see that the skinny man was arguing with one of the other men, probably the leader from his position in the group. Dean, who had been walking back to the car, also turned with a small frown on his face to see what was happening. After a second, he started to walk again and didn't reach for his gun, which was a good sign.

Sam leaned forward as Dean opened the door and slid in. "Did you see the—"

"Assholes outside doing a drug deal? Oh, yeah. I don't think the guy can pay, he was trying to argue with the bigger one to let him have it and he'd pay him back later."

"Great. That's exactly what we need to get involved with now." Sam started absently chewing on his fingernail as Dean started the engine again.

"You sure that you don't need to pee? The inside is a lot better than the outside if that's what you are worried about and I'm not stopping again until my girl's tank is empty."

"I'm sure."

"You just don't want to have to watch a drug deal go down, you're too high and mighty for that," Dean fired back, trying to get Sam to smile and getting a scowl instead. For some reason, that made Dean actually smile, and Sam's frown deepened.

"Dude," he snapped in exasperation, "just drive."

Dean's smirk grew, apparently pleased with himself, and he pulled the gearshift down into reverse.

Another set of headlights appeared around the bend that led to the rest area and Dean paused, letting the Impala idle as the car moved past them to park as close to the building as it could. Dean continued to hesitate and Sam watched the car as well, curious.

The door popped open, and his heart sank as a young girl stepped out. She didn't even look to be sixteen and had probably just gotten her license. The girl made her way to the rest area, clutching her jacket and purse close.

What she was doing out at this ungodly hour, Sam didn't know, but he did know that they couldn't leave until she had made it back to her car safely.

"Dean—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Dean was already putting the car back into park and then letting his hands fall into his lap. "Why do people have to be such assholes?"

Sam shrugged, picking at his jeans. More often than not they played the role of asshole. Hell, they had terrified those poor people at the bank, even if it was for their own good in the long run.

Dean mindlessly tapped along with a beat that only he could hear as they waited, his eyes never leaving the group of men who were still arguing.

By the look of it, the skinny man wasn't having much success in his attempt to woo the others into giving him what he wanted. One of the bigger and burlier men finally shoved him, sending him flying back to land on his ass.

"Just shake it off and don't look back. It's only going to be more trouble if you do," Dean commented wryly and Sam agreed. For a moment, he didn't think that the man was going to back down as he scrambled upright, his fists up. One of the other men stepped up and moved towards him, and he slunk back a step, before scurrying away.

Sam and Dean watched him go around to his car and get inside, but he didn't leave. The car began to shake a moment later and Sam could only imagine that he was taking his anger out on the steering wheel.

"Well, there's the picture of completely stable," he said with a wince and Dean snorted.

"When you've got to have a hit, then you've got to have it. Let this be a reminder to you to not do drugs, Sammy." He flashed him a smile.

"Noted," Sam said dryly before rolling his eyes.

There was still no sign of the girl.

The skinny man's door opened and Sam's eyes snapped back to it as Dean tensed.

"Oh, no. Don't—don't do that, man. C'mon," he said in disbelief.

The man looked around, his eyes stopping briefly on the still-running Impala, before sliding away to lock in on the empty car.

Slinking over to it, he bent down, looking through the window and Sam could almost feel Dean vibrating with tension next to him. When the man reached for the door handle, probably to test if it was locked or not, Dean practically flew out of his seat, yelling, "Hey! Leave that car alone!"

Sam hurriedly followed suit. The man flinched, looking over at them in surprise as they both strode toward him.

"I wasn't doing anything!" he defended himself, holding his hands up as Sam and Dean closed in on him. Up close, Sam could see that he was trembling and that his eyes were bloodshot. Sores were scattered around his mouth and he couldn't keep his gaze locked on anything for more than a few seconds. Whatever he was doing, it wasn't good.

"That didn't look like anything," Sam said pointedly. "I mean, most people don't go around trying the handles on other people's cars just for the fun of it."

Dean had less patience than Sam did, and the strain of the last few days showed in the terse snap of his voice as he thrust his finger at the man's car. "Get in your damn car and drive away before I make you."

The man was getting twitchy, glancing between them, the rest area where they could still hear the other men talking, and the girl's car. "She's got some cash in the cupholder, I can see it. I just need twenty bucks, that'll cover it, I was only short a little," he babbled, moving towards the handle.

Dean wasn't having it and he sprang forward. The other man didn't even realize what had happened before Dean had him by the collar. Spinning him around, he slammed him up against the hood of his own car. Pressing his face into the cold metal, Dean snarled low and dangerous, "If you know what's good for you, then you are going to get in your car and drive away."

"HEY!"

Sam looked around at the yell to see that the other men had come around the corner to see what the commotion was.

"Nothing to see here. Get in your truck and drive away," Sam insisted cooly, moving to stand in front of his brother. Dean ground the man's face into the hood one more time before letting him up and shoving him back to land on his ass.

"Like he said, nothing to see here," Dean repeated, dusting his hands off.

"Looked like you were about to give Jeff a beat down. You can't do that."

It was the middle man that spoke, the one that was clearly the leader and Sam sized him up and down. He had a dangerous glint in his eyes, but he was also backed up by three other men and probably thought that he had the upper hand.

He should be more scared than he was, Sam could guarantee that.

"Didn't look like you were too worried about Jeff's wellbeing ten minutes ago. You sent him packing and without his fix too." Dean tsked, shaking his head. "That's not how friends treat friends."

"Yeah, well, I can do that to Jeff. You don't get to."

"What, is this some sort of messed up family thing?" Sam asked, arching an eyebrow casually.

The leader didn't rise to the bait as he looked them up and down, deemed them not a threat, and then sneered dismissively. "More of I want to be paid in the future and I can't if you rough him up. So, get lost, pretty boys."

Dean raised both eyebrows. "Get lost? Get—Look, there is nothing more I'd rather do than get lost but we aren't going anywhere until this car—" he gestured at the girl's "—has left safely."

"She's got money in there, Lucas! C'mon, I'm not going to take it all, just the twenty and some change. Then I can pay you in full," Jeff whined pitifully and Lucas turned, looking thoughtfully back over at the car and then at Sam and Dean.

"Don't try," Sam said quickly, "We were serious. You leave that car alone."

Lucas sniffed nonchalantly, looking back at the car as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Letting one dangle between his lips, he searched through his pockets for a lighter. "See here, boys, I came here specifically to give this moron here something to help him relax. Jeff couldn't pay, making this whole little jaunt pointless. So what if he takes a twenty? I'm sure whoever owns this car can afford it. I got bills I gotta pay just like anybody."

"Oh, boo-hoo. I'm sure that you can find someone else to pay for your drugs," Dean retorted impatiently.

Lucas's lips thinned as he stopped looking for his lighter and focused on Dean. "How about you get in your car and drive away," he said stiffly, "and then we won't have any more of a scene because this isn't any of your damn business. It will be better for you if you leave. See, it's four—well, five if you count Jeff—against two. Not exactly great odds as Tommy here worked for the National Guard for a little bit and Frank's been trained in the martial arts. And, well, I don't have to tell you that Trevor isn't a menace." He gestured at the rest of the men in his circle in turn. Tommy, the one in the back with a crew cut, puffed out his chest while Frank cracked his knuckles. Trevor, a man built like a mountain, just straightened to his full height.

The threat was clear but Sam wasn't fazed. If anything, he dearly wanted to ask just what level of martial arts Frank had managed to make it to or how long Tommy had been in the National Guard but refrained himself. Instead, he took a step forward, holding out a placating hand. They didn't need to get into a full-out brawl here.

"Look, I promise that we will be leaving and that we aren't going to turn you in to the police or anything. But that's not happening until we make sure that the girl leaves safely with everything that she came with."

"Why?" Lucas asked impatiently. "Jeff here needs the money and she left it behind. It will be a good lesson to her to never leave money out in plain sight again."

Dean was vibrating with fury next to him. "I don't like people who are cruel just to be cruel. But, because I'm not that way, I'm giving you one last warning. Get in your truck and get out of here."

"A warning? You want to give me a warning?" Lucas asked in what seemed to be genuine bafflement as he slipped the cigarette back into its container and pocketed it. At the same time, Trevor moved up to stand directly behind Lucas. His arm was probably bigger than Sam's head but they had fought worse and come out on top.

Hell, Sam had grown up always being the underdog in fights considering how young he had started.

"I don't give a rat's ass who I'm talking to," Dean spat, his face hardening with dislike and Sam moved a step closer, tactically backing his brother up. "You leave her alone."

"What is your obsession with the girl? Is she pretty or something? Think that you'll get lucky if you pretend to be the hero?" Lucas leered briefly, showing off his yellowing teeth. Sam had thought that he couldn't have liked Lucas any less than he already did, but he was being proven wrong.

"So you're a pervert and an idiot," he pointed out.

Lucas's lips thinned and he snapped his fingers at the men behind him and they started to fan out.

"I don't like you and you should know that around here, me not liking you isn't good." Lucas swaggered forward and thrust a finger in Sam's face. Dean growled something under his breath and Sam could see the instant that what little remained of his patience snapped completely.

Violence had been Dean's go-to answer ever since Dad had died and now was no different.

As Lucas swung his finger in Dean's direction—his mouth opening to no doubt spew more idiotic insults—Dean launched himself at him. His fist caught Lucas hard in the face, snapping his head to the side. Trevor lunged forward, ready to protect his boss, but Sam intercepted him with a swift punch to the jaw. He grunted, stumbling back a step but didn't go down like Sam had intended.

Beside him, Dean dragged Lucas down to the ground, pinning him there as Trevor tried to shove Sam back, but he was too quick. He ducked around him to attack from behind.

Tommy charged past them, going to Lucas's defense and trying to pull Dean off of him. Sam made to grab Tommy by the back of his coat, but before he could do so, Frank tackled him from the side and they went flying into the asphalt together.

Jeff stepped over them to scoop up a rock from the ground and pulled back his arm to smash it into the car window.

"Oh, no you don't!" Sam kicked back, catching something fleshy and making Frank cry out. The hands holding onto him let go and Sam popped back up onto his feet. Jeff was bringing the rock down when Sam grabbed him around the waist, yanking him away.

Someone, maybe Lucas, let out a wail of pain as a presence loomed up behind Sam. He started to turn, ready to face a new threat, but a thick arm came up to lock around his throat and he was yanked back against Trevor's broad chest.

Not providing any resistance and letting the momentum carry him, Sam thrust an elbow back into his stomach as hard as he could before he could get a good grip on his throat. Wheezing, Trevor's arm loosened and Sam grabbed it. Twisting forward, he bent it back into an unnatural position.

Trevor cried out, his face screwing up.

Frank sprang up next to them, his nose bleeding, and reared back to throw a punch at Sam. Letting go of Trevor, he ducked to avoid the swing and danced back around Trevor, putting him between him and Frank.

"SAM!" Dean's yell made his insides go cold and he whipped around, looking for his brother. To his confusion, Dean didn't appear to be in any distress. In fact, he appeared to have the upper hand as he backed up against the car, a struggling and now bleeding Lucas pinned against his chest. Dean gestured with his head to the side and Sam glanced over to see Jeff darting toward the rest area.

Sam didn't know what his plan was, but it couldn't be good.

He ducked under Trevor's arm, his mind whirling. Jeff was a problem, but leaving Dean alone to fight four opponents wasn't an option.

Lucas wailed out something and then Frank was breaking away from the group and also darting after Jeff.

"Damnit," Sam muttered and shoved Tommy back as hard as he could and took off after the other two.

Jeff had enough of a lead on both of them that the front door was already swinging lazily shut as Frank reached it. As he went to pull it open, Sam grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and spun him around. His fist connected directly with Frank's jaw, snapping his head back, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Grabbing the handle, Sam yanked the door open just as a hand closed around his arm. Apparently, he and Frank hadn't been the only ones to follow Jeff, but that was alright. That would make it a fair fight for Dean.

A high-pitched scream echoed through the half-open door.

Wheeling around, Sam threw a hasty punch that caught who turned out to be Tommy's ear, sending him sprawling back.

Ducking through the door, Sam took a second to orientate himself and then darted towards the girl's bathroom and shoved the door open hard enough to make it bang off the wall.

The bathroom was small, with room for only two stalls and one sink, which was running. The girl was backing up rapidly towards the far end as Jeff advanced on her, his eyes wide and his hands shaking.

"I just need your keys!" he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, and the girl cowered back. One hand scrambled for the purse that was around her shoulder, trying to dig through it for God only knew what.

"Stay back!" she insisted at the same time that Sam barked.

"HEY!"

Jeff whirled around right as the door to the bathroom tried to swing open.

Sam had known that the punch hadn't been enough to keep Tommy down for long, and he shoved the door shut again. "Stay out!" he snarled before turning back to Jeff. "Don't you dare take another step towards her." The door tried to open again and Sam slammed it shut with one hand, refusing to allow entry.

The girl straightened, having found what she had been looking for in her purse. It was a can of pepper spray that she aimed at Jeff's face with trembling hands. "Stay away. Don't come any closer, I'll use it!"

The door tried to open for a third time and Sam growled, keeping his weight pressed against it as he kept his gaze trained on Jeff.

Jeff, however, seemed to have grown impatient and not heeding the girl's threat, advanced.

There was no way that Sam was going to let that happen and leaped forward, leaving the door unattended.

The girl didn't hesitate with the pepper spray, dispersing its contents directly into Jeff's face as he took one step too close. He jerked back with a scream of his own, his hands flying up to protect his face.

A second later, Sam was bodily ripping him away and propelling him face-first against the wall as hard as he could. Jeff's head cracked against the tile and he went limp in Sam's grasp.

He let go, and Jeff dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks, his body hitting the floor with a thump.

The girl screamed again and Sam had just enough time to slide between her and Tommy, but it wasn't enough to put up a defense. Tommy grabbed him, and a moment later he was the one being shoved roughly up against the wall.

The only difference between him and Jeff was that Sam managed to get a hand out to brace his impact and keep his head from bouncing off the tiles. Grunting, he pushed himself back and into Tommy.

The girl screamed again and dropped the can of pepper spray as she darted out of their way. Sam went on the attack with a series of quick jabs and Tommy backed up, trying to shield himself from the onslaught.

Taking advantage of this, Sam ducked behind him and wrapped an arm around his throat in a headlock that cut off his air supply.

He glanced up, finding the girl's eyes. She looked terrified as she shrank back against the sink. "Go, get out of here. Get in your car and drive away," Sam managed to spit out as he struggled to keep his grip on Tommy as he began to writhe, trying to break free. She hesitated, looking petrified but this would be easier if he didn't have to worry about her. "GO!"

She didn't need to be told again and she bolted for the door.

Tommy struggled violently, one hand coming up to tug ineffectively at the arm wrapped around his throat while his other fumbled in his jacket pocket. Sam tightened his grip, bearing down. "C'mon, c'mon,—" he hissed, increasing the pressure.

Tommy let out a wheeze that sounded almost triumphant as he yanked whatever he had been looking for out of his pocket. Sam just caught sight of what looked to be a large pocket knife before Tommy flicked it open and stabbed up and directly into Sam's arm.

Sam's arm spasmed open as the injured muscles refused to keep working and he grunted, the pain hitting fast. Tommy didn't waste the advantage as he tore himself away. Falling forward onto his hands and knees, he coughed raggedly, the long and now bloody blade still clutched in one hand.

Sam's arm was bleeding heavily—he could feel the warmth soaking through his shirt and jacket—but he didn't have time to check just how bad it was as the door behind them burst open yet again.

For a brief moment, he thought that it was Dean, but when he twisted to look, he saw Lucas standing there. Blood was pouring from his nose and one of his eyes was swollen shut but he looked furious.

"You son of a bitch!" he screamed, pointing one finger in Sam's direction as Tommy staggered upright, still coughing and clutching the knife.

Tommy was the bigger of the two threats, between the knife and some skill, and Sam feinted towards Lucas before twisting to attack Tommy instead. He caught the wrist that held the knife and held on, keeping it firmly away from either of them. Forcing Tommy back several steps, Sam rammed him up against the edges of one of the stalls and jerked the wrist down hard, trying to get him to drop the knife.

Something popped in Tommy's wrist and he let out a howl. The knife fell, clattering to the ground and Sam kicked it away from them before ramming Tommy up against the stall again for good measure.

Lucas's hands found Sam's jacket and he began to bodily yank him off of Tommy.

Whirling around, Sam thrust him back and then threw a punch that landed directly on his already swollen and broken nose. Lucas screamed and he changed tactics, shoving Sam back toward Tommy, who didn't need an excuse to smash his fist against his face.

It caught him high on the cheekbone and snapped his head to the side, making his eyes water. Lucas, bolder now that Sam had taken a hit, sprang forward and grabbed him by the hair, viciously dragging his head back.

This wasn't good.

Grimacing, Sam struggled against the hold and kicked backward. His boot connected with Lucas's kneecap and he let out a long howl as his leg buckled, refusing to hold his weight.

He hit the ground hard. Tommy jumped Sam, bringing him down, and then all three of them were on the ground.

Tommy had the advantage and he planted a hand in the middle of Sam's back, keeping him in place. Sam bucked upwards, trying to get him off before he could do any additional damage. Something glinted just out of the corner of his vision and Sam glanced over to see the pocket knife lying only a few feet away.

It was within reach.

He lunged for it, but he hadn't been the only one who had seen it. Lucas was scrambling forward as well and he thrust an elbow back, catching Sam in the face.

He blinked back the resulting tears and then Tommy was shoving him back down as he pounced for the knife. He reached it seconds before Sam did. Sam's fingers scraped uselessly against the back of Tommy's hand before he gave it up and wrapped them instead around Tommy's rapidly swelling wrist and squeezed as hard as he could. Tommy let go with a whimper, the knife falling back to the ground.

Sam darted for it but before he could snatch it up, Lucas was shoving something else in his face. Tommy lunged for the knife in the second it took for Sam to focus on what it was and by then it was too late.

The knife hadn't been the only thing left on the floor or what Lucas had been going for. The can of pepper spray had also been on the ground, just waiting to be used.

With a grin, Lucas dispersed the contents right in Sam's face.

Sam hadn't been prepared for it and he didn't have time to close his eyes before he was hit with a full blast. Automatically flinching his eyes closed, he brought his hands up to shield his face but it was too late. It didn't do anything to stop the burning sensation that seared across his eyes and skin.

Crying out, Sam rolled away as the pain deepened. That only made it worse as the spray got into his lungs and his cry turned into a cough that wouldn't stop.

He couldn't see and he couldn't breathe.

For the first time that night, Sam felt real fear creep into his gut as he blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision as he continued to cough.

He didn't know where anyone else was, or what they were going to do to him.

Thrusting himself onto his knees, Sam tried to open his eyes, but they were streaming, and that only made the burning worse.

A hand closed around his collar and he was yanked sideways. He shoved an elbow blindly back but it didn't connect with anything and then his head was being bashed against what felt like the hinges of the stall door. Warm blood instantly began to seep across his face and his head was jerked back again.

"You're gonna regret this," who sounded like Tommy growled, spraying spit into Sam's face.

The fear in Sam's gut deepened. Lunging forward, he grabbed Tommy's face and gouged his fingers into any soft tissue that he could find. He was aiming for the eyes but he wasn't sure that it was what he found.

Whatever it was, it was sensitive because Tommy screamed and then drove his fist up into the right side of Sam's ribs. The blow was hard and fast and punched the air from his lungs. Before Sam could recover, Tommy followed it up with another one that was just as hard and was going for a third when Sam reared up to meet him and grabbed the back of his head. Bringing it down, he headbutted him as hard as he could.

Something clattered to the ground as Tommy grunted and grabbed at Sam's hair in return.

Sam still couldn't see and he dragged his hands down, clasping Tommy by the side of the face, and rammed his head back into what must have either been the wall or the stall. He must have hit it just right because he went limp, his body draping over Sam's.

"You bastard—!" Lucas snarled closer than Sam had been expecting, making him jump.

He was bracing for more pain when the door to the bathroom banged open, announcing yet again someone's entrance. Sam's heart skipped a beat. It might be Dean, or it could be Frank or Trevor. If it was the latter, then it meant that Dean was in trouble and Sam was in no condition to be able to help.

"Hey, get off him!"

Sam swallowed back the sob of relief that threatened at the sound of his brother's voice and tried to sit up, shoving Tommy off.

The clear threat didn't stop Lucas from lunging forward, knocking Sam back down at clawing at his face. It was the last mistake that he made that night.

No sooner had his fingers touched him than Sam felt him being bodily dragged off. A short wail was followed by the repeated sounds of flesh on flesh before there was a final thump of what sounded like a body hitting the floor.

For a long moment, the only sound in the bathroom was Dean's harsh breathing and the water still running in the sink.

Sam grunted as he kicked Tommy's limp legs off of his but didn't try and get up quite yet, focusing on his own ragged breathing and the insistent burning sensation across his face.

No one else came through the door. The fight was over.

"Sam?"

Groaning, Sam made a herculean effort as he used the side of the stall door to pull himself up into a sitting position and then leaned against it, still fighting to catch his breath. The pepper spray was still in his throat and he muffled a cough into his shoulder, wincing as the motion jarred his ribs.

It hurt to breathe, his chest throbbing where Tommy had hit him, and he leaned forward, trying to quell any more coughs. It didn't work and another series of weak coughs tore through him and he brought his right arm up, wrapping it around his ribs to provide pressure against the pain.

Not that his chest and face were the only things that hurt. His head throbbed dully as warm blood continued to seep down his face, making a steady trail down past his ear and onto his neck.

"Sam? You okay?"

A note of deep concern was in his brother's voice but Sam didn't answer as he continued to cough. He tried to take a deeper breath and winced. Oh, God, that had hurt. He tried to force his eyes open again but it was still too much and he squeezed them shut tightly.

He needed to tell Dean that he was alright, that he was just a little roughed up.

"Sammy, what's wrong? How bad is it?" Dean repeated more urgently as he crossed over to crouch next to him and his hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to straighten from his hunched position. Grabbing his chin, his brother tilted his head up and Sam tried to bat his hands away.

Swallowing back another cough, he rasped out, "I'm okay, I am. You?"

"Don't lie to me. Talk to me, tell me what's wrong?" Dean wasn't letting him move away as his cold fingers danced across his face, one thumb trying to pull up one of Sam's eyelids as he tried to discern for himself the problem. Sam let out a low hum, pushing back against Dean.

"I'm fine. I am, I just—the bastard pepper sprayed me in the face. I can't see." He groaned but that only resulted in more coughing which immediately sent the pain flaring alive across his whole body. One of Dean's hands dropped down to his shoulder even as the other moved up to Sam's head.

"Pepper spray? I thought—" Dean laughed, sounding relieved. "We can handle pepper spray."

"It's not funny. It friggin' burns." Sam wrapped his arm tighter around his ribs and tried to hunch back over. "And you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?"

Dean snorted as he tipped Sam's head to the side and began to comb through his hair. "Only bruises and my left wrist might be sprained, but that's it. The dick fought dirty—And okay, my ass. You're not okay. Your head is leaking like a rusty bucket. He got you pretty good."

"It's fine."

Dean hummed noncommittedly even as his hand dropped back down to Sam's shoulder and stilled. "Well, you'll live at least. C'mon, get up. We'll flush out your eyes so that you can see for yourself just how 'fine' you look."

"Right," Sam snorted softly but didn't make a move to get up as he dropped his head and curled up tighter. He was starting to feel a little woozy now that the adrenaline was fading.

"Sam?" Dean questioned after a second and Sam shook his head, not really knowing himself. "C'mon. Up and at 'em." The hand squeezed his shoulder firmly, a silent offer of support.

Biting at his lower lip to hold back a groan, Sam stiffly unwrapped his arm from his ribs and held out his hand so that Dean could pull him up.

Dean's sharp inhale broke through the quiet and a palpable tension filled the air.

"Is that your blood?" he snapped curtly, all jest gone from his voice and replaced with something that sounded a lot like fear as he grabbed Sam's arm, feeling up it before he pushed the limb aside and tugged instead at his jacket, trying to pull it open.

Sam was confused for a moment until he remembered the pocket knife and the cut on his arm.

"Oh, that-that's just a scratch. It's nothing, probably won't even need stitches. Tommy had a knife."

"A knife?! Dude, that's—that's a lot of blood. That's—" Dean's voice was rising with panic as he crowded in on him, making Sam feel a little claustrophobic.

He grabbed ahold of his arm, trying to use it as leverage to push Dean back a little and give him some space to breathe. "Dean—" he tried to say but Dean ignored him as he roughly hiked his shirts and jacket up, making Sam's skin pebble with cold. "Woah! Woah, what are you doing?" he grunted as he tried to pull them back down but Dean held him still with a hand on his chest.

Sam forced his eyes open, trying to blink them clear to see what had Dean so freaked. It wasn't working and Dean wasn't saying anything, frozen next to him. "Dean? Dean, I can't—let me up. I've got to wash this stuff out of my eyes. Move. I want to move."

Sam tried to get up again and Dean unfroze.

"Stay still—" he ordered sharply, his hand jumping to Sam's shoulder to pin him in place. "Don't get up, we've got to—you've—"

"What?" Sam snapped. It wasn't like Dean to be lost for words. "I've what?"

"Sammy, you can't—don't you feel it?"

"Feel wh—?" Sam started to ask before Dean began to press against his chest and the pain roared to life. He tilted his head back, throat working as he tried to keep from crying out and his fingers spasmed into fists. "Dean, I can't see, I don't know what's going on," he ground out when he could.

Dean didn't let up the pressure, and his voice was shaking slightly when he said, "He stabbed you. The son of a bitch stabbed you."

It wasn't what Sam had been expecting. "Stabbed?" he repeated in surprise.

Dean released him, standing. "That looks bad. Put pressure on it, I'm going to get something to help stop the bleeding," he directed as he moved away.

"Dean?" Sam tried to get up and follow him but the sharp pain flaring through his chest held him back. Sam brought his hand up to the right side of his chest, still in disbelief. Stabbed? That was…He'd have felt it if he had gotten stabbed, wouldn't he? But his hand was met with the warmth and thickness of blood, and there was a lot of it.

He had taken a couple of hard hits to the chest. He'd thought that it was just flesh on flesh but it could have been the knife. Tommy had been reaching for it the last he'd seen and Sam had been going for his eyes, he would have wanted to make him hurt.

Across the room, he could hear Dean dispensing what sounded like the entirety of the paper towels, and the truth of the matter sunk in.

"Damnit," Sam muttered, letting his head drop back against the wall in frustration even as he brought his other hand up and locked his fingers together so that he could apply pressure against the steady flow of blood.

This wasn't good. Not good at all.