Dean was half passed out, the apocalypse had been going on for almost a month maybe. He and Sam had already separated so Sam could get clean off demon's blood, and then he'd met you, another hunter.

He'd accidently dragged you into the middle of a Demon on Angel fight, and you'd gotten slashed by some idiot with a knife. He was trying to hide his panic.

"Hey, hey, look at me," He whispered, shaking your face with his free hand. "Look at me, I've got you. H-Here just press this to the wound. Deep breaths-"

He's exhausted, but not hesitating to push as hard as he could against the wound with his torn off sleeve. How was he supposed to get you help? He couldn't move you, he couldn't call for help. He's stuck with knowing you're dying and he can't do a thing about it.