Dean Winchester was completely unaware of the helicopter ride he was forced to endure, which was a blessing in that he hated heights and would have been acutely uncomfortable had he been conscious, and a curse, in that he was unaware because he was hovering on the brink of death.

Sam Winchester had an entirely different experience, one that faded and flickered in and out and that was far scarier than Dean's. Images and sounds filtered through his consciousness, all of them scary and unfamiliar. People were touching his leg and chest, putting something over his face, poking things into his arm. The only constant, the one, terrifying thing that never changed, was that Dean remained motionless and still.

Bobby Singer's experience was infinitely worse than either of the Winchesters. He had the unfortunate luck of being completely conscious the entire trip over, from the moment they got into the helicopter. It was one of the absolute worst experiences of his entire life.

"Okay, let's get Dean in first," a medic, Jeff, said, directing them where to put Dean's stretcher, then reaching down to help pull Sam's in. There were three medics and the pilot, and at first Bobby wasn't sure he'd be allowed to go, but they waved him in and sat him next to Sam's still unconscious form, wanting him there should the youngest Winchester wake.

Bobby watched as Sam's leg was wrapped with a pressure bandage, a saline drip inserted into his arm. The medic then started cleaning up the cuts on his chest and face, gently but thoroughly scrubbing them out. Dean had two medics working on him, one still squeezing the bag over his mouth and nose, as the other listened to his chest with a stethoscope. Singer didn't miss the look Jeff gave his partner, or the words he muttered.

"I've got crackles in his right lung, no breath sounds at all in his left, probably punctured." Jeff continued inspecting Dean, running his hand over his chest and belly, listening with the stethoscope again. "Abdomen's swelling, pulse erratic. Heart's going into palpitations." The medics shared a look.

"You thinking a rib punctured the pericardium?"

"Yeah. Kid's in cardiac tamponade. You add that to the pneumonia…"

"He's in some serious shit." The other medic nodded, looking to the monitors above Dean's head. "We gotta get there fast."

Bobby drew a suddenly shaking hand over his forehead, forcing himself to take a calming breath before turning back to the medic dealing with Sam.

"This kid's gonna need some surgery, repair the vascular damage in the left thigh, and his knee is pretty screwed up," he said, and Bobby had to close his eyes to keep himself from yelling in frustration. Couldn't the Winchesters, just once, catch a damn break? As if on cue, Sam stirred, groaning, and Bobby quickly grabbed one of his hands as he started to panic, gasping for breath.

"Hey son, hey, you're okay, we're on the way to the hospital," Bobby whispered as an oxygen mask was slipped over Sam's face.

"Dean?" It was a whispered plea, a beg for Bobby's reassurance.

"He's hanging on," Bobby answered, looking Sam in the eye. "He's hanging on. You do the same, okay?" Sam nodded, gulping down air, turning away from the older man to see Dean.

"Dean," Sam whispered, then struggled to raise his voice. "Dean, hang on, you jerk." Bobby chuckled lightly, watching as Sam looked at Dean half-expectantly, hoping for the familiar retort. His face fell slightly when there was no answer. Bobby gripped his hand reassuringly.

"Pulse is dropping," the medic squeezing the bag said, and the other cursed as he injected something into Dean's IV.

"V-fib." The medic put the bag aside and started compressions on Dean's still chest as the other medic moved to the side.

"Okay, I'm going to give him some epi then try the paddles," the medic announced as his partner continued CPR and nodded.

"Dean, damn it," Sam said even more loudly, nearly shouting, struggling to sit upright. The medic was trying to hold him down, looked to Bobby for assistance. Bobby helped hold him down as he screamed.

"Dean! Not like this, you bastard!" Bobby gripped him by the shoulders, watching with tears in his eyes as Dean was shocked and Sam screamed again as there was no change.

"Why the hell is this happening?" He yelled, and Bobby gripped him more forcefully, lip trembling. "Why Dean? Hasn't he been through enough shit? Haven't both of us?" One arm escaped Bobby's grip and flew toward the medic's face, narrowly missing clipping his jaw.

"Sam! Stop it! You're just hurting yourself more, Sam!" Bobby shouted, but Sam continued to yell, struggling against the men restraining him.

"Bobby! You gotta help him! Bobby, please!" Bobby felt the tears that had come to his eyes spill over as he held Sam's shuddering body.

"I can't, Sam, I can't," he whispered into the thick hair, unable to stop the tears that came as Sam stopped screaming and lay there weakly, sobs coursing through his body, breaths coming in heaving wheezes. Bobby looked up blearily and noticed that Dean was still hanging on, barely, watched with relief as the erratic mountains continued to march across the monitor. Sam went limp beneath his hands, pain and fear and exhaustion and blood loss taking their toll.

Bobby stroked the dark hair, wondered at how these two boys had become like his sons, wondered at how he had let it come to this.

"I'm sorry, John," he whispered, still running a hand through Sam's hair, "I'm sorry, Johnny."


When they reached the hospital, Sam and Dean were whisked away before Bobby even recognized where they were. He was sent to the waiting room and told to fill out paperwork.

He filled it out numbly, then sat, head in hands, and waited for news.


A/N: Sorry for the super long wait, guys, life has been crazy! I'm in college now…