"Get back, or I'll kill you I swear to God."

"You won't. You're saving that bullet for someone else." The man replied snidely, his eyes turning black.

"You wanna bet." Sam retorted, cocking the Colt with a satisfying click. He didn't care that this wasn't Yellow Eyes – he wanted to kill a damn demon, to prove that they didn't rule his life. He pointed the gun straight at the heart of the black-eyed man standing where the driver's door should be.

The demon replied with a crooked grin before escaping his host in a stream of violent black smoke. The truck driver, returned to himself again, fell to his knees before raising his head with a stunned gasp. He took in the scene before him with wide, roving eyes.

"Oh my god. Oh…oh my god! Di-did I do this?!", he exclaimed, shocked at the wreckage before him. The Impala had been driven far into the field adjacent to the road the black car had been driving on before its path had been abruptly and violently intersected by an unexpected 18-wheeler. The black car now sat several feet in front of the still running engine of the truck, the scene illuminated by its headlights. Amazingly, the radio still played, an upbeat Clearance Clearwater Revival song playing eerily into the otherwise silent night. The car's frame had been compressed into an impossible shape, the roof bent up almost to a point. Glass littered the ground, sparkling in the truck's headlights. Smoke rose from under the hood. The sickening smell of burnt rubber and gasoline permeated the air, with a hint of something metallic.

Blood. It was the unmistakable smell of blood.

"Dad?" Sam painfully called out, ignoring the truck driver's panic. "Dad?!"

Sam slowly rolled his head to the right, where his father sat. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see the gentle rise and fall of his father's chest, his chin a few inches above it, still in unconsciousness. Sam huffed out a laugh of bitter relief before worry encased his heart again.

Dean.

"Dean?! DEAN?!", Sam called out hoarsely, the strain of his yelling pulling at his aching muscles.

There was no response. Dean's silence terrified Sam. He was still winded from the impact, and the pain in his neck and chest prevented him from turning around fully to see Dean in the backseat behind him. He was blind. He was blind to any knowledge of his brother's condition, and that more than any amount of physical pain caused Sam to start hyperventilating.

Suddenly the truck driver came into his line of sight, cell phone in hand.

"Hey buddy hey. You're ok. You're ok." The man laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, grounding him to reality as Sam winched in pain. His shoulder must be dislocated, having been slammed into the frame of the car by the impact. "Sorry, sorry." He loosened his grip, but left his hand where it was; perhaps he needed the contact as much as Sam did. "My name's Hank. What's your name? Where do you hurt?" Hank seemed to have regained his composure after his initial shock, and was in rescue mode. He had been in the Army before retiring to his truck-driving career. He was no stranger to acting in traumatizing situations.

"Call 911" Sam responded with, ignoring his questions.

"Already did. They're on their way but we're pretty far out and it's going to take them a little while.

I don't even know how this happened. I… I was just driving when this black smoke just came out of nowhere. And the next thing I remember is this." Hank needed the young man to understand this, that the pain his family was in was not his fault. He couldn't explain it, but he knew that he hadn't done this. Not really him anyway.

Sam gave a single nod of his head, the simple motion causing his head to swim. His long bangs were drenched in sweat across his forehead, blood trickling down one side of his face.

"What's your name son?" Hank repeated.

"Sam. Please...please can you check on my brother? Dean? Please tell me that he's at least breathing." His head pounded in tandem with his heartbeat. Sam closed his eyes against the painful throb, fighting nausea.

Sam heard Hank respond by moving, glass crunching beneath his feet, to where Dean was slumped against the passenger door. The window had shattered in the crash, but the door itself remained intact. Hank reached through the opening and placed his fingers at Dean's neck. He felt a pulse, fast and shallow, but a pulse. A deep gash decorated his forehead, blood steadily flowing. Even in the dim light cast by the truck, Hank could see the unnatural angle Dean's left leg was in. Most definitely broken. But what Hank was most worried about was the amount of blood soaking through the kid's T-shirt, glistening in the light.

"He's breathing, he's ok" Hank called out to Sam. "Well, mostly ok", Hank muttered to himself.

Sam sighed in relief. Good. Breathing was good.

Now that his most pressing questions had been answered, Sam's adrenaline was wearing off. His thoughts were heavy, and hard to pin down. But one thing was clear in his mind: Dean. Dean had already been severely injured after the Winchesters' run in with the yellow eyed demon. He had lost a lot of blood, and had been barely conscious when they were rushing to the hospital. And now with the consequences of a serious car crash added to it, Sam couldn't even fathom the extent of Dean's injuries. Sam couldn't concentrate. Not while he was trapped in the car while Dean lay helpless, just out of his reach. He could smell blood. Dean's blood. Sam shifted, trying to sit up. But the pain in his head and chest was too much, and it overwhelmed him as he moved too quickly too soon after such an impact. His vision grayed, and he fell back against the seat in unconsciousness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

He hears someone calling his name, urging him to wake. He didn't want to. He didn't want to return to the pain and heartache that he knew reality held. But someone had other ideas, lifting his eyelid and flashing a light into his eye. Sam's eyes shot open.

"There you are. Good." A man dressed in a white EMT uniform was hovering in front of him, penlight in hand. "My name's Carl. Me and this guy"- He indicated the paramedic standing behind him- " are here to help. His name's Ben. I'm going to get you out of here, but we need to make sure your spine isn't injured first ok? Can you wiggle your toes for me man?"

Sam complied, wiggling his fingers as well to prove their functionality to the EMT before he asked. Sam wasn't the problem. Sam needed them to leave him alone and tend to his brother and father, who he knew must be much worse off than himself.

"My brother and my dad, are they ok?" Sam whispered. His throat was so dry it hurt. He hurt everywhere actually. He heard a flurry of frenzied activity behind him. Good. Dean had help. The EMTs were trying to rouse him in a similar way they had used to wake Sam up. The sun had risen now, barely, and he was able to see people moving around the scene.

"They're working on your brother. Your Dad was awake when we got here, but he passed out again when they pulled him out. He'll be ok." The EMT replied kindly "Alright we're gonna get you of here now, ok? We need you to stay awake if you can. Let us do the work."

Sam tried to nod in reply, but found his neck constrained in a cuff. He groaned in response instead.

They were ginger, but sure in their movements. He was embarrassed that he couldn't escape his prison by himself, but he was just too tired. The EMTs expertly pulled him from the wreckage, having him now sit on the edge of a stretcher. Sam's head swam as the pain in chest and shoulder clouded his vision. They laid him down, careful of his injured shoulder.

Sam slowly rolled his head to his right. The other EMTs had managed to extract Dean from the backseat, and Sam could finally see his brother.

He looked like a ghost. His face was unnaturally pale, the bright red blood leaking from a gash on his head standing out in stark contrast. Sam could see his previously gray t-shirt was now a ruddy red color, stained with the blood forced out of his body by the yellow eyed demon. An EMT and paramedic were feverishly working on him, placing an oxygen mask over his face, inserting needles, getting a blood pressure reading, covering him in blankets. Sam caught a few hurried words exchanged.

Hematoma. Abdomen. BP 150 over 60. Pulse 125. Fractured leg. Head trauma. Unresponsive.

Sam didn't know a lot of first aid. He only knew the basic essentials their father had taught them over the years. But he knew unresponsive for a significant period of time wasn't good.

Sam was lost in the paleness of Dean's face, oblivious to the ministrations and actions of the paramedics attending him. So when he tried to sit up to get closer to Dean, he was surprised and frustrated to find himself strapped to the stretcher. He was trapped. Again. But at least this time he knew his father was fine and that he was being taken care of. But his brother- Sam couldn't get the image of Dean's pale face out of his mind. He struggled against the straps, ignoring the pain the flamed in his chest, desperate to find Dean, who had been carried out of his line of sight by some burly EMTs.

"Woah woah Sam. You need to stay still" Carl said, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder to keep him down. "We're taking you guys in the helicopter. Needed to strap you down to keep you safe. Just stay calm."

Stay calm? No. Sam started panicking. He needed to find his brother. He started to pull in earnest against the restraints that were holding him to the stretcher.

Sam felt himself be lifted into the air; he was being carried towards the awaiting helicopter.

"Are they even alive?!" Sam shouted.

a/n: I enjoy writing hurt Winchesters maybe a little too much. Oh well. As long as you guys like reading it. I may add another chapter of the helicopter ride. I dunno. I'll see how I'm feeling about it.