Hanging On By A Thread
Hanging On By A Thread
Title: Hanging On By A Thread (2/39)
Author: Neonchica
Rating: Gen R (for language and graphic images)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Missouri
Disclaimer: Not Mine - but a girl can dream, right?
Spoilers: Through Season 2
Summary: When Dean loses his leg in a terrible hunting accident the brother's are forced to reevaluate their priorities. Can Dean still hunt? And is it really still worth the risk?
A/N: This story is already completed and posted over at ff.net - I just figured I might as well start posting my stuff over here as well. And for those of you who haven't read it yet...let me know what you think! (Oh, and sorry guys - no pictures on this one).
A/N2: Wow - I don't know what is wrong with me. I need to get my ass back in gear and at least start posting this beast since it is complete! To apologize, I'm going to post several chapters at once. So sorry, guys!
Reaching into one of their packs, Sam grabbed for a bottle of water and came out with the flask of holy water instead. Without a second thought, Sam pulled the flask out the rest of the way and began to unscrew the cap. There was no time to search for a different bottle; hell, there had barely been time to find that one. Dean was losing blood fast and he had to do something now if he stood any chance of saving his brother=s life. Sam knew there was no need for the holy water, that the trap, trouble though it may have been, was simply left carelessly behind from someone=s hunt. An accidental oversight when there may have been too many traps to count. There was no way it had been placed there by something evil.
But that knowledge came to a screeching halt as the contents of the flask began to sizzle and steam as it met with the blood pouring out of the gaping wound. Sam jumped, his eyes opening wide as he watched the holy water attack the tainted blood. The damn trap was cursed!
AOh geez, Dean, I=m so sorry,@ he cried out, hands flailing as he searched for something to help stop the burning. He finally found a bottle of drinking water in the duffle beside him and spun the cap off, only to pause as he realized the holy water was doing a necessary job.
ASammy,@ The additional pain brought Dean around and his eyes snapped open, frantically searching for his brother.
AI=m here, Dean,@ Sam assured his brother, flinching in sympathy as he considered just how much pain Dean must be in. His hand fell to Dean=s shoulder, rubbing it in comforting circles and trying to draw his brother=s attention from the pain of his leg. AHow ya doin there big brother?@
AIt hurts, Sam. God, it fucking hurts.@ Dean squeezed his eyes shut, fisting the sleeping bag tightly. The action afforded him no reprieve, but he continued nonetheless, lacking any alternative solutions to make it through the pain.
Sam began to panic more, the simple fact that Dean was admitting to being in pain making the situation all the more real. Dean never admitted pain, and not only was he acknowledging it=s presence, he was cursing it with everything he had. This was bad.
AHang on, man. I=m gonna take care of this. I promise.@ Sam looked back down at the leg, relieved that the holy water had finally stopped reacting with the evil remnants, but he still remained panicked. Dammit, he=s losing so much blood. I can=t stitch this up...and we=re in the middle of freaking nowhere. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Sam turned back to the duffel bag, desperately searching for some sort of salvation he might have missed the last five times he=d gone through it, and came up only with his cell phone. Blood covered fingers frantically punched buttons, hoping against all hope that the no service signal would miraculously transform into full bars, but he was without luck and Dean was getting worse by the second.
AOK...ok...you can do this, Sam,@ he chanted in a soft voice to himself, hoping Dean was too out of it to realize just how freaked out he really was. Every time he looked at Dean=s leg it seemed just a little bit worse, and it absolutely scared the shit out of him. The bone was clearly broken, probably shattered; that much was obvious by the way the leg had flopped around like some boneless ragdoll when he=d picked Dean up earlier. And as far as the teeth of the trap had sunk into the flesh there was barely any skin or tendon left to repair. The damage was far beyond Sam=s limited surgical skills and with a thick swallow he realized there was really only one thing he could do: put a stop to the blood flow.
ADean, man, this is going to hurt,@ he warned, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from around his waist. There=s no other way, he assured himself as he slipped the belt as gently as he could under Dean=s leg and hating the fact that the move still elicited a sharp hiss from his brother.
The older hunter nodded once, the only reassurance he could give Sam. Coherent thoughts were not his strong suit at the moment, and he was certain coherent words would be next to impossible. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Dean braced himself for what he knew was coming. But there was no preparing for the pain that was to come as Sam tightened the leather belt around his leg, just above the point of injury. Dean screamed, panting hard, his good leg and both arms writhing as the agonizing pain coursed through them as well. He let it out, long and hard, the deafening scream going on for almost three minutes before Dean was finally able to regain composure. Even then, he still wasn=t able to pull in a full breath of air.
But Sam wasn=t done. He couldn=t be if he wanted to save his brother=s life. This was going to hurt like hell. Sam pulled a long sleeved t-shirt from the duffle and folded it several times into a long, rectangular bandage before sliding it under Dean=s leg as well. This one, Sam wrapped directly around the wound, tying it almost as tight as he=d tied the belt. Dean screamed again, but it lost its edge much quicker than the last. He was close to unconsciousness, barely holding on by a thread. Sam suspected Dean was only conscious out of a noble obligation to Sam, and it killed him to think his brother was letting himself suffer just for that.
AAlmost done, Dean,@ Sam reassured, bunching up the bottom of the sleeping bag Dean lay on and stuffing it under the leg, propping it up. Dean barely let out a yelp on the last move, concentrating too hard on making his tightening lungs work as red and yellow spots began to dance in front of his eyes.
ASammyB@
AI=m here, Dean. I=m right here.@ In a flash, Sam was in front of Dean=s eyes, putting on his best impression of confident little brother. He=d grabbed a clean t-shirt and a bottle of water, and he poured some of the water onto the shirt, wiping Dean=s sweat-soaked forehead with it as he offered soothing words. Producing four Tylenol caplets, Sam reached down and helped Dean to sit up, pulling him into his lap and letting the older man lean limply against his chest.
AHere, take these,@ he offered, placing the four pills into Dean=s mouth and helping him with the water bottle. AWe don=t have anything stronger. I=m so sorry.@
Dean choked on the pills as they went down, his swallowing reflex as lethergic as the rest of him. He coughed hard, wincing in pain as the action caused more knife-like shards to shoot through his leg. ADon=t...be...sB sorry,@ he ordered weakly. ANot...your fault. Mine.@
AIt wasn=t your fault either,@ Sam protested, pulling Dean tighter against him and dabbing at his forehead more with the soaked cloth. AI think it has something to do with whatever we=re out here hunting.@
AThB the bear?@
AYeah, Dean, the bear. Or whatever it is.@
AYB youuu think...iss ow...therrrre?@ Dean asked, his words beginning to slur as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
Rubbing Dean=s chest comfortingly, Sam shushed him. AI don=t know, Dean. But we=re safe here for the night. And first thing tomorrow morning I=m getting you out of here. Just sleep now. You=re safe.@
The fight for consciousness was lost and Dean=s eyes slid shut at Sam=s final words. They sat for several more minutes like that, Dean pulled into Sam=s lap, asleep, and Sam rubbing his chest gently. They might have stayed that way all night if it hadn=t been for the loud crash outside the tent.
Sam jumped, forcing himself to relax when his movement made Dean moan in pain. With quick, but gentle motions, Sam lowered Dean back to the ground and grabbed a flashlight and a gun loaded with multiple rounds: silver, rocksalt, consecrated iron... Sam didn=t know what they were dealing with, and he figured better safe than sorry.
He crawled out of the tent cautiously, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight and hoping he wouldn=t need the flashlight. At first glance, Sam could see nothing out of the ordinary surrounding them, and after making another check of the saltline perimeter he turned to go back to Dean. That=s when Sam first noticed their missing foodbag.
They=d hiked it twenty feet up in a tree when they first arrived, one of their few attempts at protecting themselves from the natural creatures that roamed the forest. Real bears and wolves had a tendency to come after food packs, and the last thing Sam and Dean needed was to deal with live threats in addition to supernatural ones. But now the bag lay torn and tattered several feet away outside of the salt circle. The food was still there, the culprit nowhere to be seen, and somehow Sam knew it was compliments of the creature they were hunting. What worried him, was that the bag had initially been within the circle. The fact that it was outside of it now seemed to be a taunt, hinting to Sam that whatever the creature was, it could get to them through their protection line.
Sam tightened his grip on the shotgun as he rewalked the perimeter, more cautiously this time. By now his eyes were fully adjusted to the dark, aided by the minimal light the moon provided, but he could see nothing out in the woods. Whatever had grabbed the pack was gone. Sam turned, needing time to come up with a plan, and returned to Dean in the tent. Man, what I wouldn=t do for my laptop and some internet right about now.
After ensuring Dean was as alright as he could be, Sam grabbed his backpack and retrieved the leather pouch he=d found earlier, hoping it might offer some clue as to what they were dealing with. He had no idea if it was even related, but once again that gut feeling was telling him the bag was important. It was hard to figure out what any of it meant without proper research materials, but Sam worked hard to dredge all available knowledge from the depths of his brain as he studied the pouch.
Based on the stiffness of the leather and the noticeable aging of the color, Sam could tell it was old, probably at least as old as the bear trap had been. The designs burned into the pouch seemed to tell a story and Sam wondered if it might have been Indian. The Algonquin tribe had inhabited these woods over a hundred years ago, and the pouch could easily date back at least that long. Sam wished he knew what the markings meant, but more than that, he wished he knew what the dirt inside meant. Upon closer inspection, he was now certain that the mixture inside had been put in there intentionally. It was not just debris, but a mixture of herbs and barks, some clay and at least three different types of dirt. But that wasn=t what did it for him. The final element to convince Sam was the small bone hidden within the mixture. It was definitely one of the smallest bones in the body; maybe a finger or a toe, but right then Sam knew the bag was somehow involved in the haunting. Now if only he could figure out how to kill the damn thing.
Another crash outside the tent put Sam on edge. He grabbed the gun again and made his way back outside, one part of him hoping the creature would be there this time, and another part praying it wouldn=t. The low growl he heard coming from behind the tent immediately gave him his answer. Their hunt had finally decided to show itself, and he didn=t feel even close to being ready to face it.
Moving as stealthily as he could, breath held in, Sam made his way around the tent, gun cocked and ready to fire. He saw the eyes before he saw anything else - two greenish yellow orbs glowing brightly against blackness of the forest. The eerie color guaranteed a Supernatural being, and Sam drew his gun higher, aiming for just between the eyes. His finger squeezed at the trigger, ready to fire, but didn=t get the shot off before his prey disappeared into thin air.
Sam=s breath hitched as his heart began beating faster, his trigger finger releasing just enough to ensure the gun wouldn=t go off. He paused, listening for an indication of where the creature had disappeared to, and heard the same grunt coming from behind him.
The hunter spun around, once again aiming his gun at the glowing eyes that had managed to circle a 180 around his protective barrier without Sam ever seeing it move. The moon shone brighter through the trees here, and Sam could finally make out a silhouette of the creature, finally confirming his assumption that it was some sort of bear. But is it possessed? Some kind of transformation? A spirit? What?
Eyeing each other, both figures moved slowly, each one looking at the other as though it were prey. Sam didn=t dare attempt to fire again; not yet, anyway. He wanted to study it more, try and understand it so he could figure out a way to kill it. And somehow, Sam knew it was studying him, too, seeing him as a worthy adversary.
Step after step, skirting around the campsite the two hunters moved in unison. It went on for several minutes, this dance. As one would take a step the other would take a step, neither one willing to give the other a chance to breathe, to think, to plan. The bear was fast. It had already proven that. And somehow, Sam could tell that it could break the saltline perimeter if it really wanted to. He didn=t know how, but he knew it could do it. The thing was toying with him.
Sam only had two things on his mind as he followed the creature around the campsite. Two goals that had been ingrained in him long before he=d gone on his first hunt; Protect your wounded, and kill the hunt. The former one was easy, for now anyway. They were moving slowly, and as long as Sam stuck to the outer edge of the perimeter, he had no trouble keeping himself between the bear and Dean. The latter posed more of a problem. The last time he=d been ready to shoot, the bear had been one step ahead of him, moving out of harms way before he could pull the trigger. And Sam didn=t know which round, if any, would do the trick. If the first round didn=t do it, would he have time to pull off another shot? And dammit, if the thing was a spirit, how the hell was he supposed to find the thing=s bones and burn them? He=d have to dig up the whole fucking forest. Shit.
Finally, the bear seemed to grow weary of the supernatural two-step they were performing, and it growled, a loud, unnatural sound that seemed to shake the treetops. Sam shivered as the noise rocked him to the core. He offered himself the fleeting thought of whether or not Dean had awoken at the sound, praying that he had not for the older man=s sake. Dean, being Dean, would undoubtedly make an attempt at a rescue, his own health and safety be damned.
In the quiet that followed, Sam held his breath and listened for movement from inside the tent. Hearing none, he shifted his concentration back to the more frightening matter at hand. The bear was now pawing at the earth, grunting loudly as it continued to gaze at Sam, saliva drooling from it=s mouth. Sam leveled the shotgun, moving as quietly and smoothly as he could, knowing that he might not have another chance if he didn=t fire soon. He waited anxiously until he was certain he was ready and then squeezed the trigger before even he had a chance to think about it, sending a spray of rock salt directly at the bear=s face.
With a blood curdling howl, the bear disappeared again as the salt made contact with its prey. Sam stood, transfixed, as he stared at the empty space where the bear had last been. But he knew it wasn=t over. That had been too easy. It didn=t take him long to recover, and he slowly began circling the camp, waiting out the bear, knowing it would show itself again. For what seemed like hours, and in reality was probably no longer than a minute, Sam waited. And then it was back.
If it was possible, he would say the eyes seemed to glow even brighter than before, and it took Sam a while to realize just what was making him see that optical illusion. It was only after another quarter circle of the camp, and a realization that he wasn=t hearing the same deep growl as before, but rather a gutteral snarl, that Sam figured out the trick. Its eyes weren=t brighter; just closer together. And lower to the ground, but set out of the face more, the positioning making them reflect off the light of the moon. It had changed. The hunt was no longer a bear. Sam now stood face to face with a snarling wolf.
Again, they came into the part of the camp most bathed in moonlight and Sam could now make out the hackles of the wolf=s thick coat standing at attention. It was huge, standing as tall and thick as a Mastiff; and even in his limited experience Sam knew this was larger than any live wolf that roamed the woods. The thing snarled at him again, rabid like in sound and appearance, and Sam inched back a step, tightening his grip even more on the barrel of the gun.
The transformation from bear into wolf told Sam one thing; it was not a possessed animal. But it led to another question, because if this was a spirit of some sort not only did he now not know how to find the bones, now he didn=t know what kind of bones to be searching for in the first place. But there was no time to worry about finding bones, right now. Right now, he just had to figure out how to get rid of the thing long enough to make it to morning. Getting Dean out of the woods and to a hospital was the mosti important task. And as his mind processed that information, he faltered, giving the wolf just enough time to plan its attack. Sam raised his gun just as the wolf lunged.
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