Martha finished off whatever creature it was they were after. Sam had been using it as a training mission. Easy to kill... not much danger of dying he'd said. Except there he was on the floor looking very close to dead. Martha waited until she was sure the Nasty Thing was down before she rushed over to his side.
"Sam... Sam! You still here?" She looked over his wounds and pulled out the various medical things she carried on her person. She could save him. She had to save him.
[Aliens. Naturally it had to be aliens. But hey, when you spent your life fighting ghosts, monsters and even angels, why not?
[But it had been fast, too fast even for a hunter. His body broken and bleeding, he tries to muster a smile for Martha.] Hey. Little faster than I thought.
Sadly, her medical things were woefully inadequate. A needle and thread was fine... one alcoholic wipe... and she was going to have to splint everything. She quickly found something to lift his legs with in case he went into shock.
"It's fine. You'll come out of this alive. Just a matter of doing the right action. Sorry I don't have an anesthetic." She cleaned the most dangerous wound with the alcoholic wipe and began stitching it up, even as she knew it wasn't going to help. He'd lost too much blood.
"Martha. Don't." Sam knew it was too late, knew that whatever she did, it wouldn't be enough. Not out in the field. He tried to reach for her hand, stop her from doing any more. "Please."
His smile becomes a grimace of pain and he reaches out to hold her hand. At least he wasn't alone. "Dean doesn't hate you. It's just how he is. Promise. And Bobby," he bites back a groan, "he's like that with everyone."
"Tell Dean. Tell him it wasn't his fault. Please."
Sam? [Dean shouts out into the forest, now that the werewolf they were hunting was good and truly dead. His little brother's lack of response, however, is making him nervous. He usually doesn't take this long.] Sammy? [He walks through the forest, hoping to spot an (uninjured) mass of brother along the way.]
[Werewolves didn't usually hunt in packs. Which is why the second one literally blindsided Sam in the woods. He'd taken the thing down, but not before it had taken a chunk out of his side.
[Bleeding to death in the middle of nowhere. He only hoped Dean would find him first.] Dean.. 'm here. Over here. [Sam wanted to get up, go to him. But his legs refused to move.]
[When Dean sees the body of the second werewolf splayed across the ground, he curses to himself. Another fucking one? Really? It looks like Sam got it, though - but Sam. Where is Sam?]
[He breathes out a sigh of relief when he finally hears Sam's voice, but it's short lived when he reaches Sam and sees the deep wound gushing blood out of his side.] Sammy! [He's instantly on his knees, beside him, taking off his coat to put pressure onto the wound. If he thought he was worried before, he's heart's beating at a fucking million times and hour, now.] Jesus Christ, Sam, can't leave you alone for two minutes. [His voice is wobbly, not as reprimanding as he wanted it to sound.]
[The sudden pressure on his side sends a shock of pain through his body. He groans. Fuck. So goddamn stupid. He reaches to touch his brother's hand, stop Dean. Even now, he knew it was too late; too much blood lost, too far from help.] I know, I know.
Don't be stupid, Sam, nothin' to be sorry for. [He sees Sam's hand touch his own, and he knows that he's hurting his brother, but he's not gonna stop, be cause stopping mean's that Sam's dies - Dean almost chokes at the very thought of it.] We'll get you patched up, back to the motel. Be as good as new.
[No. He wouldn't be making it back to the motel. Or even as far as the Impala. He was too tired, too weak.] Not your fault, Dean. Okay? It's.. hng it's not your fault.
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"Sam... Sam! You still here?" She looked over his wounds and pulled out the various medical things she carried on her person. She could save him. She had to save him.
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[But it had been fast, too fast even for a hunter. His body broken and bleeding, he tries to muster a smile for Martha.] Hey. Little faster than I thought.
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"It's fine. You'll come out of this alive. Just a matter of doing the right action. Sorry I don't have an anesthetic." She cleaned the most dangerous wound with the alcoholic wipe and began stitching it up, even as she knew it wasn't going to help. He'd lost too much blood.
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"Tell Dean. Tell him it wasn't his fault. Please."
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Then she bit her lip because that wasn't helpful. "I'll tell him. I'll make sure he knows..."
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"It's not your fault either. I just wasn't.. wasn't fast enough."
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"is there anything special I need to do when you're gone?" she finally asks. Real comforting Martha.
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[Bleeding to death in the middle of nowhere. He only hoped Dean would find him first.] Dean.. 'm here. Over here. [Sam wanted to get up, go to him. But his legs refused to move.]
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[He breathes out a sigh of relief when he finally hears Sam's voice, but it's short lived when he reaches Sam and sees the deep wound gushing blood out of his side.] Sammy! [He's instantly on his knees, beside him, taking off his coat to put pressure onto the wound. If he thought he was worried before, he's heart's beating at a fucking million times and hour, now.] Jesus Christ, Sam, can't leave you alone for two minutes. [His voice is wobbly, not as reprimanding as he wanted it to sound.]
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I'm sorry.
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