The first and the last - part II
Part one
Dean had seen it. When Sam had made that heartbreaking noise he had pushed himself up, squeezed between the ceiling and the pile of rocks, enough to see the pool of blood his brother was lying in. Not only was he bad, he was a lot worse than Dean had thought. He had no way to help him, even if he had managed to get him out of there in time, he couldn’t have done anything for his injuries. On top of the concussion, Sam definitely had some serious internal bleeding and... God knew what else. Sam was lying in his own blood thinking it was Dean’s. He would have done anything to stop that suffering - and this time Sam wouldn’t have died on his watch.
Since his voice couldn’t reach Sam in the meanderings of his hallucinations, he thought of another solution. He stuck the torchlight between the rocks, so Sam would have had a source of light while Dean was gone. He picked the radio that was still in his pocket, pressed the button, and began to speak.
It worked. When Sam finally answered, Dean did his best to keep his voice as soft and reassuring as possible.
“How are you hanging in there?”
“Dean... are you okay?”
Oh God. No, he wasn’t. But it had nothing to do with his mauled leg, twisted arm or throbbing headache. He cleared his voice before pushing again the button.
“Sure, man. Who do you think I am? Some kind of Samantha Winchester?”
He was hoping the good old joke would have overcome the lump in his throat.
“Now, listen to me, carefully.”
That decision had been painful to make, but he had to be reasonable. There was no time for pride or for being a hero. Not this time. If he had lost Sam again, it would have been for good. That was his last chance to make things right.
“You are going to be okay. This is a promise. I’m going to look for help.”
A pause. Dean saw Sam’s legs moving in the dim light - actually, they were shaking.
“Okay.”
“Good,” D answered, trying to sound encouraging. “I’m gonna take the radio, and you’ll talk to me, and you’ll stay awake. Alright?”
“Okay.” Sam coughed weakly. “’C- Cause if you were the... the one talking, I’d fall a-sleep in seconds.”
“I wish you were of the same opinion when you were five. I could have told you ten or a hundred stupid stories, and still you wouldn’t go the fuck to sleep.” Dean couldn’t help by smile a little. “But I’m going to leave the light on, like good old times.”
“’Right. I’ll t-try not to go any... where.”
“You better not! I didn’t sell my soul for you to die in this crap-hole, understood?”
Dean knew Sam was still very touchy about the subject, but he would have used any method to make him keep fighting.
“D-did you at least k-keep the receipt?
“Sorry, no refunds. Meaning that you better be still here bitching when I get back.”
Dean climbed down - carefully, he really needed that leg now - after making sure that the torchlight was in place between the rocks. Although every part of him wanted to stay, and make sure that Sam was still awake and safe, he also knew that the only way to make that possible was to find help and get him out.
After all that time in the dark, the light outside almost blinded him, even if the sun was setting; he couldn’t waste any time. The forest had been cold enough during the day, and the temperature was already falling. On top of that, Dean was worried about the methane gas that might have been accumulating in the tunnel that was now almost completely sealed.
He limped toward the abandoned backpacks and found the first aid kit. His top priority was now being able to walk without bleeding out of passing out from the pain. He tightened a tourniquet around his thigh and quickly washed the wound, sealing it with a few butterfly bandages. A very rough job, but he had to make it work. He didn’t have time for a top class stitching. After swallowing greedily a couple of painkillers, Dean pulled out the map. He already knew he had two choices: undertaking a five hour walk - probably six, given his conditions - to the car, and drive to the closest town; or walking to the closest ranger station - around four hours away - hoping to find a radio, a satellite phone or, maybe, people.
He closed his eyes, assessing once again the pain in his leg. He tried to calculate how long he would have been able to walk, and how long Sam could have survived. Both numbers were worryingly low. He had no options than taking the fastest route. Dean glanced again at the map, and then he raised the radio.
“Sam. I’m going to the ranger station. How does that sound?” He was determined in using any excuse to make his brother talk.
“Sounds like a good plan... t-to me...”
“Just one thing. The station is 7 miles away from here. That means... that the radios will stop working before I get there.”
Dean hated the idea. The prospect of hobbling for 2 miles in complete radio silence, without knowing if Sam was okay - if he was still alive - terrified him.
“Typical.”
Dean smiled, finding Sam’s sarcasm strangely comforting. He grabbed a thick branch to support him and began his march, trying not to look behind him.
***
The shivers were making everything worse, especially the already excessive pain in his ribcage. Sam had the feeling that they weren’t caused by the creeping cold. Although dizziness and weakness had completely overpowered him, so that he could just lie helplessly, shaking, staring at the dust dancing in the beam of light, forcing himself to stay awake.
“Are you still alright there?”
“N-not if you k-keep as...sking.”
Sam was grateful to Dean for keeping talking, but he had also learned that sarcasm was the best way for reassuring his brother.
“You better stop whining. You know the drill. You crack your melon, you stay awake.”
Sam managed to suppress a giggle just in time, before it reverberated against his broken ribs. He tried to swallow, in order to get rid of the unpleasant sensation of dust in his mouth, unsuccessfully.
“Well... since you’re asking, I’m terribly t-thirsty.”
“Can’t drink with internal injuries, Sam...”
“I know... j’st talkin’....”
Every time Sam blinked, he felt like he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes again. He tried to focus on his rushed heartbeat. His body was still fighting, but his mind was starting wandering. He felt lightheaded. The pain in his chest was constantly increasing, and he realised he was breathing faster and faster. He was there... but he wasn’t. He remembered feeling like that before.
It was a chilly night.
There was mud under him.
The rain was thin and prickly.
He remembered a sense of urgency.
Going.
He remembered himself faltering just one more second, drawn to life by Dean’s touch.
Sam was aware of the fact he had fallen asleep again, but he couldn’t help it. The changes in his body made him realise that he must had been out for a long time. The pain in his abdomen felt like it had spread, it felt dull and pulsing. The sweat on his skin had frozen. He had no control over his shallow and fast breathing. His lungs were starving. He couldn’t clear the fog in his mind. It was dense and twisted. His thoughts were on a loop. Like a broken record. He felt exhausted from shuddering. He was too tired. He was too cold.
As much as he didn’t want to die, he started realising that he might have no choice. He didn’t have it in Cold Oak, either. But that was different. Back then, he had been waiting for death to wipe his poisoned existence. He didn’t look for death, he had just accepted it as the best solution, and welcomed it when it came. But then, just before light and pain were swallowed by darkness, Sam saw that; a last glimpse of desperate green eyes that he didn’t want to see ever again.
It would have been so easy, now, to slip away once and for all, if it wasn’t for the fact that his life would not have been the only one ending. Sam was bearing Dean’s life in him in more than one way. Not just because his brother had sold his soul for him, but also because it was Sam’s job to save him, now; even if his brother didn’t consider himself worthwhile. Somehow, it was hilarious. Dean had probably thought that Sam didn’t understand what he had done, after Cold Oak. The reason behind his deal with the demon, the way he didn’t care about the consequences. As painful as it was, Sam understood perfectly, though. He understood the impelling need for clenching at his brother’s life like it was the only thing to keep him in this world, to keep him from falling, spiralling down into nothing, lost. He understood the recklessness that would have taken control of their mind if the other had been in danger, like the entire universe had been reduced to one purpose only; keeping the other alive.
Sam hadn’t been heard back from Dean in a while. He didn’t know if it was because he was already outside the radio range, or simply because Sam’s mind was too disconnected from the world. The radio was still laying next to his face; his finger was still resting on the button. All he had to do was clearing his mind just enough to put together the message that Dean needed to hear.
“Dean...”
Sam’s voice was so weak that he feared it wouldn’t even have reached the other side.
“I wanted to say that... I’m sorry for this. W-what I’ve done was... stupid. And b-because of this now you have to walk 7 miles on an injured leg. This was exactly the opposite of what I wanted. It s-seemed like a smart idea at the moment... But this doesn’t mean I regret that. D-Does any of this sound familiar to you?”
He stopped a moment to catch his breath, although any attempt was ineffective. His vision was blurred and dark at the edges, framing the small column of light.
“I’m apologising because... this is what I do. But I don’t want you to do the same. I understand what you did; especially now. It wasn’t a... sorry what I want from you. I j-just... need you not to give up on yourself so easily.”
When he loosened his hold on the button, the crackling interference was the only answer he got. The sound begun to fade slowly. Sam felt powerless as he tried to float over the surface of unconsciousness, and finally sank into the profound emptiness.
If that had been the last thing he had ever said to Dean, he would have been happy with that.
***
Dean was walking towards West, staring at the sun setting behind the trees, watching it marking the minutes passing. He was leaning heavily against the branch. His body was already shaking from the pain. He found himself asking how could he have thought he was going to make it. He wouldn’t have stopped, though. He wouldn’t have given up. He would have cut his leg off. He would have crawled, if necessary. He would have died from exhaustion, face on the ground, mud in his mouth. His only, paralyzing fear was not to be able to reach the ranger station in time.
“Are you still alright there?” he asked, determined in making sure that Sam was still fighting.
“N-not if you k-keep as...king.”
Dean couldn’t help but smiling. “You better stop whining. You know the drill. You crack your melon, you stay awake.”
“Well... since you’re asking, I’m terribly t-thirsty.”
Dean sighed, feeling sorry for no particular reason. “Can’t drink with internal injuries, Sam...”
“I know... j’st talkin’....”
The warm light of the sunset mixed perfectly with the muddy colours of the forest in autumn. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a beautiful day. A day to remember, probably one of the last. Under normal circumstances, Dean would have stopped for a second and tried to imprint the view in his mind. He would have added that to the list he was filling for the future; the list of things to remember in Hell. However, under those particular circumstances, every fibre in Dean was aiming for the ranger station, his only hope, and his only purpose.
“Hey, Sam,” he panted into the radio receiver, pushing himself on an uphill. “Do you remember that time dad dumped us at a summer camp on the Blue Earth River... it wasn’t that bad, right? There was canoeing, bonfires, marshmallows, pretty girls... Maybe you don’t remember it, though. You were.... what, six? I remember you had a good time. Dad sent us there for that reason, for once. But of course it couldn’t be that simple for the Winchesters.” Dean laughed weakly at the memory. “It turned out there was a Mannegishi there. So, our summer camp turned into an actual hunt. Can’t have a damn friggin’ moment to rest, uh? You can’t escape the hunt!”
The small smile on Dean’s face vanished fast.
“Yeah... you knew that already.”
Dean reached the top of the small hill, and stopped for a moment to catch his breath and check on the wound. The tourniquet was doing its job, and the gashes had almost completely stopped bleeding. Good news, for once.
“Feel free to interrupt me any moment if I’m boring you, Sam, “ Dean said, impatiently. The prolonged silence made worry rising rapidly in his chest. “Believe me; it’s too early for bed time. Now, answer the bloody thing.”
A distant flutter of wings was the only sound.
“Goddammit, Sam! You can’t give up already, you understand me?! Press that button now!”
Still nothing.
So, that was it. Dean was alone. He would have had to find the strength to keep going by himself. Not really his strongest point. He looked at the sun now completely set. The bright pink light was the last he would have got, before the darkness.
Dean clenched his jaw with determination, and, with a muffled grunt of pain, he put a foot in front of the other.
He had to carry on. There was still a long way to go, and too little time.
***
Hours passed. Long, agonizing, lonely, silent hours. Dean didn’t know how many, but every step he took was more difficult than the previous one. Every step drew it closer to the cabin, but further away from Sam. Every step he took made Dean doubt his own decision to leave his brother. He had forbidden himself from thinking the worst - that wouldn’t have helped at all - but now, after all those hours spent alone with his own thoughts; his mind was tangled with horrific visions of Sam choked in his blood, crushed by another cave in, asphyxiated by the methane, or even eaten alive by the miraculously healed Wendigo.
What if he needed him? What if he had died, calling Dean’s name, unable to reach the radio? What if he had woken up suddenly, in the darkness, confused and scared and his brother wasn’t there for him? Dean was going insane. He needed to know. He needed to go back.
He stopped suddenly, panting. The sky over him had gone dark, and the forest around him was even more impenetrable, and for that reason he was now able to see that: a small, faint light between the trees. The ranger station was now at sight distant. To reach it would not have taken longer than an hour, hopefully less. Turning around now would have been foolish. Still, his legs wouldn’t have moved.
When the abrupt sound of the radio suddenly filled the silence, Dean almost dropped the device. Instead, he let go of the branch, and hang on the radio like it was the most important thing in his life.
“Dean...”
“Sam?! Are you okay?”
Sam hadn’t switched the communication; therefore he wasn’t able to hear his words. Dean felt on his knees - such a relief for his leg! - and opened his ears for whatever Sam needed to tell him.
“I... I’m sorry for this.”
Dean let out a shaky sigh. That wasn’t what he was waiting for, not what he wanted to hear.
“I just... want you t-to know... that w-what I’ve done was... stupid...”
His words were interrupted by the interferences, the signal was getting bad, and they were too far apart. Somehow, Dean was grateful for that. He didn’t want to listen to Sam’s apologies for... what, dying?! Damn kid didn’t get to give up now!
“ D-Does any of this sound familiar to you?”
Dean leant against a tree, suddenly drained of all the strength he had left. He didn’t like the direction Sam’s talk was taking, and he was already too exhausted for dealing with that.
“-’m apologising because... want you to do the same...It wasn’t a... ”
The speech was fragmented, but Dean didn’t need to hear it again. He knew perfectly what he meant, and he hated the fact that his brother was apologising for that. Sam had been trying to have that talk for weeks! And now he wanted to deliver that message as his last words?! That wasn’t going to happen. They wouldn’t have had that talk now. The talk where Dean would have admitted he had screwed up, and he would had apologised for selling his soul to a demon. Dean knew he had screwed up! But if Sam thought he was going to apologise for doing anything in his power to have his brother back, then he must have been out of his mind. Sam needed to understand that. He didn’t need to be happy about it, nor grateful. Just.... to understand that what Dean had done was the only possible solution.
“I’m sorry I’m making you go through all this shit! But I’m not going to apologise for bringing you back! What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t...”
“... not to give up...”
“I’m not. I won’t give up. It’s my job, Sam. It’s what I do. And, I swear to God, I won’t let you die again. I have nothing worthy left to sell.”
The communication shut. He didn’t hear anything else, apart from the crackling interferences. But that was not the end. Dean would not have let them to be Sam’s last words. Dean retrieved the branch, and slowly stood up.
***
Now that the blood in his veins was pumping again with rage and determination, the walk to the cabin didn’t seem that long. He couldn’t feel the pain nor the exhaustion. He could only see the small dot of light becoming three, and later shaping into a building. He didn’t know what he would found inside. He was hoping for a radio, or a working phone. That’s why he almost gasped in surprise when he actually saw a man.
“Hey! I need help!” Dean shouted at the guy who was hanging a lamp on the porch, and who jumped in fear.
“What? Oh God,” he exclaimed in the moment he saw Dean’s wound. “It’s okay, buddy. Take a seat. I have a first aid kid...”
“It’s not me, it’s my brother!” Dean shoved him off, but found himself stumbling forward when his legs decided they were done with holding him. The man, who was dressed up in a ranger uniform, dragged him on the porch, and made him seat.
“Let me see your leg...”
“No! Listen!” Dean grabbed the ranger’s shoulders and forced him to forget his wound. “My brother is trapped in a mine. He’s injured. He’s bad. He needs help now! You need to call someone!”
The guy hesitated a few seconds, and the finally said: “What happened? Where’s your brother now?”
Dean, relieved, pulled the folded map out of his pocket and showed the ranger the position of the mine. He certainly was irritated by the fact that two reckless young men had decided to break into the mine, despite all the warnings, but the genuine worry in Dean’s eye must have had the right effect. The ranger picked the radio and requested help.
When Dean tried to stand up again, he rushed by his side, pushing him down on the chair.
“Where do you think you’re going with that injury?”
“I need to go back to my brother...” Dean’s vision started going blurry, his legs felt wobbly.
“Son, you couldn’t even walk out that door in your condition. Also, the mine is miles away. They’ll send a chopper here to pick you up, first. You’ll be able to take them to the exact place where you left your brother, alright?”
Dean nodded, although he had the feeling he had only listened to half of what the ranger said. All he got from him was ‘soon’ and ‘brother’. That was enough to allow him to doze off for a minute.
***
The sound of a helicopter aroused Dean from his semi-conscious state. The ranger was kneeling over him, with a calm expression.
“They’re here. They’re going to take you to the mine. Are you up for this?”
“...sure,” Dean answered groggily. In seconds, three people - paramedics? - were in the room, checking on him, asking questions he didn’t really understand. All he wanted was to go to Sam.
“We have to take off the tourniquet, it might bleed little, but it doesn’t look too bad. We’ll give you something for the pain, okay?”
Dean felt the sting of a needle before he was even able to answer. The effect was almost immediate.
“We have to go...” He made a second attempt to stand up, and this time two pairs of arms were there to support him and help him step outside.
Dean didn’t pay much attention during the ride. Normally he would have been terrified. Now his eyes were just scanning the ground, looking for the mine.
“How are you going to take him out?” he asked doubtfully to one of the paramedics - the young lady.
“A rescue team has already been sent there on another chopper. They’re waiting for you there to show them the exact point. The mine is bigger than it looks, and very dangerous.” She glanced at Dean’s freshly bandaged leg and showed a reassuring smile. “But you know that already.”
The other paramedic was talking on the radio in the background, but because of the noise Dean couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he turned and handed a pair of headphones to Dean.
“It’s the rescue team,” he shouted. “They need your directions to start digging.”
The guy on the radio wanted to know which entrance they used. Once Dean had provided him the information he knew, he pointed out that he had left Sam lying dangerously close to the cave in. The last thing he wanted was the rescue team to accidentally bury his brother under the rocks they were supposed to remove.
“It might be safer to get in from the west entrance,” the team leader decided. “It’s been sealed, but it won’t take long to break in, and we won’t risk hurting the man by accident.”
When they arrived, the west entrance had just been opened. A team of five men equipped with reflective gear, headlights and masks was making his way into the tunnel. They made Dean wear a helmet and a mask, and forced him to walk behind them. As much as Dean wanted to fight the order, his strength was just enough to let him stand - barely.
They entered the mine in a row, except for Dean, who needed the support of the young lady in order not to trip over his injured - and now almost insensitive - leg.
“Tell me what you know about your brother’s condition,” the lady asked him.
“His name’s Sam.”
“Alright, tell me what happened to Sam.”
“It was an accident. A spark lit up some methane and there was a blast. The beam collapsed and the ceiling caved in. We have been separated from then, and I couldn’t have a proper look. But I’m almost completely sure he had a concussion and some internal injuries.”
The lady nodded, encouraging. “Did he lose consciousness?”
“Several times... but we’ve talked in between them.”
“Okay. We’ll do everything we can.”
Unfortunately for her, that was not even remotely enough for Dean.
“Holy shit!” The curse echoed in the small space. “What is this thing?! A bear?”
Dean startled, and quickened his pace. If that was the Wendigo, it meant they had reached the right place.
“He’s here, somewhere!” He yelled, trying both to divert their attention from the monster, and to urge them to focus onto something large more important. “SAM!”
“We found him.”
Suddenly all the headlights pointed to the ground. Dean was about to rush forward, but was held back by the young lady - whose strength was now far bigger that his. “Stay here, and let us work.”
The three paramedics converged in one place, while the rescue team secured the collapsed rock from sliding down. Dean would have joined them, but he realised he couldn’t move anymore. He leaned against the wall, watching the rescuers talking and assessing, trying to peer over them to get a glimpse of his brother. He saw someone pulling out a neck brace, while someone else was holding an Ambu bag.
The frustration of not being able to see him was overwhelming, making Dean’s eyes prickle.
“Just... tell me how is he...” he asked, his voice too broken and too weak for being heard over the medical chattering.
A backboard stretcher was laid on the ground
“Tell me how is he!”
In the moment they raised the stretcher, he wished he hadn’t asked. The cold lights spared him a glimpse of a familiar body, paler than a ghost, white skin, blue lips and dusty clothes stained with both dark and bright blood. Unmoving, unresponsive, unaware. Dean saw Sam dead, again.
He closed his eyes and just prayed for his soul to be claimed in that right moment, because there was nothing else left. Because Hell was preferable to his dead brother.
***
“So... how is he?”
Dean was resting against the wall in the hallway, just outside Sam’s room. The crutch, that he used to counterbalance the soft cast around his healing leg, temporarily forgotten on a chair.
“He’ll be fine,” Dean answered, rubbing his eyes to wipe away his sleepiness. “Actually, they said he should wake up any moment, now.”
“That’s good news.” Bobby’s voice sounded calm and reassuring on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry I’ll be missing the big event. I’ll be there in a few hours. Meanwhile, don’t worry about the Wendigo thing. I made a few calls and it should be settled.”
“Thanks, Bobby. We really owe you one.”
“Hell right you do. Now, just go back to your brother, ya idjit. And get some sleep. You sound like a drunken, drowsy Nanny.”
“Definitely drowsy; working on the drunken part.”
“I’ll see ya later, boy. Take care of yourself.”
Dean slipped the phone into his pocket, picked up the crutch, and walked back into the room. He was welcomed by the regular and comforting sound of the machines. He limped towards the plastic chair next to the bed - just beside the wheelchair that he had been refusing to use during the past three days.
He slid back in the now familiar chair, and returned to his job as a guardian. He had been watched over Sam since the moment they had taken him back from the OR. It was imperative, to Dean, to be the first one he would have seen when he woke up. Sam didn’t need the doctors and the nurses to overwhelm him with questions and information. He didn’t need to know he had spent the last two days and a half unconscious in that bed, after a five hour surgery to repair his ruptured spleen and stop the internal bleeding. He didn’t need to see the layers of bandages that were covering the burnt skin on his arms, or those that were wrapped around his chest, to bind his two broken ribs and the three cracked ones. He didn’t need to know that he had been forced on a respirator for a day, before finally switching to a nasal cannula, because the methane inhalations had almost asphyxiated him, and his lungs had refused to cooperate after his body had broken into a seizure, due to the lack of oxygen. There would have been time for all of that.
There was something that Sam needed to hear more than everything else, and he needed to hear that from Dean.
“You’ll be fine, Sam; because you didn’t give up.”
He gently rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, despising the way he looked so fragile, but well aware of the strength he was hiding underneath.
“You’ll be fine. And you have enough strength for keeping fighting for both of us.”
Dean leaned forward and placed his head on Sam’s pillow, feeling his heat, watching his chest raising and lowering; watching him living. He impressed that in his mind, and added them to his list. The list of the first things he would have remembered, when he had opened his eyes in Hell.
***end***
Dean had seen it. When Sam had made that heartbreaking noise he had pushed himself up, squeezed between the ceiling and the pile of rocks, enough to see the pool of blood his brother was lying in. Not only was he bad, he was a lot worse than Dean had thought. He had no way to help him, even if he had managed to get him out of there in time, he couldn’t have done anything for his injuries. On top of the concussion, Sam definitely had some serious internal bleeding and... God knew what else. Sam was lying in his own blood thinking it was Dean’s. He would have done anything to stop that suffering - and this time Sam wouldn’t have died on his watch.
Since his voice couldn’t reach Sam in the meanderings of his hallucinations, he thought of another solution. He stuck the torchlight between the rocks, so Sam would have had a source of light while Dean was gone. He picked the radio that was still in his pocket, pressed the button, and began to speak.
It worked. When Sam finally answered, Dean did his best to keep his voice as soft and reassuring as possible.
“How are you hanging in there?”
“Dean... are you okay?”
Oh God. No, he wasn’t. But it had nothing to do with his mauled leg, twisted arm or throbbing headache. He cleared his voice before pushing again the button.
“Sure, man. Who do you think I am? Some kind of Samantha Winchester?”
He was hoping the good old joke would have overcome the lump in his throat.
“Now, listen to me, carefully.”
That decision had been painful to make, but he had to be reasonable. There was no time for pride or for being a hero. Not this time. If he had lost Sam again, it would have been for good. That was his last chance to make things right.
“You are going to be okay. This is a promise. I’m going to look for help.”
A pause. Dean saw Sam’s legs moving in the dim light - actually, they were shaking.
“Okay.”
“Good,” D answered, trying to sound encouraging. “I’m gonna take the radio, and you’ll talk to me, and you’ll stay awake. Alright?”
“Okay.” Sam coughed weakly. “’C- Cause if you were the... the one talking, I’d fall a-sleep in seconds.”
“I wish you were of the same opinion when you were five. I could have told you ten or a hundred stupid stories, and still you wouldn’t go the fuck to sleep.” Dean couldn’t help by smile a little. “But I’m going to leave the light on, like good old times.”
“’Right. I’ll t-try not to go any... where.”
“You better not! I didn’t sell my soul for you to die in this crap-hole, understood?”
Dean knew Sam was still very touchy about the subject, but he would have used any method to make him keep fighting.
“D-did you at least k-keep the receipt?
“Sorry, no refunds. Meaning that you better be still here bitching when I get back.”
Dean climbed down - carefully, he really needed that leg now - after making sure that the torchlight was in place between the rocks. Although every part of him wanted to stay, and make sure that Sam was still awake and safe, he also knew that the only way to make that possible was to find help and get him out.
After all that time in the dark, the light outside almost blinded him, even if the sun was setting; he couldn’t waste any time. The forest had been cold enough during the day, and the temperature was already falling. On top of that, Dean was worried about the methane gas that might have been accumulating in the tunnel that was now almost completely sealed.
He limped toward the abandoned backpacks and found the first aid kit. His top priority was now being able to walk without bleeding out of passing out from the pain. He tightened a tourniquet around his thigh and quickly washed the wound, sealing it with a few butterfly bandages. A very rough job, but he had to make it work. He didn’t have time for a top class stitching. After swallowing greedily a couple of painkillers, Dean pulled out the map. He already knew he had two choices: undertaking a five hour walk - probably six, given his conditions - to the car, and drive to the closest town; or walking to the closest ranger station - around four hours away - hoping to find a radio, a satellite phone or, maybe, people.
He closed his eyes, assessing once again the pain in his leg. He tried to calculate how long he would have been able to walk, and how long Sam could have survived. Both numbers were worryingly low. He had no options than taking the fastest route. Dean glanced again at the map, and then he raised the radio.
“Sam. I’m going to the ranger station. How does that sound?” He was determined in using any excuse to make his brother talk.
“Sounds like a good plan... t-to me...”
“Just one thing. The station is 7 miles away from here. That means... that the radios will stop working before I get there.”
Dean hated the idea. The prospect of hobbling for 2 miles in complete radio silence, without knowing if Sam was okay - if he was still alive - terrified him.
“Typical.”
Dean smiled, finding Sam’s sarcasm strangely comforting. He grabbed a thick branch to support him and began his march, trying not to look behind him.
***
The shivers were making everything worse, especially the already excessive pain in his ribcage. Sam had the feeling that they weren’t caused by the creeping cold. Although dizziness and weakness had completely overpowered him, so that he could just lie helplessly, shaking, staring at the dust dancing in the beam of light, forcing himself to stay awake.
“Are you still alright there?”
“N-not if you k-keep as...sking.”
Sam was grateful to Dean for keeping talking, but he had also learned that sarcasm was the best way for reassuring his brother.
“You better stop whining. You know the drill. You crack your melon, you stay awake.”
Sam managed to suppress a giggle just in time, before it reverberated against his broken ribs. He tried to swallow, in order to get rid of the unpleasant sensation of dust in his mouth, unsuccessfully.
“Well... since you’re asking, I’m terribly t-thirsty.”
“Can’t drink with internal injuries, Sam...”
“I know... j’st talkin’....”
Every time Sam blinked, he felt like he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes again. He tried to focus on his rushed heartbeat. His body was still fighting, but his mind was starting wandering. He felt lightheaded. The pain in his chest was constantly increasing, and he realised he was breathing faster and faster. He was there... but he wasn’t. He remembered feeling like that before.
It was a chilly night.
There was mud under him.
The rain was thin and prickly.
He remembered a sense of urgency.
Going.
He remembered himself faltering just one more second, drawn to life by Dean’s touch.
Sam was aware of the fact he had fallen asleep again, but he couldn’t help it. The changes in his body made him realise that he must had been out for a long time. The pain in his abdomen felt like it had spread, it felt dull and pulsing. The sweat on his skin had frozen. He had no control over his shallow and fast breathing. His lungs were starving. He couldn’t clear the fog in his mind. It was dense and twisted. His thoughts were on a loop. Like a broken record. He felt exhausted from shuddering. He was too tired. He was too cold.
As much as he didn’t want to die, he started realising that he might have no choice. He didn’t have it in Cold Oak, either. But that was different. Back then, he had been waiting for death to wipe his poisoned existence. He didn’t look for death, he had just accepted it as the best solution, and welcomed it when it came. But then, just before light and pain were swallowed by darkness, Sam saw that; a last glimpse of desperate green eyes that he didn’t want to see ever again.
It would have been so easy, now, to slip away once and for all, if it wasn’t for the fact that his life would not have been the only one ending. Sam was bearing Dean’s life in him in more than one way. Not just because his brother had sold his soul for him, but also because it was Sam’s job to save him, now; even if his brother didn’t consider himself worthwhile. Somehow, it was hilarious. Dean had probably thought that Sam didn’t understand what he had done, after Cold Oak. The reason behind his deal with the demon, the way he didn’t care about the consequences. As painful as it was, Sam understood perfectly, though. He understood the impelling need for clenching at his brother’s life like it was the only thing to keep him in this world, to keep him from falling, spiralling down into nothing, lost. He understood the recklessness that would have taken control of their mind if the other had been in danger, like the entire universe had been reduced to one purpose only; keeping the other alive.
Sam hadn’t been heard back from Dean in a while. He didn’t know if it was because he was already outside the radio range, or simply because Sam’s mind was too disconnected from the world. The radio was still laying next to his face; his finger was still resting on the button. All he had to do was clearing his mind just enough to put together the message that Dean needed to hear.
“Dean...”
Sam’s voice was so weak that he feared it wouldn’t even have reached the other side.
“I wanted to say that... I’m sorry for this. W-what I’ve done was... stupid. And b-because of this now you have to walk 7 miles on an injured leg. This was exactly the opposite of what I wanted. It s-seemed like a smart idea at the moment... But this doesn’t mean I regret that. D-Does any of this sound familiar to you?”
He stopped a moment to catch his breath, although any attempt was ineffective. His vision was blurred and dark at the edges, framing the small column of light.
“I’m apologising because... this is what I do. But I don’t want you to do the same. I understand what you did; especially now. It wasn’t a... sorry what I want from you. I j-just... need you not to give up on yourself so easily.”
When he loosened his hold on the button, the crackling interference was the only answer he got. The sound begun to fade slowly. Sam felt powerless as he tried to float over the surface of unconsciousness, and finally sank into the profound emptiness.
If that had been the last thing he had ever said to Dean, he would have been happy with that.
***
Dean was walking towards West, staring at the sun setting behind the trees, watching it marking the minutes passing. He was leaning heavily against the branch. His body was already shaking from the pain. He found himself asking how could he have thought he was going to make it. He wouldn’t have stopped, though. He wouldn’t have given up. He would have cut his leg off. He would have crawled, if necessary. He would have died from exhaustion, face on the ground, mud in his mouth. His only, paralyzing fear was not to be able to reach the ranger station in time.
“Are you still alright there?” he asked, determined in making sure that Sam was still fighting.
“N-not if you k-keep as...king.”
Dean couldn’t help but smiling. “You better stop whining. You know the drill. You crack your melon, you stay awake.”
“Well... since you’re asking, I’m terribly t-thirsty.”
Dean sighed, feeling sorry for no particular reason. “Can’t drink with internal injuries, Sam...”
“I know... j’st talkin’....”
The warm light of the sunset mixed perfectly with the muddy colours of the forest in autumn. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a beautiful day. A day to remember, probably one of the last. Under normal circumstances, Dean would have stopped for a second and tried to imprint the view in his mind. He would have added that to the list he was filling for the future; the list of things to remember in Hell. However, under those particular circumstances, every fibre in Dean was aiming for the ranger station, his only hope, and his only purpose.
“Hey, Sam,” he panted into the radio receiver, pushing himself on an uphill. “Do you remember that time dad dumped us at a summer camp on the Blue Earth River... it wasn’t that bad, right? There was canoeing, bonfires, marshmallows, pretty girls... Maybe you don’t remember it, though. You were.... what, six? I remember you had a good time. Dad sent us there for that reason, for once. But of course it couldn’t be that simple for the Winchesters.” Dean laughed weakly at the memory. “It turned out there was a Mannegishi there. So, our summer camp turned into an actual hunt. Can’t have a damn friggin’ moment to rest, uh? You can’t escape the hunt!”
The small smile on Dean’s face vanished fast.
“Yeah... you knew that already.”
Dean reached the top of the small hill, and stopped for a moment to catch his breath and check on the wound. The tourniquet was doing its job, and the gashes had almost completely stopped bleeding. Good news, for once.
“Feel free to interrupt me any moment if I’m boring you, Sam, “ Dean said, impatiently. The prolonged silence made worry rising rapidly in his chest. “Believe me; it’s too early for bed time. Now, answer the bloody thing.”
A distant flutter of wings was the only sound.
“Goddammit, Sam! You can’t give up already, you understand me?! Press that button now!”
Still nothing.
So, that was it. Dean was alone. He would have had to find the strength to keep going by himself. Not really his strongest point. He looked at the sun now completely set. The bright pink light was the last he would have got, before the darkness.
Dean clenched his jaw with determination, and, with a muffled grunt of pain, he put a foot in front of the other.
He had to carry on. There was still a long way to go, and too little time.
***
Hours passed. Long, agonizing, lonely, silent hours. Dean didn’t know how many, but every step he took was more difficult than the previous one. Every step drew it closer to the cabin, but further away from Sam. Every step he took made Dean doubt his own decision to leave his brother. He had forbidden himself from thinking the worst - that wouldn’t have helped at all - but now, after all those hours spent alone with his own thoughts; his mind was tangled with horrific visions of Sam choked in his blood, crushed by another cave in, asphyxiated by the methane, or even eaten alive by the miraculously healed Wendigo.
What if he needed him? What if he had died, calling Dean’s name, unable to reach the radio? What if he had woken up suddenly, in the darkness, confused and scared and his brother wasn’t there for him? Dean was going insane. He needed to know. He needed to go back.
He stopped suddenly, panting. The sky over him had gone dark, and the forest around him was even more impenetrable, and for that reason he was now able to see that: a small, faint light between the trees. The ranger station was now at sight distant. To reach it would not have taken longer than an hour, hopefully less. Turning around now would have been foolish. Still, his legs wouldn’t have moved.
When the abrupt sound of the radio suddenly filled the silence, Dean almost dropped the device. Instead, he let go of the branch, and hang on the radio like it was the most important thing in his life.
“Dean...”
“Sam?! Are you okay?”
Sam hadn’t switched the communication; therefore he wasn’t able to hear his words. Dean felt on his knees - such a relief for his leg! - and opened his ears for whatever Sam needed to tell him.
“I... I’m sorry for this.”
Dean let out a shaky sigh. That wasn’t what he was waiting for, not what he wanted to hear.
“I just... want you t-to know... that w-what I’ve done was... stupid...”
His words were interrupted by the interferences, the signal was getting bad, and they were too far apart. Somehow, Dean was grateful for that. He didn’t want to listen to Sam’s apologies for... what, dying?! Damn kid didn’t get to give up now!
“ D-Does any of this sound familiar to you?”
Dean leant against a tree, suddenly drained of all the strength he had left. He didn’t like the direction Sam’s talk was taking, and he was already too exhausted for dealing with that.
“-’m apologising because... want you to do the same...It wasn’t a... ”
The speech was fragmented, but Dean didn’t need to hear it again. He knew perfectly what he meant, and he hated the fact that his brother was apologising for that. Sam had been trying to have that talk for weeks! And now he wanted to deliver that message as his last words?! That wasn’t going to happen. They wouldn’t have had that talk now. The talk where Dean would have admitted he had screwed up, and he would had apologised for selling his soul to a demon. Dean knew he had screwed up! But if Sam thought he was going to apologise for doing anything in his power to have his brother back, then he must have been out of his mind. Sam needed to understand that. He didn’t need to be happy about it, nor grateful. Just.... to understand that what Dean had done was the only possible solution.
“I’m sorry I’m making you go through all this shit! But I’m not going to apologise for bringing you back! What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t...”
“... not to give up...”
“I’m not. I won’t give up. It’s my job, Sam. It’s what I do. And, I swear to God, I won’t let you die again. I have nothing worthy left to sell.”
The communication shut. He didn’t hear anything else, apart from the crackling interferences. But that was not the end. Dean would not have let them to be Sam’s last words. Dean retrieved the branch, and slowly stood up.
***
Now that the blood in his veins was pumping again with rage and determination, the walk to the cabin didn’t seem that long. He couldn’t feel the pain nor the exhaustion. He could only see the small dot of light becoming three, and later shaping into a building. He didn’t know what he would found inside. He was hoping for a radio, or a working phone. That’s why he almost gasped in surprise when he actually saw a man.
“Hey! I need help!” Dean shouted at the guy who was hanging a lamp on the porch, and who jumped in fear.
“What? Oh God,” he exclaimed in the moment he saw Dean’s wound. “It’s okay, buddy. Take a seat. I have a first aid kid...”
“It’s not me, it’s my brother!” Dean shoved him off, but found himself stumbling forward when his legs decided they were done with holding him. The man, who was dressed up in a ranger uniform, dragged him on the porch, and made him seat.
“Let me see your leg...”
“No! Listen!” Dean grabbed the ranger’s shoulders and forced him to forget his wound. “My brother is trapped in a mine. He’s injured. He’s bad. He needs help now! You need to call someone!”
The guy hesitated a few seconds, and the finally said: “What happened? Where’s your brother now?”
Dean, relieved, pulled the folded map out of his pocket and showed the ranger the position of the mine. He certainly was irritated by the fact that two reckless young men had decided to break into the mine, despite all the warnings, but the genuine worry in Dean’s eye must have had the right effect. The ranger picked the radio and requested help.
When Dean tried to stand up again, he rushed by his side, pushing him down on the chair.
“Where do you think you’re going with that injury?”
“I need to go back to my brother...” Dean’s vision started going blurry, his legs felt wobbly.
“Son, you couldn’t even walk out that door in your condition. Also, the mine is miles away. They’ll send a chopper here to pick you up, first. You’ll be able to take them to the exact place where you left your brother, alright?”
Dean nodded, although he had the feeling he had only listened to half of what the ranger said. All he got from him was ‘soon’ and ‘brother’. That was enough to allow him to doze off for a minute.
***
The sound of a helicopter aroused Dean from his semi-conscious state. The ranger was kneeling over him, with a calm expression.
“They’re here. They’re going to take you to the mine. Are you up for this?”
“...sure,” Dean answered groggily. In seconds, three people - paramedics? - were in the room, checking on him, asking questions he didn’t really understand. All he wanted was to go to Sam.
“We have to take off the tourniquet, it might bleed little, but it doesn’t look too bad. We’ll give you something for the pain, okay?”
Dean felt the sting of a needle before he was even able to answer. The effect was almost immediate.
“We have to go...” He made a second attempt to stand up, and this time two pairs of arms were there to support him and help him step outside.
Dean didn’t pay much attention during the ride. Normally he would have been terrified. Now his eyes were just scanning the ground, looking for the mine.
“How are you going to take him out?” he asked doubtfully to one of the paramedics - the young lady.
“A rescue team has already been sent there on another chopper. They’re waiting for you there to show them the exact point. The mine is bigger than it looks, and very dangerous.” She glanced at Dean’s freshly bandaged leg and showed a reassuring smile. “But you know that already.”
The other paramedic was talking on the radio in the background, but because of the noise Dean couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he turned and handed a pair of headphones to Dean.
“It’s the rescue team,” he shouted. “They need your directions to start digging.”
The guy on the radio wanted to know which entrance they used. Once Dean had provided him the information he knew, he pointed out that he had left Sam lying dangerously close to the cave in. The last thing he wanted was the rescue team to accidentally bury his brother under the rocks they were supposed to remove.
“It might be safer to get in from the west entrance,” the team leader decided. “It’s been sealed, but it won’t take long to break in, and we won’t risk hurting the man by accident.”
When they arrived, the west entrance had just been opened. A team of five men equipped with reflective gear, headlights and masks was making his way into the tunnel. They made Dean wear a helmet and a mask, and forced him to walk behind them. As much as Dean wanted to fight the order, his strength was just enough to let him stand - barely.
They entered the mine in a row, except for Dean, who needed the support of the young lady in order not to trip over his injured - and now almost insensitive - leg.
“Tell me what you know about your brother’s condition,” the lady asked him.
“His name’s Sam.”
“Alright, tell me what happened to Sam.”
“It was an accident. A spark lit up some methane and there was a blast. The beam collapsed and the ceiling caved in. We have been separated from then, and I couldn’t have a proper look. But I’m almost completely sure he had a concussion and some internal injuries.”
The lady nodded, encouraging. “Did he lose consciousness?”
“Several times... but we’ve talked in between them.”
“Okay. We’ll do everything we can.”
Unfortunately for her, that was not even remotely enough for Dean.
“Holy shit!” The curse echoed in the small space. “What is this thing?! A bear?”
Dean startled, and quickened his pace. If that was the Wendigo, it meant they had reached the right place.
“He’s here, somewhere!” He yelled, trying both to divert their attention from the monster, and to urge them to focus onto something large more important. “SAM!”
“We found him.”
Suddenly all the headlights pointed to the ground. Dean was about to rush forward, but was held back by the young lady - whose strength was now far bigger that his. “Stay here, and let us work.”
The three paramedics converged in one place, while the rescue team secured the collapsed rock from sliding down. Dean would have joined them, but he realised he couldn’t move anymore. He leaned against the wall, watching the rescuers talking and assessing, trying to peer over them to get a glimpse of his brother. He saw someone pulling out a neck brace, while someone else was holding an Ambu bag.
The frustration of not being able to see him was overwhelming, making Dean’s eyes prickle.
“Just... tell me how is he...” he asked, his voice too broken and too weak for being heard over the medical chattering.
A backboard stretcher was laid on the ground
“Tell me how is he!”
In the moment they raised the stretcher, he wished he hadn’t asked. The cold lights spared him a glimpse of a familiar body, paler than a ghost, white skin, blue lips and dusty clothes stained with both dark and bright blood. Unmoving, unresponsive, unaware. Dean saw Sam dead, again.
He closed his eyes and just prayed for his soul to be claimed in that right moment, because there was nothing else left. Because Hell was preferable to his dead brother.
***
“So... how is he?”
Dean was resting against the wall in the hallway, just outside Sam’s room. The crutch, that he used to counterbalance the soft cast around his healing leg, temporarily forgotten on a chair.
“He’ll be fine,” Dean answered, rubbing his eyes to wipe away his sleepiness. “Actually, they said he should wake up any moment, now.”
“That’s good news.” Bobby’s voice sounded calm and reassuring on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry I’ll be missing the big event. I’ll be there in a few hours. Meanwhile, don’t worry about the Wendigo thing. I made a few calls and it should be settled.”
“Thanks, Bobby. We really owe you one.”
“Hell right you do. Now, just go back to your brother, ya idjit. And get some sleep. You sound like a drunken, drowsy Nanny.”
“Definitely drowsy; working on the drunken part.”
“I’ll see ya later, boy. Take care of yourself.”
Dean slipped the phone into his pocket, picked up the crutch, and walked back into the room. He was welcomed by the regular and comforting sound of the machines. He limped towards the plastic chair next to the bed - just beside the wheelchair that he had been refusing to use during the past three days.
He slid back in the now familiar chair, and returned to his job as a guardian. He had been watched over Sam since the moment they had taken him back from the OR. It was imperative, to Dean, to be the first one he would have seen when he woke up. Sam didn’t need the doctors and the nurses to overwhelm him with questions and information. He didn’t need to know he had spent the last two days and a half unconscious in that bed, after a five hour surgery to repair his ruptured spleen and stop the internal bleeding. He didn’t need to see the layers of bandages that were covering the burnt skin on his arms, or those that were wrapped around his chest, to bind his two broken ribs and the three cracked ones. He didn’t need to know that he had been forced on a respirator for a day, before finally switching to a nasal cannula, because the methane inhalations had almost asphyxiated him, and his lungs had refused to cooperate after his body had broken into a seizure, due to the lack of oxygen. There would have been time for all of that.
There was something that Sam needed to hear more than everything else, and he needed to hear that from Dean.
“You’ll be fine, Sam; because you didn’t give up.”
He gently rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, despising the way he looked so fragile, but well aware of the strength he was hiding underneath.
“You’ll be fine. And you have enough strength for keeping fighting for both of us.”
Dean leaned forward and placed his head on Sam’s pillow, feeling his heat, watching his chest raising and lowering; watching him living. He impressed that in his mind, and added them to his list. The list of the first things he would have remembered, when he had opened his eyes in Hell.
***end***