"It hurts, El."
The words are barely more than a whisper and Eliot presses down harder on the wound. A bullet to the shoulder isn't going to kill Jensen, but the blood loss might well do.
"Keep your eyes open," he tells Jensen, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It's been more than ten minutes, and he makes the decision that if one of the teams doesn't arrive in another five, he's picking Jensen up and damn well carrying him to the ER. It's risky to move him, but it's probably riskier not to.
"Didn't hurt this much last time," Jensen manages to say. Eliot nods, but doesn't ease up on the pressure. He knows Jensen will complain about bruises or something later on when he recovers, but if he doesn't do this now, there may not be a later on.
Another minute passes and Eliot alternates between watching Jensen's chest rise and fall, and listening out for a car engine. He'll never admit it, but he's starting to worry about the lack of color that has spread across Jensen's already too-pale skin, and the way his blue eyes keep fluttering, as though it's too much effort to keep them open.
Eventually, after what seems like an hour - even though the clock hands insist that it's only three more minutes - he hears the sound of a van. It's a distinctive sound and he knows he'd recognize Lucille from a mile away.
He leans down close to Jensen. "Hey, Jay. The guys are here. You'll be okay."
Jensen opens his eyes, one hand weakly grasping for Eliot's. Their fingers twist into each others, the way they always have done. Eliot breathes deeply, almost a sigh. "Yeah," he replies, offering Eliot a small smile. "I'll be fine."