If you could only see -- 07/?
He wakes up in time to feel his brain leaking out of his ears. At least that’s what it feels like, that and a pain so sharp, so excruciating he can barely keep himself from making a sound. At the back of his mind, beyond the sea of pain, he knows he has to be quiet. He remembers that there was something he had been fighting, remembers he hadn’t expected to ever wake up again, there was something, something bad…
Sounds slowly penetrate the fog in his head, soft breathing, wind rustling in the bushes - bushes?-a single bird sounding in the distance, and a high-pitched, miserable whining closer by. He’s heard that before, he knows it, he just can’t remember-
Sam.
Forcing his eyes open is the first mistake, and it ends with him groaning in pain against fierce stabs of lighting inside his head which almost sever his fragile hold on consciousness. He feels himself start to slip back into the soothing dark, the painless void, when the voice sounds. His eyes water when he blinks them open, and he wants to raise a hand to wipe them, but his body isn’t answering to his mental commands at all. Bright, everything around him is bright light and trees and mud and grass.
It hurts.
Sam…
Movement to his right- then a whimper.
Sam’s in pain, he’s hurt…
It takes him too long to roll his head to the side and he almost regrets it as not only his sight wavers but also his reality becomes hazy. He can feel himself start to float. And the pain spikes so bad he has to close his eyes for a moment. When he opens them a too long moment later he can see a blurry shape slowly moving back and forth across his vision a few feet away from him.
John tries to unclench his teeth enough to whisper his son’s name, but that effort is lost when a particularly painful stab of pain whites out his vision. He can’t fight against a moan this time and hears an answering whimper from somewhere to the left. The sound scares him. His kid is hurt and he can’t even look at him and the resulting panic sends a rush of adrenaline through his tired limbs. His eyes snap open, take a moment, and finally focus on the moving shape.
Sam is hovering a few feet away from him. His posture is wrong, the furry head is hanging low, ears pricked at him, tail hanging limp. He’s walking back and forth a few steps, limping heavily, favoring his left front paw. He whines softly when he sees John focus on him. Sam stops for a moment and watches him and as John studies him he can see something dripping from Sam’s nose, it almost looks as if Sam is breathing blood. John has a flash of a heavy boot connecting with Sam’s side and sending him crashing into a tree. He remembers Sam’s pain, the sound he had made when he’d hit the tree and he winces at the memory. The vampire had been so strong, so fucking strong-
Vampire. Blood. Sam’s nose covered in blood. The bloodsucker nowhere to be seen…
Oh God.
“Sam…” he breathes weakly, forcing his arm to move, patting the ground next to him uncoordinatedly. “Sammy, c’mere, boy…” He needs to check him, needs to make sure he is okay.
Sam is watching him intently, whining low in his throat, limping a step back when John moves his arm. And even that small movement sends a flash of pain through his head. John closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, tries to clear his head. If only the world would stop turning, dammit, he needs to focus.
The world blinks out. Then, in the next flash, he can see Sam swaying toward him, trying to get between him and the vamp, growling, desperate to shield him, not backing down-
No, oh God, no!
He blinks and is back in the present. Sam is still moving slowly, making all kinds of pathetic noises at the back of his throat as he watches him, golden-brown eyes never moving from John’s face.
“Sammy…” he mumbles, moving his fingers, feeling cold, wet mud beneath them. “Come here…” He feels as if he is about to fall asleep, too detached, too tired to stay awake much longer, even though some part of him knows they have to get up, to get away, get moving before somebody comes and checks on what happened here.
Sam’s ears go flat on his head and he lifts his muzzle slightly, as he gives a low whine- and John sees how much energy even this small movement costs him. Sam falls silent, staring at him intently. He takes an almost step in John’s direction and then moves back, shaking his head and causing himself to lose his sense of balance as he stumbles and needs a second to readjust. Sam is trying to tell him something, but John apparently lacks the necessary brain power to figure it out.
“What izzit?” he manages to ground out, needing to know, understand. Sam whimpers, raises a paw again, as if moving toward him, stops again, then focuses on something behind John, looks back at him.
A sudden thought surfaces out of the dark. Are they alone? Where the hell did the vamp-
Suddenly Sam freezes, crouches down, attention on something next to John. His lips peel back in a silent growl, the whole body tensing, going stiff.
Someone’s coming.
Reflexes have John’s head whip around to the other side to see what is coming and he immediately realizes he shouldn’t have done that, it’s more than his body can handle. His head protests, a searing, pain that tears through his limbs, taking everything with it. The last thing he hears is a low growl and then everything just… fades… away…
*** *** ***
Wrong.
Something is wrong, he can feel it.
Again.
This stupid hunt, he’d had a bad feeling about it right from the start. And he should have listened to it, should have said something.
And Bobby isn’t exactly helping with anything.
Oh, he is an excellent hunter. He knows his stuff, knows what to look for, how to have Dean’s back, find every trail. As in every trail. Even If it doesn’t belong to their hunt. Dean knows, because Bobby stops. At every turn of the path. Every fucking turn. He stops walking, kneels down and inspects the ground. Thoroughly.
And it’s driving. Him. Crazy.
Because Dean knows where to go. He’s studied the maps. Thoroughly. He knows where they are, he knows where they should be and he knows where they aren’t.
And it so does NOT help that Bobby is muttering under his breath. All the time. In Chinese. Or Japanese. Or freaking Swahili. It doesn’t really matter what language it is, but it makes him want to hit something. Hard. Repeatedly.
And then, when they finally arrive at the house, Bobby stops. Again. Doesn’t get closer to check it out, no, he looks for cover and stays there. Watches the house. For exactly ten minutes. Not moving. Not even muttering. He doesn’t spare a glance at Dean, just keeps looking at the house.
And then they go back to the cars and wait for the others. Who don’t turn up.
Something is wrong…
“Something ain’t right…”
Bobby’s quiet voice pulls him out of his thoughts, for the third time that day actually, and that’s just embarrassing. He blinks and turns to where the older hunter is leaning against his car.
“32…” he mumbles after checking his watch again. They should have been back by now, 32 minutes ago… or sent them a message if they couldn’t make it. John has a hard time adjusting to cell phones and text messages, but he is able to send them and usually does so. The fact that he hasn’t done it is bad news. Their father never breaks their hunting rules. The same rules that say they would have to wait for another 28 minutes before they could go and check on them.
28 long, fucking minutes.
So much could go wrong in 28 minutes. And that doesn’t even include the 32 minutes they are already overdue.
28 minutes.
He can’t do that, he needs to check-
“Let’s get going.”
And isn’t Bobby the best hunting partner like ever?
Bobby is still cautions, moving slower than Dean can tolerate, but they are at least following the right trail now. He can see his father’s footprints on the path as clear as the path itself. Sam’s are nowhere to be seen, but that’s a good sign, he knows his brother has his father’s back and is following him hidden in the bushes.
And that’s all there is, for a long time, footprints that go on and on.
Until, suddenly, Bobby tenses and stops. And Dean almost snaps at him cause, really, they don’t have time for this, they should keep moving-
“You hear that?” Bobby is whispering and Dean frowns, listens.
And there it is; a low growl. He’d recognize that sound everywhere.
“Sam…”
They are moving faster now, still as silently as they can, but soon they can see a shaggy form on the left side of the path. It’s Sam, crouching, eyes fixed at them, lips peeled back into a snarl. His stance doesn’t change when they move closer and he doesn’t stop growling, his message loud and clear.
Stay back.
“Dean…”
Bobby’s quiet voice draws Dean’s eyes away from the wolf and he looks at where Bobby is pointing. There, hidden behind the remains of a bush lies John’s crumpled form, unmoving. Dean takes a step, about to rush to his father’s side, but Bobby’s arm across his chest stops him, holds him back.
“Look.”
He’s pointing somewhere behind Sam- and after a moment of searching Dean can make out boots, jeans-clad legs and a torso. A person, male he assumes- but there is something wrong with it. The head is missing. And, as he takes in more details, he sees an arm a few feet away from the body. The wolf is standing between the body and John and Dean realizes he is guarding him, shielding him.
“What the hell-“
Slowly, he and Bobby step closer, and even though he wants to get to their father’s side he stays back, covering Bobby as the older hunter slowly walks over to the still body.
Sam follows Bobby with his eyes, doesn’t move from where he is crouching, but his growl gets louder.
“Sam, shut up…” Dean hisses at the wolf, rolling his eyes at how the sound deepens for a second before the animal falls silent. Dean’s eyes start to wander back and forth between where Bobby is kneeling and where his father is lying, and the longer Bobby takes, the more nervous he feels.
“Head wasn’t cut off…” Bobby mumbles, sounding irritated. “Looks like it was ripped off-“
A soft groan and Dean sees his dad move slightly, sees him try to roll onto his side, his boot rustling the leaves as his leg twitches. A moment later Dean is at his side.
“Dad?”
His father is pale and from this close Dean sees he is trembling. Dazed eyes meet his briefly.
“Dean?” John rasps, voice low and disturbingly weak.
“Yeah, it’s me.. keep still, don’t move-“
John’s head rolls back slowly and he squeezes his eyes shut, obviously fighting against a wave of pain. “Sam…” he whispers, “check n’Sam…”
And with that he goes limp again.
“We need to leave.”
Bobby is next to him, sounding worried but determined. Dean hesitates, looks down at his unconscious father.
“I don’t know if we should move him…”
“Dean, whatever killed that man sure wasn’t your brother or your father; we need to go before it comes back.”
And Bobby is right, he knows that… he just isn’t sure how they are supposed to carry his dad back, the man isn’t exactly a light-weight and the walk back will take some time. Bobby kneels at John’s other side, looking over at Dean.
“I got him, go check on your brother.”
Dean hesitates, he can’t tear his eyes away from his father. He is too pale, too still. John Winchester is a lot of things, silent isn’t one of them. Bobby throws him an urgent look and Dean turns reluctantly, eyes settling on the shaggy form that is hovering a few feet away from them.
The wolf is a mess; his fur is dirty, muddy. He’s damp on one side as if he has been lying in the wet grass for some time. His posture is hunched, tense, yet he is trembling like a leaf. He isn’t afraid or scared, it’s shock that has him shaking like this. The wild eyes are fixed on John, gaze intense and steady, even when the rest of his body is swaying dangerously from side to side. Something is up with him, something is wrong. There’s so much blood matting the shaggy fur and the way he holds his body tells Dean he is in considerable pain.
Dean knows better than to approach him in a tense situation like this- wolfish reflexes have already led to many misunderstandings in the past. He does what he knows is best and squats down on the ground, a few feet away from the trembling animal, calling his brother’s name softly. “Sam. “
Dazed eyes crawl over to him.
“Can you hear me?”
The wolf’s head dips lower and his ears roll to the side, the tail starts to wag hesitatingly, sluggishly in greeting before he lets out a low whine. But he doesn’t move.
“This would be so much easier if you’d just switch back…” Dean grumbles under his breath, noticing with growing concern how what looks an awful lot like blood drips from the canine’s nose. Wild eyes flick back to John and the wolf gives a short, low growl before he looks back at Dean, as if trying to tell him something.
“Come on, you know the drill…” Dean is getting nervous and it comes out harsher than he means it. They have to leave, have to get them out, get them to safety ASAP and the wolf just isn’t playing along.
Another growl and the animal lifts a paw, starts moving toward Dean, but then stops the limb in mid-air and he draws it back, another of those godawful sounds falling from his throat. Dean is pretty sure the wolf is not being his thick-headed self right now; there is something seriously wrong with him.
“I don’t have time for this…” he growls under his breath and stands up, not missing the way the wolf shrinks back from him for a second before visibly forcing himself to remain where he is.
Three long steps and Dean is next to him, squatting down again. “If you bite me I’m so gonna put ribbons in your tail when you’re not looking…” he warns him under his breath, trying to calm both of them down with the joke. The wolf growls softly at that and cocks one of his ears playfully before he places his head on Dean’s thigh and immediately leans heavily against him. Dean is both surprised and worried at this open need for support- normally the animal wouldn’t be caught having to lean on another person like that, let alone let anyone close enough to touch him.
“Dude, you stink…” he mumbles softly as he starts running his hand slowly over the shaking body, searching for broken bones or open wounds. The wolf holds as still as he can, twitching slightly whenever Dean hits sensitive spots. There is no huge gaping hole in his body, but as soon as Dean runs his hand over the left side the canine tenses and starts moving away, turns his head to the side and snaps at his hand. Dean pulls it back immediately, cursing under his breath.
“Dammit, hold still, dog-breath…” he growls, curling one arm around the wolf’s neck where he is still leaning against him to hold the head immobile. Then he inspects the side again, not stopping when the whining turns into a pained yelp as he can feel bones shifting under his fingers. The canine tries to draw back, starts struggling to get his head out of the hold. Something’s definitely broken. “Hold still…”
He barely keeps his hold on the twisting body and fights to lift the head to look into the eyes. They look dazed, tracking movement almost lazily and react way too slow. Concussion. Great, just great.
“How is he?” Bobby calls from his spot next to John, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Pretty banged up, broken ribs, concussion…”
“Can he walk?”
Dean looks down at the wolf, takes in the trembling, the way he favors his left paw and is still leaning against him. Then his gaze is drawn to their father and he sighs softly, patting the furry head slightly. “He has to- no way I’m carrying his heavy ass through the forest.” He would, if Sam was too injured to move he’d drag him all the way to China if he had to, but right now Sam is upright, moving and responsive and their dad isn’t and that settles his priorities straight pretty quickly. Bobby seems to agree; he rises from the crouch next to John and looks at him.
“Then give me a hand, we gotta go.”
Dean gets up, eying the wolf thoughtfully as he walks over to Bobby and their father. “You wanna try and change back?” he asks, wondering if maybe having to coordinate two legs less might help Sam with his balance, but the wolf barks at that, backs away from him and limps slowly to the path next to them.
“I take that as a no…” Dean mumbles under his breath and watches him worriedly, thinking that changing back would be too painful with broken ribs. It’s a weird side-effect of the curse, to change from one form to the other he knows Sam’s body undergoes a transformation that breaks and mends his bones, yet, if Sam is injured in one form he will carry the wound over into the other. There is no miraculous healing afterwards. It doesn’t really make sense to Dean, but then again, nothing about this curse does. It basically just sucks.
Dean helps Bobby get John’s unresponsive form up and propped up between them and they set out to the long walk back to the cars. He hadn’t really paid attention before to how far Sam and his father had wandered, too focused on getting to them, but now he realizes it will take them quite some time. And with the heavy man between them who seems to grow heavier with every step it will take them three times as long to get back. Not good, with whatever is out there they need to be moving faster.
He keeps glancing behind them where the wolf is following them slowly, head and tail hanging almost limply as he trudges on stubbornly. He seems barely awake at times, yet he keeps a distance to them, he won’t fall too far behind but he won’t come closer than about four feet.
Once, when they have to stop for a second to catch their breaths, Sam suddenly stops walking, as if he runs into an invisible wall. The wolf gives a surprised yelp and growls at them, at their dad, falling back a step. Bobby throws Dean a weird look and then moves experimentally, dragging John back a step so Dean is forced to follow to avoid dropping him. The wolf snarls, flashing white fangs and backing away as well, growling. Bobby takes another step back, closer to the wolf, and the animal tenses again, the growl growing louder and Sam actually lifts his head, glaring at Bobby reproachfully.
“What the-“ Dean starts, but Bobby interrupts him by turning to the wolf, eying him thoughtfully.
“You can’t get closer… John told you to stay away from him, didn’t he?”
Sam’s head snaps up and he stares at Bobby, his tail starts wagging slowly. Sometimes Dean wishes the wolf would use human gestures, like nodding or shaking his head, but even though he knows Sam is still capable of reacting like that, he won’t.
“That doesn’t make sense, Bobby, why would he do that?”
Bobby snorts, humorless. “A lot of what your father does doesn’t make sense… at first.”
Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “Bobby, this is not the time…”
Bobby simply turns back to the path and starts walking again, adjusting John’s weight on his shoulder. “We won’t know for sure until he can talk again, in any case. Let’s get them out of here before we get company…”
Their dad and Bobby have issues, he knows that. Hell, everybody knows that. Usually they can put them aside long enough to work together on a hunt, but it’s still a tense situation at the best of times. They are friends, sort of, but Dean knows his father isn’t too sad every time he leaves the yard after a hunt. He and Sam usually stay out of it all, it’s none of their business after all- but sometimes they just can’t ignore it and one wrong word usually leads to an escalation.
As if they don’t have enough problems already.
Whatever, not his problem.
Another thirty minutes later they finally arrive at the cars. Sam immediately approaches Bobby’s car and waits for the older hunter to open it. Dean fights against a sudden flash of unease. He doesn’t really like that at all, he wants to keep an eye on both his brother and father, but as it seems that won’t happen. Especially if Bobby is right and Sam can’t get near John at the moment. Bobby helps him getting John into the back of his truck, hands Dean a blanket and disappears in his own car. Dean has a short view of Sam crouching stiffly on the backseat and then the car is already on the street, leaving him to follow them. With his half conscious father.
Damned fucked up hunt.
chapter 8