The alley was pitch dark, similarly to the anxiety-ridden and troubled thoughts swirling around and running rampant in his mind. He brings a cautious, trembling hand to his abdomen, releasing a strained breath through his nose. His fingers come back red, and for the briefest of seconds his heart skips a few beats when memories from the Cage come washing back, and he thinks, I wonder when Lucifer will put me back together again, just to tear me apart.

He knows that this time is real, though. The pain is an abrupt and grounding reminder to this. He shakes his head.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean urges beside him, and Sam wants to obey at his brother's commanding voice. But it's so hard. The pain is fire, almost as hot and searing as it was in the Cage, yet there was a difference, he knew. A defining and outdrawing difference.

The bullet is still lodged in his stomach. He feebly thinks to himself that he should take it out, but Dean interrupts his thought process. "Just wait 'till you get to safety, Sammy. You'll get all doped up on meds, and feel good as new."

It's getting harder to focus on Dean's words, though. He looks at his brother, but not truly. Everything is blurring together. The shapes of the trees, the gravel, the distant, distant buildings—all smudges of grey in his peripheral vision. He blinks.

"Sam?" Dean asks worriedly, sensing his brother's distress. "Sam, stay with me. You hear me?"

Sam does hear him, but only barely. He manages to nod, the movement coming from his nearly-spent adrenaline. His older brother sounds distraught. Why is he so upset? Perhaps Sam had done something wrong again. It's the only reasonable answer.

"Keep pressure on the wound," Dean orders. After a moment, he adds thoughtfully, "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shoots back, a small, breathless laugh dancing on his tongue but never making it past his lips. He uses his remaining strength to apply more force to the wound, and gasps in pain when he does so.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean says. "Just breathe. Slow, deep breaths."

Sam counts in eight, out eight. He stumbles on.

The road ahead is in view, but still so far. How could that be? he thinks blindly, and a spout of nausea overtakes him. He falls to all fours, and Dean curses. The ground skims his palms and knees, but it's not an insufferable amount of pain compared to his stomach.

"Fucking hell," Dean scolds angrily, his expression dark. "You're seriously about to give up now?" His voice steadily rises, and Sam winces. "After all the times you've been injured, after all the times you've died, you're falling victim to a meager bullet? Look up, Sammy!" With a pained effort, Sam obliges. "There," Dean points to the road, "there is safety. There is home. So now get your lazy ass off the dirt, and move!"

A new wave of fury moves through Sam, and he brings himself to his feet.

"Good, little brother," Dean encourages, his tone soft this time. "You can do this."

And so Sam does. When he reaches the blacktop he collapses on his back, exhausted and spent, tired and dizzy. His relief quickly turns to frustration, however, when he sees no cars in sight. Of course nobody is out and about, it's three in the morning.

The stars taunt him, twinkling high above in mockery. With all of his strength diminished, he lets his head fall, and closes his eyes. It's silent. It's peaceful.

That is, until the deep growl of an engine lulls him into wakefulness. He blinks once. Twice. Thrice. The blinding brightness of two headlights makes him squint, and he sees a figure move. Run toward him.

"Oh my God, Sam!" a feminine voice shrieks, and at first he doesn't recognize it. But soon, Amelia is kneeling before him, and is rambling, "I've been driving for hours looking for you. Hours!" She pauses, and Sam watches as her eyes widen in shock, undoubtedly spotting the blood. "You're bleeding!" she exclaims, her hands prodding at the wound.

Sam struggles to sit up.

"D-Dean," he stutters. "We have to go back and get Dean."

Amelia's eyebrows furrow in confusion, her features scrunching up in a panicked curiosity. "Dean?" she repeats questioningly.

Sam looks back to the dark alleyway he had just crawled through, looking frantically for his older brother.

"Dean's dead," Amelia whispers.

Sam looks to her. Looks back at the alley.

He searches the shadows, yet deep down, he knows that Dean won't be there.