Man vs Wild (Dean, ensemble, PG-13) 3/5
Title: Man vs Wild 3/5
Words: 2325
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/suspense, preseries
Characters: Dean, John, Sam, Bobby
Warnings: Adult language
Summary: Victim of a prank, Dean gets lost in the woods in some podunk town. Unfortunately, he isn't alone.
A/N: Annnd sorry for the long wait... again. Always hoping it's worth it. Never as long as I like but egh. Okay so there's a common misconception I see in a lot of stories about John and the boys using salt rounds in their shotguns in wee!chester fics. But if you recall in the pilot, Sam hadn't seen that before. So it's safe to assume Dean or John came up with this while Sam was away at college. Maybe. Hopefully. That's how I'm writing it anyway. Originally posted on September 1, 2009.
Previous parts
Part Three
Dean curled into himself as much as he could atop the tree, stilling his breaths to shallow wisps, willing himself to calm down. He was covered in mud from head to toe. He'd wash it off back at the stream he passed if he didn't think it was helping to somehow mask his scent. Not that it mattered much. Even that wasn't going to help much if whatever what out there caught up with him. It could be watching him right now, for all he knew. This thing was smart and the only thing he knew about staying alive out here he got from movies and MacGyver. Definitely need more Discovery Channel, dude. To top it all off, he was cold, wet, tired, and smelled like ass.
He was never going camping. Ever.
As he waited for the sounds of the breaking branches and breathy grunts to fade further away, he briefly let himself get lost in the thought that people actually did this for fun. Survivalists, they called themselves. He could almost guarantee they'd be pissing themselves right about now. He could feel some pride in that. Sure, there was a good chance he was going to die unless his dad found him but at least he knew he'd be a man about it.
Kind of. He hoped.
From everything he was able to see from his dad's notes, this thing tore its victims apart, messy and violent in a way that tested your gag reflex. Not a pretty way to go, that was for sure. He shuddered at the thought of his own body being torn to shreds and left to rot in the woods. It was disarming and he needed to stop thinking like that. He knew he had to have faith that his dad would get to him before that thing did but all he could think about right now was Please, God, don't let me die a virgin.
Ten minutes had passed and he still didn't dare move. He didn't know what kind of senses this thing had. For all he knew, it had super hearing or some other shit that was going to work against him. His leg had begun to cramp two minutes ago and all he could do was bite his tongue. Just a little longer. It was then that his stomach chose to rebel against him and let loose a low grumble. He froze, closed his eyes tight, and clenched just about every muscle he still had control over.
Shit, please tell me it couldn't hear that. Another gurgle and Dean could feel beads of sweat form across his brow. Shut up! God dammit, just shut up! He waited. A crack sounded to his right and he jumped, nearly falling from his perch. Another crack and he was moving, climbing higher up the tree as fast as he could until the branches thinned out and he couldn't go any further. A rationalizing fear took over and he realized he'd just trapped himself. Shit. Son of a bitch! What the hell was I thinking?!
Then, there was nothing. The only thing he could hear were the sounds of his own raspy breathing. Still, he waited. Minutes passed and nothing came. He almost couldn't fight the burble of insane laughter the lodged itself in his throat. He just freaked out over what was probably a damn deer. If his dad could see him now. How embarrassing.
He slowly climbed back down the tree, not wanting to really be stuck up there if the fugly came back. For all he knew, the thing could climb. He was better off on the ground, moving. He hoped, anyway. He was starting to think he was pretty much screwed either way. Distracted with listening to sounds in the distance, he lost his footing three quarters of the way down. His eyes widened as he scrambled to get a hold of something but his hands couldn't garner purchase and slipped down the slick bark. The fifteen foot drop felt like an eternity until he collided with the ground with a grunt. The wind was knocked out of him the second he hit ground and all he could do was roll onto his back, slightly panicked, as he tried to breathe. As his chest began to untighten, his brain registered pain. Sharp, throbbing pain. It didn't take him long to realize his wrist was broken, which was just friggin' dandy. Not like he wasn't at a disadvantage out in the great outdoors already. He sat up slowly, wincing when his ribs protested the movement. They didn't feel broken but he was sure he bruised something. Now he could add pain to the long list of sucky things for the day. Just great.
----------
The drive was quiet, neither man willing to voice their inner fears. John's foot never let up on the gas pedal as they raced to the location Dean was left. Both knew there wasn't a chance in hell that those boys just missed Dean and he was just sitting there waiting for him. He knew Dean would've tried to find a way out but he'd studied the maps of the area and knew how dense these woods got. One wrong turn and Dean would end up even deeper in. When it came to their line of work, John knew to prepare for the worst. Nothing could ever prepare him for finding his son dead. Or not finding him at all for that matter. That wasn't an option in John Winchester's book. Neither was failure. Not as a marine. He only wished he could say the same about being a father.
----------
Bobby was good at multitasking. Next to his knowledge about demons, it was his best skill. So that's why he found it so effortless to scan the surrounding area, listen for any sounds, and keep a close eye on his friend at the same time. Bobby would never admit fear, especially to John Winchester, but he was honest to God afraid of how they would find Dean. He'd been missing for hours, lost in a place of carnage and death. He knew John had been training him. Hell, he and John got in a quite a few arguments about it whenever they stayed at his place. He didn't particularly like the way John had chosen to raise his sons but it wasn't his place to say so. Not that it stopped him from doing it from time to time. But now, Bobby was grateful. Dean knew there was something out there and that at least put him more ahead of the curve than most. But, without any weapons and nothing but the moon to light the way, Dean's chances were slim to none on getting out of this alive. He was afraid they were too late. If he was thinking it, he knew John was too.
----------
John stepped carefully through sodden ground, his Marine training giving him the ability to be silent while stalking his prey. He mentally went through a checklist every few minutes of what weapons were where and the time it would take to retrieve them. He had his shotgun loaded with iron buckshot in his hands and one of his .45's tucked at the waist in front. Bobby walked a few paces behind him, pretty much in the same boat, a duffel slung across each of their backs. It was mighty foolish to trek into dense woods at night without knowing what you were after, but they didn't have a choice. That choice was taken out of their hands the second Dean went missing. His son was out here, defenseless, and John could do nothing but blame himself. He hadn't exactly been going easy on the kid in the way of training, but when it came to the bigger hunts, he left Dean out of them. Didn't think he was ready. But who's fault was that? Not Dean's. Lord knew the kid tried. Never again, John promised. From this moment on, he was going to make sure both his boys were prepared for anything and everything. The supernatural world was no place to be sheltered and left in the dark. He was going to get Dean and he was going to make sure this never happened again. If it did, they would be ready. He just had to get Dean out of this alive first.
----------
"Dude, you're so screwed." He whispered. "Hey, that rhymed." He smiled, then shook his head. Now was not the time. Today was pretty much down the crapper but he was still alive, so that was something. Not much, but he'd take anything he could get at this point. His arm was throbbing and there was a tension building between his eyes. It been hours since he'd last eaten but that was the least of his worries right now. Didn't stop him from imagining a big, juicy cheeseburger with the works, a mound of fries, and a very large soda. Damn, he was thirsty. The temperature had dropped since the afternoon and a slight nip was added to the breeze, cooled down by the earlier storm. He'd started shivering some time back and wished like hell his clothes would dry already. His jeans were chaffing in places he didn't want to think about and his damp shirt was making his skin tingle.
"Dammit, this sucks out loud."
----------
Back at their rental, Sam paced the small living room, his dad's gun bouncing off his hip in one hand while the other clenched and unclenched compulsively. He hated this. He hated waiting. His eyes kept drifting from the door, to the window, to his dad's research and back again. All the exits were as secure as they were going to get, not that Sam believed anything would be coming in that shouldn't. At least he hoped. Sam was still too young to hunt really and to be honest, he was perfectly fine with that. His biggest regret was reading his dad's journal two years ago and finding out the truth. But he wondered; how much longer would they have kept it from him if he hadn't? Would he still but just as clueless now? Part of him wished he was and then maybe he wouldn't be so scared right now. He had no clue what was out there and it didn't comfort him any that neither did his dad or Bobby. He didn't know how Dean had done this all these years; sitting at home waiting for their father to come back. This time was different, though, because now he wasn't just waiting for dad. He wanted to believe like Dean did that John was a superhero but he just couldn't
Sam glanced back to the table in the next room. He'd been trying hard not to give into the temptation to look at it but not knowing anything just made everything worse. With one last look at the door, Sam turned and made his way to the table. He set the .45 down and began sifting through his dad's research. He read the newspaper clippings, the obituaries, and the loose notes until coming across the police reports and photos. His hand flew to his mouth as his stomach began to rebel at the image of gnarled, human remains.
"Oh, God." Sam made it to the sink just in time to empty his stomach. He gripped the sink tightly, his knuckles white, as the sound of his retching carried through the empty rooms. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to catch his breath and he let out a whimper. "Dean."
----------
John knelt down next to what looked like footprints. They'd filled in some since the storm but he could tell there was force behind them. He couldn't make out the size but he knew they were Dean's. They were too new to be anyone else's. He started when Bobby knelt to his left.
"Find something?"
"Footprints. Gotta be Deans. They're too fresh."
"He was running."
John squinted into the distance ahead of them. "Yeah."
"Coulda been any number of reasons."
John wasn't buying that bullshit and Bobby knew it. Only one reason Dean would be running.
"Let's keep moving. Pick up the pace a little."
Bobby stood, his knees protesting. He readjusted the duffel and set back behind John. Pick up the pace, Bobby inwardly grunted. He was practically jogging already trying to keep up with John's longer legs. He wasn't going to complain though. He wanted to find Dean just as badly.
"This may sound like a bad idea, but should we try calling out for him? You said it yourself, the tracks are fresh. He could be near enough to hear us." John turned and leveled Bobby with a look that told him just what a dumbass idea he thought that was. "Don't look at me like I'm some stupid ass newbie, Winchester. If that thing's around, whatever the hell it is, it probably already knows we're here. The quicker we get to Dean, the better."
Bobby did have a point, John knew, but calling out to Dean didn't just mean giving away their location; it meant giving away Dean's as well. That was assuming it hadn't gotten to him already. John clenched his eyes shut at the thought. The grisly image of his son torn to shreds caused them to burst open.
"John?"
He hung his head for a second before taking another look around with the flashlight. It was getting darker. Bobby was right. If Dean was hurt and lying down somewhere, they could easily miss him. Whatever was out there be damned. But, before he could get a sound out, Dean's voice pierced through the darkness.
"DAD!" The scream ripped through the trees and made John's blood run cold, his whipping around to the direction it came from. They were too late. NO!
"DEAN!"
End Part 3
Words: 2325
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/suspense, preseries
Characters: Dean, John, Sam, Bobby
Warnings: Adult language
Summary: Victim of a prank, Dean gets lost in the woods in some podunk town. Unfortunately, he isn't alone.
A/N: Annnd sorry for the long wait... again. Always hoping it's worth it. Never as long as I like but egh. Okay so there's a common misconception I see in a lot of stories about John and the boys using salt rounds in their shotguns in wee!chester fics. But if you recall in the pilot, Sam hadn't seen that before. So it's safe to assume Dean or John came up with this while Sam was away at college. Maybe. Hopefully. That's how I'm writing it anyway. Originally posted on September 1, 2009.
Previous parts
Part Three
Dean curled into himself as much as he could atop the tree, stilling his breaths to shallow wisps, willing himself to calm down. He was covered in mud from head to toe. He'd wash it off back at the stream he passed if he didn't think it was helping to somehow mask his scent. Not that it mattered much. Even that wasn't going to help much if whatever what out there caught up with him. It could be watching him right now, for all he knew. This thing was smart and the only thing he knew about staying alive out here he got from movies and MacGyver. Definitely need more Discovery Channel, dude. To top it all off, he was cold, wet, tired, and smelled like ass.
He was never going camping. Ever.
As he waited for the sounds of the breaking branches and breathy grunts to fade further away, he briefly let himself get lost in the thought that people actually did this for fun. Survivalists, they called themselves. He could almost guarantee they'd be pissing themselves right about now. He could feel some pride in that. Sure, there was a good chance he was going to die unless his dad found him but at least he knew he'd be a man about it.
Kind of. He hoped.
From everything he was able to see from his dad's notes, this thing tore its victims apart, messy and violent in a way that tested your gag reflex. Not a pretty way to go, that was for sure. He shuddered at the thought of his own body being torn to shreds and left to rot in the woods. It was disarming and he needed to stop thinking like that. He knew he had to have faith that his dad would get to him before that thing did but all he could think about right now was Please, God, don't let me die a virgin.
Ten minutes had passed and he still didn't dare move. He didn't know what kind of senses this thing had. For all he knew, it had super hearing or some other shit that was going to work against him. His leg had begun to cramp two minutes ago and all he could do was bite his tongue. Just a little longer. It was then that his stomach chose to rebel against him and let loose a low grumble. He froze, closed his eyes tight, and clenched just about every muscle he still had control over.
Shit, please tell me it couldn't hear that. Another gurgle and Dean could feel beads of sweat form across his brow. Shut up! God dammit, just shut up! He waited. A crack sounded to his right and he jumped, nearly falling from his perch. Another crack and he was moving, climbing higher up the tree as fast as he could until the branches thinned out and he couldn't go any further. A rationalizing fear took over and he realized he'd just trapped himself. Shit. Son of a bitch! What the hell was I thinking?!
Then, there was nothing. The only thing he could hear were the sounds of his own raspy breathing. Still, he waited. Minutes passed and nothing came. He almost couldn't fight the burble of insane laughter the lodged itself in his throat. He just freaked out over what was probably a damn deer. If his dad could see him now. How embarrassing.
He slowly climbed back down the tree, not wanting to really be stuck up there if the fugly came back. For all he knew, the thing could climb. He was better off on the ground, moving. He hoped, anyway. He was starting to think he was pretty much screwed either way. Distracted with listening to sounds in the distance, he lost his footing three quarters of the way down. His eyes widened as he scrambled to get a hold of something but his hands couldn't garner purchase and slipped down the slick bark. The fifteen foot drop felt like an eternity until he collided with the ground with a grunt. The wind was knocked out of him the second he hit ground and all he could do was roll onto his back, slightly panicked, as he tried to breathe. As his chest began to untighten, his brain registered pain. Sharp, throbbing pain. It didn't take him long to realize his wrist was broken, which was just friggin' dandy. Not like he wasn't at a disadvantage out in the great outdoors already. He sat up slowly, wincing when his ribs protested the movement. They didn't feel broken but he was sure he bruised something. Now he could add pain to the long list of sucky things for the day. Just great.
----------
The drive was quiet, neither man willing to voice their inner fears. John's foot never let up on the gas pedal as they raced to the location Dean was left. Both knew there wasn't a chance in hell that those boys just missed Dean and he was just sitting there waiting for him. He knew Dean would've tried to find a way out but he'd studied the maps of the area and knew how dense these woods got. One wrong turn and Dean would end up even deeper in. When it came to their line of work, John knew to prepare for the worst. Nothing could ever prepare him for finding his son dead. Or not finding him at all for that matter. That wasn't an option in John Winchester's book. Neither was failure. Not as a marine. He only wished he could say the same about being a father.
----------
Bobby was good at multitasking. Next to his knowledge about demons, it was his best skill. So that's why he found it so effortless to scan the surrounding area, listen for any sounds, and keep a close eye on his friend at the same time. Bobby would never admit fear, especially to John Winchester, but he was honest to God afraid of how they would find Dean. He'd been missing for hours, lost in a place of carnage and death. He knew John had been training him. Hell, he and John got in a quite a few arguments about it whenever they stayed at his place. He didn't particularly like the way John had chosen to raise his sons but it wasn't his place to say so. Not that it stopped him from doing it from time to time. But now, Bobby was grateful. Dean knew there was something out there and that at least put him more ahead of the curve than most. But, without any weapons and nothing but the moon to light the way, Dean's chances were slim to none on getting out of this alive. He was afraid they were too late. If he was thinking it, he knew John was too.
----------
John stepped carefully through sodden ground, his Marine training giving him the ability to be silent while stalking his prey. He mentally went through a checklist every few minutes of what weapons were where and the time it would take to retrieve them. He had his shotgun loaded with iron buckshot in his hands and one of his .45's tucked at the waist in front. Bobby walked a few paces behind him, pretty much in the same boat, a duffel slung across each of their backs. It was mighty foolish to trek into dense woods at night without knowing what you were after, but they didn't have a choice. That choice was taken out of their hands the second Dean went missing. His son was out here, defenseless, and John could do nothing but blame himself. He hadn't exactly been going easy on the kid in the way of training, but when it came to the bigger hunts, he left Dean out of them. Didn't think he was ready. But who's fault was that? Not Dean's. Lord knew the kid tried. Never again, John promised. From this moment on, he was going to make sure both his boys were prepared for anything and everything. The supernatural world was no place to be sheltered and left in the dark. He was going to get Dean and he was going to make sure this never happened again. If it did, they would be ready. He just had to get Dean out of this alive first.
----------
"Dude, you're so screwed." He whispered. "Hey, that rhymed." He smiled, then shook his head. Now was not the time. Today was pretty much down the crapper but he was still alive, so that was something. Not much, but he'd take anything he could get at this point. His arm was throbbing and there was a tension building between his eyes. It been hours since he'd last eaten but that was the least of his worries right now. Didn't stop him from imagining a big, juicy cheeseburger with the works, a mound of fries, and a very large soda. Damn, he was thirsty. The temperature had dropped since the afternoon and a slight nip was added to the breeze, cooled down by the earlier storm. He'd started shivering some time back and wished like hell his clothes would dry already. His jeans were chaffing in places he didn't want to think about and his damp shirt was making his skin tingle.
"Dammit, this sucks out loud."
----------
Back at their rental, Sam paced the small living room, his dad's gun bouncing off his hip in one hand while the other clenched and unclenched compulsively. He hated this. He hated waiting. His eyes kept drifting from the door, to the window, to his dad's research and back again. All the exits were as secure as they were going to get, not that Sam believed anything would be coming in that shouldn't. At least he hoped. Sam was still too young to hunt really and to be honest, he was perfectly fine with that. His biggest regret was reading his dad's journal two years ago and finding out the truth. But he wondered; how much longer would they have kept it from him if he hadn't? Would he still but just as clueless now? Part of him wished he was and then maybe he wouldn't be so scared right now. He had no clue what was out there and it didn't comfort him any that neither did his dad or Bobby. He didn't know how Dean had done this all these years; sitting at home waiting for their father to come back. This time was different, though, because now he wasn't just waiting for dad. He wanted to believe like Dean did that John was a superhero but he just couldn't
Sam glanced back to the table in the next room. He'd been trying hard not to give into the temptation to look at it but not knowing anything just made everything worse. With one last look at the door, Sam turned and made his way to the table. He set the .45 down and began sifting through his dad's research. He read the newspaper clippings, the obituaries, and the loose notes until coming across the police reports and photos. His hand flew to his mouth as his stomach began to rebel at the image of gnarled, human remains.
"Oh, God." Sam made it to the sink just in time to empty his stomach. He gripped the sink tightly, his knuckles white, as the sound of his retching carried through the empty rooms. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to catch his breath and he let out a whimper. "Dean."
----------
John knelt down next to what looked like footprints. They'd filled in some since the storm but he could tell there was force behind them. He couldn't make out the size but he knew they were Dean's. They were too new to be anyone else's. He started when Bobby knelt to his left.
"Find something?"
"Footprints. Gotta be Deans. They're too fresh."
"He was running."
John squinted into the distance ahead of them. "Yeah."
"Coulda been any number of reasons."
John wasn't buying that bullshit and Bobby knew it. Only one reason Dean would be running.
"Let's keep moving. Pick up the pace a little."
Bobby stood, his knees protesting. He readjusted the duffel and set back behind John. Pick up the pace, Bobby inwardly grunted. He was practically jogging already trying to keep up with John's longer legs. He wasn't going to complain though. He wanted to find Dean just as badly.
"This may sound like a bad idea, but should we try calling out for him? You said it yourself, the tracks are fresh. He could be near enough to hear us." John turned and leveled Bobby with a look that told him just what a dumbass idea he thought that was. "Don't look at me like I'm some stupid ass newbie, Winchester. If that thing's around, whatever the hell it is, it probably already knows we're here. The quicker we get to Dean, the better."
Bobby did have a point, John knew, but calling out to Dean didn't just mean giving away their location; it meant giving away Dean's as well. That was assuming it hadn't gotten to him already. John clenched his eyes shut at the thought. The grisly image of his son torn to shreds caused them to burst open.
"John?"
He hung his head for a second before taking another look around with the flashlight. It was getting darker. Bobby was right. If Dean was hurt and lying down somewhere, they could easily miss him. Whatever was out there be damned. But, before he could get a sound out, Dean's voice pierced through the darkness.
"DAD!" The scream ripped through the trees and made John's blood run cold, his whipping around to the direction it came from. They were too late. NO!
"DEAN!"
End Part 3