A rolled piece of sheet between Dean's teeth. Sam cups his hands against flushed cheeks.

"Hold on to me, bro."

Sam slips behind, pulling him tight. Arms around Dean's chest, left leg over Dean's.

Sam's soft murmur, a litany in his ear, "I've got you."

Bobby nods at Sam's sickened gaze. His hands gentle on Dean's swollen bare right foot.

Unfortunate skill helps him reduce the dislocated ankle, the broken toes.

Dean arches back, fingers digging into Sam's arms.

Dean's out. He didn't make a sound. Sam's pale and pukes.

Winchesters.

Bobby field dresses.

"Time to get you boys home."