He spent his last round, dropping his weapon.

Gunfire echoed in his dizzy, throbbing head.

He grabbed the shotgun.

Sam was safe, running closer.

He kept firing, able to reload before Sam reached him.

More a tackle than anything else.

Bleeding and limp, his lax body fell into his brother's arms.

"Lay still, don't move, oh God."

His rhythm faltered, breathing erratic, heartbeat thready.

"No, NO!"

Sam's pleading voice an incessant buzz, his hands becoming more intrusive and demanding as the fiery pain faded, dimmed.

Sam's fingers drummed along his body, insistent, commanding and bitchy.

Dean picked up the beat.