Hanging on By A Thread 3/39
Hanging On By A Thread
Title: Hanging On By A Thread (3/39)
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).
Sam closed his eyes and fired, the sharp crack of gun fire echoing loudly in the silence of the night. The sound fell in unison with a feeling of stabbing pain as the wolf landed gracelessly on top of the young hunter, its teeth sinking deep into the flesh between Sam=s right shoulder and his neck and just barely missing the aorta. He howled in pain, breath catching in his throat as his eyes snapped back open to face his adversary, trying not to be shocked that it was corporeal. He=d known; just didn=t want to admit it to himself until the thing was on top of him.
The wolf=s yellow-green eyes gleamed, mere inches from Sam=s own watering blue eyes, and for a second their gazes met, a challenge hidden within both sets. Sam elicited another yell, this one not in pain, but rather in determination as he gathered control of his arm and rewarded the snarling creature with a sharp and painful left hook to the face. It barely yelped, but backed off just enough that Sam was able to get his right arm between himself and the wolf. The left groped blindly for the shotgun that had fallen sometime between its last firing and the wolf=s attack, certain now that his last shot had missed completely.
Vicious snarls and determined grunts joined forces in the cool night air, an odd sounding duet from two equally driven hunters, neither one gaining the upper hand, but both unwilling to lose the struggle. Sam now held off the wolf, keeping it from ripping him to shreds but not without penalty. His arm was clenched tightly between the sharp teeth, torn and bleeding from multiple puncture wounds. But as much as it hurt, Sam knew it was the only way to keep the gleaming teeth from finding purchase on some other, more vital part of his body. He accepted the sacrifice willingly.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Sam continued to push back against the wolf, gaining some ground even as he felt his flesh tear more in its grip. With a final shove Sam finally freed himself from underneath the wolf, sending it flying only a couple feet but giving Sam enough time to grab the shotgun as he scrambled to his feet.
They faced off again, dancing the same two-step they=d done earlier, when the wolf was in bear form, only this time it was a tighter circle. In one arm, Sam clutched the gun tightly, finger on the trigger and ready to fire. His other arm he held against his stomach, attempting to staunch the blood flow just by pressing his arm tight against the rock hard abs underneath his t-shirt. He maintained eye contact, knowing that would be his only chance at knowing when the creature would pounce again. He would be ready this time.
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When Dean first heard the bear growl he thought he was dreaming, and he trembled at the sound but otherwise remained asleep. Minutes later, the bear=s howl when Sam shot it brought Dean around with a gasp. His eyes shot open and he lay there for several minutes, panting hard, sweat pouring down his face as he tried to listen for more noise. He waited, desperate to make out some indication that Sam was okay. But confirmation didn=t come in the form he was looking for when he heard Sam cry out in pain. Dean sat up too fast, making his head spin. He dropped back to the sleeping bag, breathing deeply through his mouth as he tried to repress the nausea that was threatening its way back into his throat. When he was confident the nausea had passed Dean sat up again, slower this time, and found himself grateful for accomplishing what should have been a simple victory.
Sam cried out again, quieter this time, more controlled, but Dean knew his little brother was in trouble. Nuh uh. Not on my watch.
Their weapons bag lay just out of reach, and Dean had to stretch to grab hold of the strap, reminding him why he wasn=t out there in the fight in the first place. His injury made itself know in an agonizing rush of fire coursing through every synapse of his mangled leg, making Dean bite his lip hard to keep from shouting. Tears came to his eyes as he held back the scream, pulling the bag closer and selecting his favorite pistol. Going on a hunch he went with the iron rounds, praying that they would be the best choice, and loaded a bullet into each of the six chambers.
AHang on, Sammy, I=m coming,@ he whispered, lowering himself back down to the ground and flipping himself over onto his stomach. Fuck! Dean=s leg protested mightily, full out begging him not to move period let alone do what he intended to do next.
Had it been anyone else out there Dean probably would have given in after the first pull across the tent floor. But this was Sam. Sammy. His Sammy. Dean would go to the ends of the earth for the kid, and he=d be damned it he was going to let a twinge of pain in his leg keep him from getting to his brother. Aw hell, who am I kidding. This is no twinge. This is the fucking grand canyon of twinges. He=d never felt anything so excruciating in his entire hunting career, and he=d felt more pain in his twenty-seven years than twenty people would feel in a combination of their entire lifetimes. The whole leg felt like it was about to detach itself from the rest of his body as he reached out and dragged himself another couple of inches with his arms. He=d tried to use his good leg to help push himself along, but found it was more useful if he hooked the healthy foot behind the foot of his injured leg, bracing it just a little.
Despite it only being about two feet away, by the time Dean made it to the mouth of the tent he was seconds away from passing out from the pain. His breath came out in short gasps, and he realized that if he couldn=t get a handle on his breathing hyperventilation might be a problem too. With a conscious effort Dean forced himself to breath through the pain, to get control of himself, because if he couldn=t then he was no good to Sam.
There was another cry from outside, and Dean wasted no time throwing back the door flap, opening it just in time to watch the wolf lunge again, knocking the shotgun from Sam=s grasp before the boy could react. The younger hunter landed flat on his back, head smacking against a large boulder and knocking him unconscious. The wolf landed on top of Sam, claws ripping at the flesh in his chest, gouging massive gullies that immediately began to bleed. Within seconds Sam=s chest was crimson, and it was all Dean could do to tear his gaze away from his brother and focus on the creature causing the damage.
His focus wavered, weaving in and out, making it hard to keep his sights on the snarling wolf as it continued to tear his brother apart. He raised himself up on his elbows, leveling the gun and squinting to narrow in on the target. Only when he was certain he wouldn=t hit Sam did he fire, hitting the beast square in the chest. It fell, rolling on its side, paws scrabbling furiously to get back up, but Dean had actually done damage. He smiled, grateful that the chosen bullets had been the right pick, and fired again before the creature could recover. The next bullet hit the wolf right between the eyes and it fell silent, lingering in Dean=s sight for just a few seconds more before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke.
Relief flooded Dean=s senses as exhaustion overtook him and he finally passed out, flopping like a ragdoll right where he lay, his last fleeting thought that he had to get to Sam.
There was no way of knowing how long either one of them was out; there wasn=t even any way of knowing when the whole ordeal with the creature had started. Dean had been too out of it, and he doubted Sam had had the presence of mind to look at a watch as he was searching for a way to get rid of the wolf. But however long they=d been out, Dean knew it had been too long.
ASammy...@ Crying out his little brother=s name, the older hunter came to first. He spit out the mouthful of dirt he had inhaled when he=d done his faceplant earlier and groaned loudly, somewhat disoriented in the first few seconds of his waking. Squinting as he looked at the sky, Dean could make out the barest hint of dawn peeking through the trees and he immediately felt panic. How long was I out? Sammy! Where=s Sammy?
Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, fighting off another bout of nausea as he frantically searched for his little brother. He didn=t have far to look. Sam lay right where he=d been when Dean passed out; he hadn=t moved even an inch. From what he could see Sam looked dead, and that scared the shit out of Dean. ASammy!@ he called, forcing his hoarse voice to work.
When there was no response, Dean called louder, already dragging his body across the ground to where Sam lay. ASAMMY!@
Still, the young man didn=t stir. Dean pulled himself faster along the ground, flat out refusing to acknowledge the torture that afflicted his leg. A lifetime passed before Dean finally crossed the five feet to where Sam lay. He=d had to work through at least half a dozen spells of dizziness on the way over and it was all he could do to stay conscious as he let himself flop beside Sam=s motionless body.
ASammy,@ Dean whispered, gently stoking his younger brother=s hair, pushing the blood crusted strands out of the young man=s face. Relief came in short spurts as a finger to the neck and a hand hovering over Sam=s mouth at least revealed that he was still alive, and still breathing. So why isn=t he waking up? ACome on, man, you gotta wake up. We have to get out of here. You promised, remember? You said so yourself, first thing in the morning we=re outta here. Remember?@
Dean raised himself higher, enabling himself to get a better look at the wounds covering his brother=s chest and neck. They were bad, but not as bad as Dean had thought they would be when he=d watched them happen. And not even close to being as bad as Dean=s leg. But still... this was Sam, and that made everything look a hundred times worse than it really was. The wound on his neck would need stitches, and at least one of the slashes across his chest. But for now, the bleeding had slowed to barely a trickle, the majority of the blood on the outside now congealed and providing a protective covering.
ADammit, Sam, you said everything was safe,@ Dean ground out, pounding the forest floor with his fist. AI don=t know how to get us out of here. I don=t know if I can do it.@
Determination set in, telling Dean that he at least had to get Sam out of the open, back into the tent. With one hand he grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt, wishing there was a different way to get him back to the tent. But Dean could barely drag himself along and there was no way in hell that he would be able to carry Sam. Dragging him was the only option. The trek was slow, an awkward combination of Dean dragging himself a few inches and then pulling Sam along behind. He kept himself awake with constant reassurances to his brother. AIt=s alright, Sam. Everything=s going to be OK. I=m gonna take care of this. I just need you to wake up for me, little brother. Can you do that for me, please?@ In reality, Dean wasn=t sure if the reassurances were more for Sam or for himself, but that little fact didn=t matter much. Whoever it was for, it gave Dean purpose. It was the only reason they made it back into the tent.
Dean was exhausted; far beyond exhausted. He was barely holding on, and there was no doubt the only reason he was even still conscious was the need to get Sam to safety. They barely made it into the tent. He scarcely managed to close the zip fly of the tent. And yet, somehow, Dean managed to channel the strength to drag his weary body into a sit, propping Sam up against his chest. He knew he had to clean the wounds. He was alert enough to know that if the rusted old bear trap was enough to taint his own blood that the wolf=s saliva would most assuredly need to be washed from Sam=s system with a healthy dose of Holy water. Dean just hoped there was enough left to do the job.
Miraculously, the flask lay mere inches from where they sat hunched, and swaying, and Dean was able to easily grab the metal container without putting any more strain on his fatigued body. He unscrewed the cap, pouring the water sparingly over all of Sam=s wounds. Part of him hoped that the burning would rouse Sam, as it had himself. Dean didn=t want to be alone in this. He didn=t want to have to take all the world on himself. But Sam remained as quiet and unmoving as ever, not even flinching as the steam began to rise from his body. Dean=s heart sank.
APlease, Sammy, please wake up. I can=t get you out of here by myself, man. My leg=s too screwed up. There=s just no way. You=ve got to wake up and help me.@ The plea surprised Dean, not having even realized how desperate he was until the words tumbled from his mouth. It wasn=t like him to beg for help, and admitting his weaknesses was a huge no no.
It was all Dean could do to muster the strength to wrap Sam=s chest, neck and arm with heavy white gauze. He almost dropped the boy several times, cursing his brother=s heavy and lanky frame as he tried desperately to hold the limp boy with one weak arm while wrapping with the other. Blood seeped through the gauze immediately, the wounds having reopened the minute Dean began to move Sam outside, but there was just no way he had the strength to stitch him up. His vision was already swimming just trying to perform the simple act of covering the wounds. The gauze would have to do.
After pressing one last square of gauze to the gash on Sam=s head, Dean lowered his younger counterpart back to the ground, covering them both with Sam=s sleeping bag. And that was the last of it. There was nothing more he could do, having gotten Sam to the only safety they had, giving his brother the best treatment his weary body would allow. And the second he had the tent secure everything caught up with him and Dean once again gave in, passing out with his head resting on Sam=s stomach.
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Sam didn=t know if it was the footsteps that woke him up or the hot afternoon sun beating down on their tent, making his already fevered body feel like it was about to catch fire. He came to with a strangled gasp, feeling a sizeable pressure on his bladder that was only a little bit caused by Dean=s head resting right on top of his gut, and he tried to sit up. Stabbing pains in his chest and an immediate dizzying feeling in his head made him think twice about that terribly thought out move and he collapsed with a thud back to the ground.
ADean...@ he called out, his hazy memory trying frantically to recall the recent events that might have put him in this predicament. Where the hell are we? Nothing came to him. The last thing he remembered was leaving the car behind and trekking off into the Canadian wilderness with a snarking Dean following closely behind.
ADean!@ he tried again, more insistent this time when he realized the last call had accomplished nothing. ADean, wake up.@
Sam=s vision swam as he tried to turn his head enough to get a good look at his brother. The sleeping bag covered most of the older hunter, but Sam could make out Dean=s face and it didn=t look good. It was waxy and pale. His hair was matted to his head and sweat pooled from his forehead, creating a damp puddle on Sam=s shirt. Or was that Sam=s sweat creating the dampness all over his body. It didn=t take a genius to realize that he, too, had a fever. But what the hell happened? How did I get here?
The footsteps grew louder, and Sam could now make out faint voices with them. And barking...were there dogs out there? Suddenly Sam=s chest clenched, and something akin to fear began to overwhelm him. His breath came out in short, frantic gasps as the sounds of dogs got louder, and he was coherent enough to realize that this reaction wasn=t normal. He=d never been afraid of dogs before. So why now?
Sam pushed off again, his natural instinct to use his dominant arm, and it was all he could do to hold in the scream as the muscles in his torn right arm rebelled against the effort, dropping him back to the ground with an unceremonious thud. Unconscious came to him fast, the strain on his over-taxed body too much to deal with. He wasn=t awake to hear the frantic yells outside the tent as their position was compromised.
Master List Chapter 2 Chapter 4