Sam had you in the backseat of the impala, halfway passed out from the pain and the liquor Dean kept coming to try and ease the ache in your shoulder.

"I know, honey. Deep breaths."

Sam says softly, his hazel eyes looking you over gently as he cleans the gunshot wound that went almost clean through your shoulder. They'd have to make the drive to Bobby's tonight too since it looked like your clavicle was broken too, and Sam wasn't as skilled at fixing bones.

"How much has she drunk?"

Sam asks worriedly, eyeing the glass bottle of whiskey Dean was holding.

"Almost three quarters. But she's spitting up a lot of it."

Sam nods, watching as you slowly fade in and out of consciousness.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

He asks as he bandages you and Dean starts up the car. You nod a little, completely out of it. As much as Sam found your loopy expression endearing, nothing stopped the weight of guilt that fell on his shoulders.

"We're heading to Bobby's okay? I'm gonna get you a drink of water and then I need you to sleep nice and good until we get there."