Summary: The boys have to put all of their training to use when assassins are on their tails, along with an angry spirit.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the awesome reviews! So sorry this came out later than promised.

Erased From This World

Chapter 9

Silence surrounded him. He could hear nothing but the blood pounding in his own ears as his eyes rested on the still form of his brother. Sam pushed himself up, ignoring the searing pain that erupted in his palms when they made contact with the piercing glass. He did not think about what to do. He ignored the pain he now felt in his chest; he only wanted to get to his brother. He can’t be…NO! Don’t even think about it…

Sam limped out of the broken shop window, and rushed towards his brother who still lay on the ground, face down on the hard tarmac. No, no, no ,no…Sam fell to his knees beside Dean, his eyes fixed on the dark spot on Dean back, slowly increasing in size by the second. The blood felt terribly warm and wet against his hands and fingers as he gently turned Dean around.

His face was pale; too pale. Sam felt for his brother’s pulse on the neck and almost leapt up in joy when he felt a faint pounding. It was not much, but it was there. San’s eyes flew to Dean’s face and noticed his brother’s eyes were open, though they looked glazed. He looked down Dean’s chest and saw another blotch of blood growing larger, like the wound in the back. The exit wound.

“Dean?” Sam tried, feeling tears press on his eyes. The bullet had not punctured the heart, but he was unsure whether or not a lung had been damaged.

His brother blinked a couple of times, seemingly trying to draw enough strength to speak. Dean tried to mutter something but failed; instead he tried to lift a hand in Sam’s general direction. Sam grasped it, allowing his brother to know that he was there.

“Dean, I’m going to have to move you. We have to get out of here.” Sam said, gently tucking his arms around his brother.

Dean was limp in his grasp. Sam could feel his brother trying to hold on as his strength slowly ebbed away. Sam made it to the car before realisation shot through him. He’s coming. He should have realised it right away that the sniper, the assassin was on his way towards them. He had to have moved since he had not shot at Sam as soon as he had raised his head. He could be here any second. I have to get him away from Dean. I have to. Sam moved towards the alley a little away from the Impala instead. He could feel his brother’s blood starting to curl around his fingers in a slow, warm stream. Hold on, Dean. Just hold on.

He headed for two big black dustbins and carefully placed Dean behind them, making sure that he could not be seen. Before leaving him Sam tucked off his jacket, ignoring the painful jabs in his chest, and put it over Dean’s chest.

“I’ll be back, Dean. I promise.”

Sam ran out of the alley, again ignoring the pain in his chest that erupted. He did not even want to look at it, in fear of what he would find. He could feel his own blood trickle almost gently down his chest. He forced his legs to run away from the Impala, away from Dean. He was glad to feel the coolness of his gun against the skin on his back. At least he was armed; he was not completely helpless.

Then he heard him. Long strides, boots thudding against the tarmac behind him. The hunter was being hunted. Even though this had been his plan, he could not help but feel panic rise in his chest. Run. He ordered his body to respond, to take flight, to run faster than what was pleasant. And still he heard his pursuer; always behind him. This assassin was better, smarter than the others, Sam concluded. He seemed to always be one step ahead, never resting.

Sam rounded a corner and stopped; trying to keep his breath quiet and under control. He heard the footsteps following him slow down to a slow, steady walk. No; he can’t know that I’m right here; he can’t. The footsteps neared the corner. Sam felt his heart pounding hard against his throbbing chest, and still he waited. The footsteps slowed down even further as Sam heard them approach the corner.

Sam allowed his mind to drift back to all the training his father had drilled him through. Fight dirty, Sam thought, don’t give him a chance; it’s not like he’s going to go easy on you.

He was right by the corner now and still he walked. Sam was ready for him. He felt his elbow make contact with human tissue and did not hesitate to send a kick in the assassin’s direction. However, Sam soon realised that this assassin was just as well trained in combat as he was, if not better. He sent a fist in the direction of the assassin’s face which the other avoided and instead returned the favour. Each man gave his all, or at least Sam hoped that this was the assassin’s all. The assassin kicked Sam hard in the chest and Sam only barely refrained from screaming when unbearable pain coursed through his chest. As he fought, however, Sam’s body and muscles seemed to remember moves his father had taught him, and his blows became instinctive rather than a conscious process.

Sam stopped when the assassin landed hard on the tarmac. He loomed over him, taking care not to stand close enough to be in reach of the man’s legs. The assassin pushed himself onto all fours and stood up again. Sam did not understand the feeling that was coursing through him. He knew that this man wanted to kill him. He knew that Dean was fatally wounded because of this man, but he was not sure if he would be able to kill him.

He saw the man advance at him again. He saw his dark eyes, the short black hair, the handsome face that was lined with blood. No. He was not sure he would be able to kill him. Sam tensed the muscles in his right arm, brought it back and swung with almighty force at the assassin’s face. Kill, no; wound, yes.

The assassin was on the ground again and Sam took the chance to continue his run. He cursed himself for not being strong enough to end it, but he had not wanted to. He did not want to kill anyone, especially not now. He dodged in and out of alleys and it was not long before he heard faint footsteps some way behind him again.

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran faster than his legs would let him. He almost fell when he turned sharp down a narrow alleyway with towering sides, leaving no places to change your mind. He kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to let himself look back. He ignored the pain in his side, telling him to stop. His head was screaming, his heart banging hard against his bloody chest.

He saw a high fence looming up ahead of him, and he shortened his strides for a few steps while calculating the distance. He sped forwards again and jumped up against the fence, crawling his way over it. He landed hard on the other side, falling down onto his side. He heaved for breath as he tried to push himself up. He heard footsteps running along the alley the way he had just come. He forced himself up and ran on. He rounded a sharp corner and recognised the street.

He ran on down the street, still ignoring the stitch in his side, his pounding head and banging heart. He saw the trustworthy black car parked on the side of the road. He ran past it and hurried on up another narrow alley. He skidded to a stop when he approached a pair of large black dustbins. Heaving for breath he walked round them and fell to the ground, which was covered in his brother’s blood. He looked into his brother’s face, seeing only a pale replica of the face he once knew.

He touched the other’s hand gently and whispered in a hoarse voice, “Dean?”

“Dean?” He tried again. Please, Dean, come on; just open your eyes. His brother was still and Sam felt fear swell up inside of him. His brother still had a pulse. He was still alive. But for how long?

Sam listened, tried to hear if he was still being followed, but heard nothing. He gently lifted Dean, telling himself that it was just his imagination that Dean felt lighter than before. He carried Dean out to the Impala, and gently placed him on the backseats, so he could lie down. He knew he had to tend to those wounds; he should have done immediately, but it was not safe here. The assassin was still out there and Sam knew that his job was not done.

Sam sat down in the driver’s seat, thankful that Dean had left the keys in the car. He started the engine and drove hurriedly through the town. He was out after ten minutes and had not seen a sign of the assassin. He drove for another few minutes before pulling the car over.

He ran to the trunk and pulled out the first aid kit. This is taking too long. He hurried back to Dean and tried to clean the wounds the best he could, a difficult task considering he did not have everything it took. No, no, no. This is not working properly. He had torn Dean’s shirt and t-shirt not caring much for Dean’s personal feelings for his clothing right now. He put on a quick dressing, though a red blotch was already building through the material.

“Dammit, Dean!” Sam yelled as he jumped back in the driver’s seat and drove on. He grabbed his phone and dialled Bobby’s number. “Bobby! It’s Sam. Are you still at the Roadhouse?”

“Bobby’s number. “Bobby! It’s Sam. Are you still at the Roadhouse?”

“Yeah, Sam, I am.” Bobby’s voice sounded through the line. “Are you guys okay?”

“No, we’re not okay…Dean’s been shot.” The words seemed to make everything too real and Sam fought hard to keep the tears at bay.

“Sam, listen to me. How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Sam admitted. “He’s lost a lot of blood and still losing.”

“How far are you from the Roadhouse?” Bobby sounded worried, but as usual was a master at keeping calm in desperate situations.

“I would say about a two hours drive.” We’re never going to make it with that medical kit.

“Sam. Sam! Listen. We’ll meet you and we’ll do what we can. You just drive like there never was a speed limit.”

Sam agreed and gave Bobby the directions to the road he was following, put the phone down and pressed his foot hard against the pedal. He was not sure if he had ever driven this fast before. He wondered what Dean would say if he knew what Sam was asking of his car. I’m doing it to save your ass, brother.

Sam stopped a couple of times along the way to change the bandages, but the bleeding did not seize. He tried hard not to panic and comforted himself with the thought that at least there wasn’t a motorbike with an assassin on board on his tail.

Sam jumped in his seat when his phone’s ringing broke through his train of thoughts. He quickly picked it up and saw BOBBY written across the screen.

“Sam? Where are you now?” Bobby asked when Sam answered the phone.

Sam told him and explained they had just passed a big bulk of stones.

“I know where it is, Sam.” Bobby continued when Sam fell silent. “We’ll meet you in roughly five minutes.”

Five minutes. That was not too long. Sam glanced back at Dean and felt tears press in his eyes at the sight of his brother’s pale face. Even his lips had started to loose colour, but Sam drove on, determined to do whatever he could to save Dean. Before five minutes had passed, Sam saw the headlights from Bobby’s truck and pulled over. As soon as the truck reached them it stopped and Bobby and Ellen jumped out.

“How’s he doing?” Bobby asked as he and Ellen ran to the Impala.

“Not good.” Sam admitted.

“He’s in the back.” Sam said as he opened the back door of the car.

Bobby and Ellen fell silent as they took in the bloodstains on the clothing, the pale face, the closed eyes, the limp body.

“What the hell happened?” Ellen demanded.

“We had to stop for some groceries.” Sam said, avoiding eye contact with the other two. “We couldn’t park right outside the shop, so I told Dean to park on the other side of the street while I got the stuff. I got what we needed and went to pay for it when…well…er…I caught this red light in my eye. Next minute it was at my chest and I jumped for it. The bullet went through this big glass window. I was on the ground when I saw Dean…falling when the bullet hit him.” Sam paused for a moment, shuddering at the memory. “The bullet went through though.”

“How did you get rid of the assassin?” Bobby asked as he lifted Dean’s shirt and Sam’s jacket away from the wound on Dean’s chest. Sam gulped when he saw that the blood had seeped through the dressing again.

“I shared some of my feelings.” Sam said, his eyes now fixed on the bloody shoulder.

“Ellen.” Bobby said calmly. “Get me the kit in the truck. Get Sam to help you; it’s pretty heavy.”

“Come on, Sam.” Ellen tucked at Sam’s sleeve, pulling him away from his brother. They hurried to the truck, and while Sam pulled the medical box out of the truck, Ellen surveyed him carefully. “I take it the glass exploded.”

“What?”

“The glass from the window.” Ellen hissed. “I guess it exploded with you in front of it.”

“Yeah?” Sam said hesitantly.

“So, how many pieces of glass have you got in you?”

“A few I guess; I haven’t checked.” Sam said. Dean. We have got to help Dean. All this can wait.

With Ellen’s help they started carrying the box back to the Impala. Maybe it was because the adrenalin had kept San going before, but he suddenly felt all the pain that surged through his body. He gritted his teeth and made himself ignore it. They put the box down by the Impala’s back door, in Bobby’s reach.

“I need to get this cleaned and sewed up. The same with the one on the back.” Bobby explained as he got what he needed from the box and started to dab the wound in the shoulder clean. It was clearly difficult as blood kept oozing out of it.

“Will he make it?” Sam asked the question that had been weighing on his mind for a long time.

“Hand me the needle and thread, will you?” Bobby asked Ellen, avoiding Sam’s question.

“Just tell me, Bobby; is there even a chance?” Sam asked once again feeling the tears in his eyes. Bobby sighed and looked up at him.

“It doesn’t look as if a lung has been damaged; then he probably would have been dead now. That’s at least something. When I get him patched up, it is mostly up to him.” Bobby took a deep breath and continued. “He’s lost a lot of blood, Sam.”

Sam nodded, not daring to say anything that would cause the dams to flood.

It did not take Bobby long to do the wounds. He sighed as he stood up, accepting the towel Ellen was holding for him.

“Let’s get back to the Roadhouse.” Bobby said as he turned and headed for the truck.

Disclaimer: I still don't own the show or the characters.