Dean pounded on the door to the motel room until it finally started to give way. He needed to get to his dad. He didn't even care if the demon had followed his dad inside. Dean knew he had to help with the case, especially now that he was nine. The door was bouncing back at him as he punched, but it still wouldn't break in.

"Quiet, Sammy!" he yelled down to his little brother. Sam knew that Dean was just frustrated that the door wasn't open yet. Sammy frowned and clung onto his hurt arm, continuing to sob despite his brother's request.

Sam stood by, watching Dean do everything in his power to break into the motel room to check on their father. He knew Dean was hurt too, probably more so than Sam was. And even though Sammy was only five, he knew Dean would never admit to needing help.

Taking a deep breath, Dean screamed and threw his body into the door. Dean went running across the old motel room to stop himself from falling on impact. Sammy was frozen in the entranceway; he couldn't move his eyes away from the sight of his father passed out in the corner.

The blood was running down the center of John's forehead. The demon had gotten to him after it had hurt the little boys. John had tried to lead it away from his sons, and unfortunately for him, he was a bit too successful at distracting it. The boys had ran several blocks in the outskirts of Chicago to get back to the crappy motel, knowing that was where John was headed.

"Dean!" Sam yelled into the space, continuing to cry. He had never seen his dad unconscious like that before.

"Sammy," Dean said in a panic, "go pack up our stuff; I'll call for help but we've got to get out of here! They'll take us away!"

John had previously warned the boys about the potential dangers of being alone in a hospital or in front of the police without a parent. The command had stuck with Dean… he didn't want social workers to come separate him from Sammy.

"I... I c-can't, Dean," Sammy said. Dean looked behind him to see Sammy, still in the doorway clutching his arm, his whole body shaking. "It h-hurts w-when I m-move it… a-and I'm c-cold, Dean."

Dean took off his own sweatshirt and immediately went over to Sammy, a pleading look on his face. He gently put it over Sammy's body and helped his little brother slide his hurt arm into the sleeve. Dean took hold of his brother's good hand and pulled Sam into the room more.

Dean was able to get the cell phone out of his dad's jean pocket and called 911. Sammy smiled at Dean's fake deep voice on the phone, relieved that his brother knew what to do.

Sammy listened quietly as Dean gave the address of the motel and the room number, but as soon as the information was recorded, Dean hung up on the operator. He reached in John's other pocket for any cash he may have had on him and then threw some extra clothes into a backpack.

"We have to get out of here before they come for dad, Sammy," Dean said, walking over to him. Sam held onto to Dean tightly with his one good arm and the two of them sprinted down the second floor steps and out of the motel parking lot.

They turned the corner onto the street with a sprint, the water from the puddles splashing up into their faces as they attempted to leap across them. Sammy's stomach turned inside out as it groaned and sputtered. They ran for about ten minutes before Dean felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. "I need a b-break, Dean," Sammy whispered, moving into the closest alley.

Dean could sense his brother felt defeated. Sam sat up against the brick wall of the alley and brought his knees to his chest. Dean watched him scrunch his eyes in pain when his leg came in contact with his twisted arm. A fresh breeze filled the alley and Sammy sunk inside the sweatshirt in an attempt to hide from the cold. He was fading fast.

Dean panicked. He couldn't bring Sammy to a doctor. They would get taken. He didn't have enough money for another motel or for much food. Dean was starving and he knew Sammy must have been hungry by now too. Dean realized he would have to steal… but that would mean leaving Sammy alone for a little while. The last time Dean tried to steal food, Sammy ruined the whole thing. He just wasn't quiet enough.

Dean crouched down in front of his little brother. "Sammy," he whispered softly, "there's a drug store across the street. I'm gonna go get you some stuff, ok? Food... and something for your arm."

"Ok, Dee," Sammy muttered. Dean knew something was wrong if Sammy wasn't going to put up a fight about being left alone, even if it would just be for a few minutes.

"How's your head?" Sammy asked him.

Dean had forgotten about the demon throwing him into the cement wall back at the abandoned factory. He subconsciously brought his hand up to the back of his head, flinching at the pain of his own touch. "It's fine, Sammy," he lied.

Dean stood up and was about to walk away when he heard another little whisper.

"Dee?"

"What, Sammy? I'll be right back. I promise."

"Get something to help your head be better."

Dean smiled at his little brother's request. "Ok, Sammy," he said, "I'll make my head better too." He watched Sammy give a little nod and Dean quickly made his way across the street, trying to come up with a plan for taking the necessary supplies.