A 'Hole' Lotta Trouble, wee!chesters, PG-13, 7/9?
FIC: A Hole Lotta Trouble 7/9?
Author: Supernatural Mommy
Characters: Wee!Sammy, Wee!Dean, John, and maybe a surprise OClater
Warnings: PG-ish; Kids in peril, naughty language. Don't thinkthere's anything else major.
Disclaimor: I don't own 'em *pity* but if I did, I'd love the stuffing out of little Sammy and Dean
Beta: The fabulous Raven!
Summary: What happens with the boys and John are separated inthe middle of a supposedly "routine" hunt? Does anything ever workout routinely for the Winchesters? Um ... no?
Author's Notes: I looked and looked and finally found my last posted chapter for this poor lonely little fic and *blushes* it was OVER a year ago and I am SO embarrassed. So, yeah … here’s an update and I’m already working on the next one, wanting to wrap this one up within a couple more updates. Hopefully a lot quicker than the last one. *bites lip*
Chapter 7
He stumbled, foot snagging on a tree limb in his haste to move, to get to his boys. John looked ahead, eyes narrowed as he decided the view in the middle of the three he was currently seeing was the best to follow. He shook his head and tried to get his bearings.
Okay.
He knew the location the SOB had taken Dean, proudly noting several snatches of fabric in a trail of sorts. He couldn’t help looking back and wishing that he could go for Sammy - he had no clue where his baby was …
Focus.
Okay.
Trudging wearily ahead, using the tree trunks he ran into to prop him up, John just hoped he wasn’t playing a losing battle of Tag. This rawhide wanna-be didn’t really do “tag” as much as it hit and ran, he mused. At least that’s what he kept doing with John … who wasn’t his target prey. What would happen once it had one or both his boys, though?
___________________________________________________________________
“Wakey, wakey Princess Sammina …” Dean nudged Sammy gently,hating to bring his brother back to the pain he knew the younger boy must be in. He looked up at the sky above them, the bits of grass swaying just above the rim of the hole they found themselves in,and couldn’t help but feel a little …
He took a deep breath, and then swiped one sleeve across his eyes as he glanced down at Sammy again. Shit! Glancing up toward the top of their hellhole again, Dean’s eyes narrowed as he considered the height. He looked back down at the hole surrounding them, reaching a hand to his side to feel the ‘wall.’ The dirt wall crumbled slightly under his touch and Dean’s eyes brightened.
“Okay, dude, you get to sleep a little longer … I got an idea.” He slowly, painfully pulled his legs underneath his butt, using them and his back against the wall to slide up the wall to standing. He pressed a slightly shaking hand against the wound in his side and blinked back tears at the fresh pain the action caused. “Shit.”
“Da’ll kick ya’ butt.” Sam’s small, hoarse voice surprised Dean’s upward momentum and he paused a moment, staring down at his little brother. He took in the hair clinging to Sam’s pale forehead, curling at the nape of his neck. His eyes took in the pinched face and shadows under Sammy’seyes and he cursed again, mentally this time.
“Yeah? Well, Dad’s running late for his rescue gig, so you don’t tell on me and I won’t get in trouble, k?” He watched Sam swallow, the action seeming difficult for the youngster, and then his brother’s eyes fluttered before resting at half-mast.
“Wa ..” Sam swallowed again and licked his lips, reaching shakily for the water bottle still by his side. Dean had replaced the lid but left it be. Unfortunately, Sam was trembling too much to grasp the lid, and it seemed his strength failed him as the hand with the bottle fell to lay limply on his lap. A cut off, angry sob propelled Dean to action.
“Here, princess …” He leaned over, being careful not to let Sam see how much the movement cost him. His brother was a pain in the … yeah,well he was. But he was also way too sharp. He pulled the bottle from Sam’s weak grasp and opened it, leaning just a little further to help Sam get it to his mouth and take a few sips. “Just alittle, now, or you’ll get sick.”
Sam doesn’t seem interested in any more, anyway, gasping a bit for breath as Dean set the bottle of water down carefully beside him.
“Sorry. De’ jus’ um … wha?” Sam was looking up at Dean, his eyes slowly opening and closing, and it was easy to see the confusion his little brother had as his energy was depleted.
“Just rest, Sammy, k? I got an idea here.” Sam’s eyes were sliding shut before Dean finished speaking and Dean sighed. Shit! Son of a Bitch! No one could hear in his head so he wouldn’t get in trouble. His dad woulda’ even cussed.
He swallowed and tried to decide on the best way to do this. He moved to the opposite side of the hole and worked his hands into the dirt wall, digging into the wall as high up as he could reach and then all the way to the floor, working around the perimeter of the hole. As the loose dirt built up, he used his sneakers to start pushing it toward one spot against the wall of their prison.
He took a break when his vision started to gray out, swiping the bottle of water Sam had already spilled and wetting his mouth with the swallow or two that still remained in the bottle. He eyed the bottle for a second after, then shrugged and threw it out of the hole. Not like the monster would care, and it would give their dad another clue to find them with.
Ignoring the growing pain in his side, he dropped down to his knees and used already dirty hands to start pushing the loose dirt into a pile along the wall a couple feet to their right. He packed the dirt as tightly as he could with his hands, forming a step-like lump with the earth.
He groaned, feet heavy with exhaustion and muscles trembling way too much for an 11-year-old wanna-be hunter. He took a deep breath,stepping on his dirt mound to help pack it down as much as possible. All told, he’d been able to form a step, about 18 inches by two feet, and a kind of solid half-foot high.
He considered the step.
Dean looked back up at the edge of the hole, stepped on the mound and looked back up again. Damn. He glanced at Sam in automatic response before shaking his head at how bad his brother looked.
Dean determined he would have to keep working if he had any chance of getting to the edge of the hole. He looked at the step and the earth right there again and bit his bottom lip.
Bending down slowly, he grabbed the second knife from Sammy’s backpack, He sure as heck didn’t want to lose one of his. He plunged it into the earthen wall, crumbling clumps of dark soil falling in a pitter-patter to litter the ground at his feet.
The light overhead changed, stray light moving across the sides and floor. Though the sun’s rays never touched him, Dean could feel the heat as the golden rays filtered down into their hole in the ground.
Still he worked.
He only stopped when, hours later, he heard Sam’s whimper behind him.
“Sammy?” He turned, pressing a hand to his absolutely fuckin’ throbbing side as he dropped to his knees beside Sam. “Hey kiddo.”
He bit his lip as his brother watched him through slitted eyes, cheeks rosy and all over shivering even though his hair was damp against his forehead. Sammy licked his lips and opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again, lashes fluttering for a moment before his eyes again opened slightly, as if the effort to open them further was just too much. He licked his lips again, his voice barely able to be heard.
“De’? Don’ feel too goo’, hur’s.” His face scrunched up and Dean felt a moment of panic before he shoved it to the corner to deal with some other time. He moved closer to Sam, making sure he was within his brother’s line of sight.
“I know, buddy. I know. I’m sorry … I’m working on a plan to help Dad find us. ‘Kay? I just need you to hold on for me, little brother. Just hold on.” The wide eyes, dark with pain and bright with tears yet to fall, fluttered closed before Dean was finished speaking. Sammy did nod fractionally,whether in response or something else … yeah, he needed to get to work.
By now, Dean had freed what felt like a ton of dirt, trying to pull it equally from all sides but the one Sammy was currently resting against. He had molded it the best he could, forming a passable kind ofstaircase. As the section became taller, he’d emptied Sam’s backpack out,carefully transferring everything over to his own. Then, he’d used the backpack, filling it with dirt and dumping the soil on the top of his masterpiece. He’d packed the earth over and over again, trying to make it as sturdy as possible, and felt as hopeful as he could that it would hold his weight. His vision kept tunneling, though, making it harder and harder to work on the dirt staircase. His body seemed to be fighting against him as he fought to bring the dirt up time after time to pack into place.
Amazing, from all the work he’d done he woulda’ thought he could have made it to the top by now. But, no … he’d only managed maybe four, five feet’s worth of crumbling stairs. He eyed them apprehensively … four, five feet’s worth of crumbling stairs that looked more able to give out under his weight than support it. His head fell forward in exhaustion and defeat.
“D’n?” Hoarse, barely a whisper, Sammy’s voice caused his chest to move in a mighty inhale/exhale as he struggled to keep the black dots at bay. Dean dropped down to the balls of his feet, closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness, and took in his brother’s pain-wracked and sweaty face.
“I’m here Sammy, just working on getting’ us out of here, buddy.” He took hold of his little brother’s twitching hand gently, frowning at his own dirt encrusted fingers. He felt a slight flex against his hand as Sammy tried to respond to his big brother’s touch and voice.
“D’d?”
“He’s comin,’ little brother,” even if he’s taking his sweet freakin’ time doing it, Dean added mentally.
“Wh …. ‘er’s ‘at thin’ a’?” Where’s that thing at? His gaze narrowed on Sam’s face, and he hated that his little brother had to be here, and hurting. It wasn’t fair.
“Don’t know, Sammy boy. Maybe Dad’s killed it by now.” The hand he held went limp and his eyes flew up to his brother’s face. “Sammy?”
He continued holding onto the smaller hand of his brother, leaning closer until he could make out the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest. Breathing. Yes. Good. Breathing was good. Shit!
He forced his breathing to steady and forced the panic away. It wouldn’t help Sammy or him to panic now.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
His fingers looked almost black against the white skin of Sam’s neck as he checked the pulse there, relieved when he found it slightly erratic but steady. He let go of Sam’s other hand, gently lowering it to rest on his brother’s stomach before assessing the situation. He had to get help for Sammy, had to keep him warm ‘cuz he most definitely was well into shock by now. Gee, what good fortune he had paid attention to the first aid basics Dad had been drumming into them both on regular Saturday morning intervals.
Okay, another deep breath … he could do this … he turned away from his brother for a moment, the fragility of Sammy’s normal dorky, stubborn ass hard to look at when he needed to think. Had to plan … what to freakin’ do?
He looked up, eyed his pathetic attempt at a staircase, and squared his shoulders before turning back to once again face his brother. He glanced at his dirt encrusted hands and knew he wouldn’t be able to give Sammy any kind of additional first aid without risking infection in those open woundsof his. But he could cover him, try to combat the obvious shock at least. His hands shook as he rummaged in the remaining backpack, pulling out a sweatshirt and another thin blanket. He covered Sammy the best he could, molding theblanket close to his feverish skin and trying not to wonder if what he was doing was enough. It was never enough. He was never freakin’ good enough to … he shook his head. Had to focus, keep his head in the game.
Assured that he had covered Sammy to the best of his ability, the leather coat went over everything else he had piled on Sammy. He was pretty sure his brother smiled softly to himself as he tucked the weathered leather under Sam’s chin.
Shaking slightly, Dean straightened, one hand hovering protectively over his side. Man, that hurt! He gritted his teeth and fished through the remaining backpack, pulling out a bottle of water and his trusty Glock. He felt up the cool metal for a moment, relishing the comfort of that familiar touch before he realized he was being a chick and tucked the gun into his waistband, followed quickly by his knife. He edged the water into his side pocket, glad he’d worn baggy jeans. Then he looked up his dirt mou … er, staircase and started edging his way up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
John was feeling slightly more capable of walking now, though he still stumbled over the uneven ground. He ran a shaky hand over his forehead and conceded he probably shouldn’t have brought the boys on this one,even if it had only been meant to be recon. He’d be sure to catch hell from Bobby … if they made it …no! There wasn’t a choice here, he was getting his boys and they were getting the hell out of here. And he was killing the SOB that caused this whole sorry chain of events.
He laughed half heartedly to himself.
Did that mean he’d have to kill himself? It was his fault the boys were out here, his fault they were playing bait without backup, his fault they were probably … damnit John,get ahold of yourself!
He studied the broken trail in front of him, realizing he’d come almost full circle. Huh. He’d spent the last half hour or so following the trail to where it looked almost as if a fight had gone down, with a flattened area of earth that spoke of the creature going down, not Dean. He’d made out a patch of blood with another burst of pride for his eldest.
Then he had followed a newer trail, unable to tell if Dean had gone this way, but unmistakably seeing the signs of the beast - bent branches, snapped twigs on the ground and tufts of rough hair here and there. It had been enough to bring him back here, to the clearing where this seemed to have started in the first place.
He pulled his largest blade from the custom sheath at his belt, holding it with deadly intent as he narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus his dancing vision. It was late in the day, almost evening, with dusk approaching. John stepped carefully from tree to tree, trying to keep his vision straight and other senses attuned. Something wasn’t quite right here, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.
He sensed it before he caught the blurry shape at the edge of his vision and turned his head sharply to see the graceful loping gait of the creature, obviously injured since it was actually limping. It’s nose was up, and John knew what it was doing even as the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.
The thing was scenting its prey. And the prey was his sons.
Son of a bitch! He took off at an erratic pace, almost running except his body wouldn’t obey that command. He had to get to that SOB before it got to his sons!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dean smiled grimly as his hands slipped in the loosened earth. He was almost to the top of his ‘staircase’ and actually thought he had a chance of getting out of this hellhole … heh,hellhole, heh.
He finally made it to the top and stood carefully, as close to the earthen wall as he could, before reaching up and … with a small cry of triumpth he grasped the edge of the hole. His muscles trembled, his side was an agonizing hurt that wouldn’t fade. But he did it! He made it to the freakin’ top!
He carefully worked his tired muscles, working the tips of his shoes into the earth to act as footholds so he could use them to gain purchase. They crumbled under his weight, but the small amount of traction they provided was enough for him to lever himself up to his stomach on the edge of the hole. After that, it was a frustrating inch by inch maneuver to work the rest of his body up to solid ground.
He lay there for a moment, breathing difficult and painful. He had just determined it was time to try and gain his feet when he felt a disturbance in the air just in front of him. The jarring, sudden, landing of freakin’ fugly looking claw/feet things made him scramble back with a small - very small, darnit - scream of dismay.
He was already reaching for his blade as the a**hole leaned down and easily picked him up by the scruff of his neck. And since when did he have scruff? Man!
“Get off me!” He squirmed and kicked, ignoring his body’s protests as pain flared everywhere bright white and blinding. He held his blade, clenching the handle as tightly as he could until he saw a good opening.
Only problem was, the nasty thing seemed to have learned that Dean was a worthy freakin’ opponent. Before the young hunter even knew what was happening the freak had knocked him over the head hard enough to make those black dots dance again. He raised the knife, ready to use the thing regardless of whether he could gain a clear shot or not. He jammed the blade home, felt it sliding into muscles and felt the rush of warm blood over his hand.
He felt it, heard it, tasted it almost, as his knife hand snapped under the pressure of the creature’s wringing grip. He screamed like a girl and didn’t really f*ckin’ care, sobbing out the pain as he struggled to master it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Across the clearing, John was blinking his eyes as he saw the smaller figure appear out of nowhere. The beast’s head snapped to the side, zeroing in on the smaller body before taking a graceful leap, landing in front of the small figure - Dean?
He squinted even as he struggled to move faster, pushing himself into a run as the small cry of pain. He was maybe 100 yards away when he heard Dean scream. Dean screamed. His son didn’t scream.
Except he did.
John kept his knife in front of him and ran, all the aches and pains and concussions forgotten and pushed to the side under the threat to his family.
Author: Supernatural Mommy
Characters: Wee!Sammy, Wee!Dean, John, and maybe a surprise OClater
Warnings: PG-ish; Kids in peril, naughty language. Don't thinkthere's anything else major.
Disclaimor: I don't own 'em *pity* but if I did, I'd love the stuffing out of little Sammy and Dean
Beta: The fabulous Raven!
Summary: What happens with the boys and John are separated inthe middle of a supposedly "routine" hunt? Does anything ever workout routinely for the Winchesters? Um ... no?
Author's Notes: I looked and looked and finally found my last posted chapter for this poor lonely little fic and *blushes* it was OVER a year ago and I am SO embarrassed. So, yeah … here’s an update and I’m already working on the next one, wanting to wrap this one up within a couple more updates. Hopefully a lot quicker than the last one. *bites lip*
Chapter 7
He stumbled, foot snagging on a tree limb in his haste to move, to get to his boys. John looked ahead, eyes narrowed as he decided the view in the middle of the three he was currently seeing was the best to follow. He shook his head and tried to get his bearings.
Okay.
He knew the location the SOB had taken Dean, proudly noting several snatches of fabric in a trail of sorts. He couldn’t help looking back and wishing that he could go for Sammy - he had no clue where his baby was …
Focus.
Okay.
Trudging wearily ahead, using the tree trunks he ran into to prop him up, John just hoped he wasn’t playing a losing battle of Tag. This rawhide wanna-be didn’t really do “tag” as much as it hit and ran, he mused. At least that’s what he kept doing with John … who wasn’t his target prey. What would happen once it had one or both his boys, though?
___________________________________________________________________
“Wakey, wakey Princess Sammina …” Dean nudged Sammy gently,hating to bring his brother back to the pain he knew the younger boy must be in. He looked up at the sky above them, the bits of grass swaying just above the rim of the hole they found themselves in,and couldn’t help but feel a little …
He took a deep breath, and then swiped one sleeve across his eyes as he glanced down at Sammy again. Shit! Glancing up toward the top of their hellhole again, Dean’s eyes narrowed as he considered the height. He looked back down at the hole surrounding them, reaching a hand to his side to feel the ‘wall.’ The dirt wall crumbled slightly under his touch and Dean’s eyes brightened.
“Okay, dude, you get to sleep a little longer … I got an idea.” He slowly, painfully pulled his legs underneath his butt, using them and his back against the wall to slide up the wall to standing. He pressed a slightly shaking hand against the wound in his side and blinked back tears at the fresh pain the action caused. “Shit.”
“Da’ll kick ya’ butt.” Sam’s small, hoarse voice surprised Dean’s upward momentum and he paused a moment, staring down at his little brother. He took in the hair clinging to Sam’s pale forehead, curling at the nape of his neck. His eyes took in the pinched face and shadows under Sammy’seyes and he cursed again, mentally this time.
“Yeah? Well, Dad’s running late for his rescue gig, so you don’t tell on me and I won’t get in trouble, k?” He watched Sam swallow, the action seeming difficult for the youngster, and then his brother’s eyes fluttered before resting at half-mast.
“Wa ..” Sam swallowed again and licked his lips, reaching shakily for the water bottle still by his side. Dean had replaced the lid but left it be. Unfortunately, Sam was trembling too much to grasp the lid, and it seemed his strength failed him as the hand with the bottle fell to lay limply on his lap. A cut off, angry sob propelled Dean to action.
“Here, princess …” He leaned over, being careful not to let Sam see how much the movement cost him. His brother was a pain in the … yeah,well he was. But he was also way too sharp. He pulled the bottle from Sam’s weak grasp and opened it, leaning just a little further to help Sam get it to his mouth and take a few sips. “Just alittle, now, or you’ll get sick.”
Sam doesn’t seem interested in any more, anyway, gasping a bit for breath as Dean set the bottle of water down carefully beside him.
“Sorry. De’ jus’ um … wha?” Sam was looking up at Dean, his eyes slowly opening and closing, and it was easy to see the confusion his little brother had as his energy was depleted.
“Just rest, Sammy, k? I got an idea here.” Sam’s eyes were sliding shut before Dean finished speaking and Dean sighed. Shit! Son of a Bitch! No one could hear in his head so he wouldn’t get in trouble. His dad woulda’ even cussed.
He swallowed and tried to decide on the best way to do this. He moved to the opposite side of the hole and worked his hands into the dirt wall, digging into the wall as high up as he could reach and then all the way to the floor, working around the perimeter of the hole. As the loose dirt built up, he used his sneakers to start pushing it toward one spot against the wall of their prison.
He took a break when his vision started to gray out, swiping the bottle of water Sam had already spilled and wetting his mouth with the swallow or two that still remained in the bottle. He eyed the bottle for a second after, then shrugged and threw it out of the hole. Not like the monster would care, and it would give their dad another clue to find them with.
Ignoring the growing pain in his side, he dropped down to his knees and used already dirty hands to start pushing the loose dirt into a pile along the wall a couple feet to their right. He packed the dirt as tightly as he could with his hands, forming a step-like lump with the earth.
He groaned, feet heavy with exhaustion and muscles trembling way too much for an 11-year-old wanna-be hunter. He took a deep breath,stepping on his dirt mound to help pack it down as much as possible. All told, he’d been able to form a step, about 18 inches by two feet, and a kind of solid half-foot high.
He considered the step.
Dean looked back up at the edge of the hole, stepped on the mound and looked back up again. Damn. He glanced at Sam in automatic response before shaking his head at how bad his brother looked.
Dean determined he would have to keep working if he had any chance of getting to the edge of the hole. He looked at the step and the earth right there again and bit his bottom lip.
Bending down slowly, he grabbed the second knife from Sammy’s backpack, He sure as heck didn’t want to lose one of his. He plunged it into the earthen wall, crumbling clumps of dark soil falling in a pitter-patter to litter the ground at his feet.
The light overhead changed, stray light moving across the sides and floor. Though the sun’s rays never touched him, Dean could feel the heat as the golden rays filtered down into their hole in the ground.
Still he worked.
He only stopped when, hours later, he heard Sam’s whimper behind him.
“Sammy?” He turned, pressing a hand to his absolutely fuckin’ throbbing side as he dropped to his knees beside Sam. “Hey kiddo.”
He bit his lip as his brother watched him through slitted eyes, cheeks rosy and all over shivering even though his hair was damp against his forehead. Sammy licked his lips and opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again, lashes fluttering for a moment before his eyes again opened slightly, as if the effort to open them further was just too much. He licked his lips again, his voice barely able to be heard.
“De’? Don’ feel too goo’, hur’s.” His face scrunched up and Dean felt a moment of panic before he shoved it to the corner to deal with some other time. He moved closer to Sam, making sure he was within his brother’s line of sight.
“I know, buddy. I know. I’m sorry … I’m working on a plan to help Dad find us. ‘Kay? I just need you to hold on for me, little brother. Just hold on.” The wide eyes, dark with pain and bright with tears yet to fall, fluttered closed before Dean was finished speaking. Sammy did nod fractionally,whether in response or something else … yeah, he needed to get to work.
By now, Dean had freed what felt like a ton of dirt, trying to pull it equally from all sides but the one Sammy was currently resting against. He had molded it the best he could, forming a passable kind ofstaircase. As the section became taller, he’d emptied Sam’s backpack out,carefully transferring everything over to his own. Then, he’d used the backpack, filling it with dirt and dumping the soil on the top of his masterpiece. He’d packed the earth over and over again, trying to make it as sturdy as possible, and felt as hopeful as he could that it would hold his weight. His vision kept tunneling, though, making it harder and harder to work on the dirt staircase. His body seemed to be fighting against him as he fought to bring the dirt up time after time to pack into place.
Amazing, from all the work he’d done he woulda’ thought he could have made it to the top by now. But, no … he’d only managed maybe four, five feet’s worth of crumbling stairs. He eyed them apprehensively … four, five feet’s worth of crumbling stairs that looked more able to give out under his weight than support it. His head fell forward in exhaustion and defeat.
“D’n?” Hoarse, barely a whisper, Sammy’s voice caused his chest to move in a mighty inhale/exhale as he struggled to keep the black dots at bay. Dean dropped down to the balls of his feet, closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness, and took in his brother’s pain-wracked and sweaty face.
“I’m here Sammy, just working on getting’ us out of here, buddy.” He took hold of his little brother’s twitching hand gently, frowning at his own dirt encrusted fingers. He felt a slight flex against his hand as Sammy tried to respond to his big brother’s touch and voice.
“D’d?”
“He’s comin,’ little brother,” even if he’s taking his sweet freakin’ time doing it, Dean added mentally.
“Wh …. ‘er’s ‘at thin’ a’?” Where’s that thing at? His gaze narrowed on Sam’s face, and he hated that his little brother had to be here, and hurting. It wasn’t fair.
“Don’t know, Sammy boy. Maybe Dad’s killed it by now.” The hand he held went limp and his eyes flew up to his brother’s face. “Sammy?”
He continued holding onto the smaller hand of his brother, leaning closer until he could make out the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest. Breathing. Yes. Good. Breathing was good. Shit!
He forced his breathing to steady and forced the panic away. It wouldn’t help Sammy or him to panic now.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
His fingers looked almost black against the white skin of Sam’s neck as he checked the pulse there, relieved when he found it slightly erratic but steady. He let go of Sam’s other hand, gently lowering it to rest on his brother’s stomach before assessing the situation. He had to get help for Sammy, had to keep him warm ‘cuz he most definitely was well into shock by now. Gee, what good fortune he had paid attention to the first aid basics Dad had been drumming into them both on regular Saturday morning intervals.
Okay, another deep breath … he could do this … he turned away from his brother for a moment, the fragility of Sammy’s normal dorky, stubborn ass hard to look at when he needed to think. Had to plan … what to freakin’ do?
He looked up, eyed his pathetic attempt at a staircase, and squared his shoulders before turning back to once again face his brother. He glanced at his dirt encrusted hands and knew he wouldn’t be able to give Sammy any kind of additional first aid without risking infection in those open woundsof his. But he could cover him, try to combat the obvious shock at least. His hands shook as he rummaged in the remaining backpack, pulling out a sweatshirt and another thin blanket. He covered Sammy the best he could, molding theblanket close to his feverish skin and trying not to wonder if what he was doing was enough. It was never enough. He was never freakin’ good enough to … he shook his head. Had to focus, keep his head in the game.
Assured that he had covered Sammy to the best of his ability, the leather coat went over everything else he had piled on Sammy. He was pretty sure his brother smiled softly to himself as he tucked the weathered leather under Sam’s chin.
Shaking slightly, Dean straightened, one hand hovering protectively over his side. Man, that hurt! He gritted his teeth and fished through the remaining backpack, pulling out a bottle of water and his trusty Glock. He felt up the cool metal for a moment, relishing the comfort of that familiar touch before he realized he was being a chick and tucked the gun into his waistband, followed quickly by his knife. He edged the water into his side pocket, glad he’d worn baggy jeans. Then he looked up his dirt mou … er, staircase and started edging his way up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
John was feeling slightly more capable of walking now, though he still stumbled over the uneven ground. He ran a shaky hand over his forehead and conceded he probably shouldn’t have brought the boys on this one,even if it had only been meant to be recon. He’d be sure to catch hell from Bobby … if they made it …no! There wasn’t a choice here, he was getting his boys and they were getting the hell out of here. And he was killing the SOB that caused this whole sorry chain of events.
He laughed half heartedly to himself.
Did that mean he’d have to kill himself? It was his fault the boys were out here, his fault they were playing bait without backup, his fault they were probably … damnit John,get ahold of yourself!
He studied the broken trail in front of him, realizing he’d come almost full circle. Huh. He’d spent the last half hour or so following the trail to where it looked almost as if a fight had gone down, with a flattened area of earth that spoke of the creature going down, not Dean. He’d made out a patch of blood with another burst of pride for his eldest.
Then he had followed a newer trail, unable to tell if Dean had gone this way, but unmistakably seeing the signs of the beast - bent branches, snapped twigs on the ground and tufts of rough hair here and there. It had been enough to bring him back here, to the clearing where this seemed to have started in the first place.
He pulled his largest blade from the custom sheath at his belt, holding it with deadly intent as he narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus his dancing vision. It was late in the day, almost evening, with dusk approaching. John stepped carefully from tree to tree, trying to keep his vision straight and other senses attuned. Something wasn’t quite right here, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.
He sensed it before he caught the blurry shape at the edge of his vision and turned his head sharply to see the graceful loping gait of the creature, obviously injured since it was actually limping. It’s nose was up, and John knew what it was doing even as the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.
The thing was scenting its prey. And the prey was his sons.
Son of a bitch! He took off at an erratic pace, almost running except his body wouldn’t obey that command. He had to get to that SOB before it got to his sons!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dean smiled grimly as his hands slipped in the loosened earth. He was almost to the top of his ‘staircase’ and actually thought he had a chance of getting out of this hellhole … heh,hellhole, heh.
He finally made it to the top and stood carefully, as close to the earthen wall as he could, before reaching up and … with a small cry of triumpth he grasped the edge of the hole. His muscles trembled, his side was an agonizing hurt that wouldn’t fade. But he did it! He made it to the freakin’ top!
He carefully worked his tired muscles, working the tips of his shoes into the earth to act as footholds so he could use them to gain purchase. They crumbled under his weight, but the small amount of traction they provided was enough for him to lever himself up to his stomach on the edge of the hole. After that, it was a frustrating inch by inch maneuver to work the rest of his body up to solid ground.
He lay there for a moment, breathing difficult and painful. He had just determined it was time to try and gain his feet when he felt a disturbance in the air just in front of him. The jarring, sudden, landing of freakin’ fugly looking claw/feet things made him scramble back with a small - very small, darnit - scream of dismay.
He was already reaching for his blade as the a**hole leaned down and easily picked him up by the scruff of his neck. And since when did he have scruff? Man!
“Get off me!” He squirmed and kicked, ignoring his body’s protests as pain flared everywhere bright white and blinding. He held his blade, clenching the handle as tightly as he could until he saw a good opening.
Only problem was, the nasty thing seemed to have learned that Dean was a worthy freakin’ opponent. Before the young hunter even knew what was happening the freak had knocked him over the head hard enough to make those black dots dance again. He raised the knife, ready to use the thing regardless of whether he could gain a clear shot or not. He jammed the blade home, felt it sliding into muscles and felt the rush of warm blood over his hand.
He felt it, heard it, tasted it almost, as his knife hand snapped under the pressure of the creature’s wringing grip. He screamed like a girl and didn’t really f*ckin’ care, sobbing out the pain as he struggled to master it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Across the clearing, John was blinking his eyes as he saw the smaller figure appear out of nowhere. The beast’s head snapped to the side, zeroing in on the smaller body before taking a graceful leap, landing in front of the small figure - Dean?
He squinted even as he struggled to move faster, pushing himself into a run as the small cry of pain. He was maybe 100 yards away when he heard Dean scream. Dean screamed. His son didn’t scream.
Except he did.
John kept his knife in front of him and ran, all the aches and pains and concussions forgotten and pushed to the side under the threat to his family.