On Our Own, 9/11, PG-13, Gen, AU
The boys be in hot water now...
Next update tomorrow, on account of it being my birthday and thus, you getting a prezzie from me. :) Also, the total wordcount just keeps going up. Apparently I can't help but write more in certain places...
Title: On Our Own
Chapter: 9 of 11
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the end of season 5, though especially for 5x04.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.
Summary: AU. When Sam is fifteen, his dad makes a decision based on a dark future he was apparently shown by an 'angel': split his sons up and abandon his youngest to keep that future at bay. Dean refuses to let it happen, but if they want to stay together, there's only one option: run.
Wordcount: This chapter, 3,314. Total: 33,467.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11A
Part 11B
Epilogue (to come!)
Four hours, by Dean's count. Four hours they'd been in the damn room. He had no idea where they were, or how long it'd been before they'd gotten there. It was still dark through the windows that he could see out of. The barred windows that wouldn't hold any escape.
He glared daggers through the wooden door, hoping like hell that whomever was on the other side could feel their imminent death. Those sons of bitches. They'd jumped them in the parking lot, nearly suffocated Sam, then-
His gaze slid back to where Sam was still laying, unconscious, on the small blanket that had been spread out on the ground for them. They'd at least given Dean a first aid kit and a bowl of what looked and smelled like clean water. Like that was going to make up for putting a goddamn hole in his brother's calf.
The kid was a mess. He'd reopened the wound in his hand from the motel shelf when he'd landed on the pavement. His other hand was scratched to hell, and his knees were bruised. There was a lump on the side of the head from when he'd been knocked out, and on his calf was a dark red wound that Dean was currently rewrapping.
He'd stabbed Sam. Grabbed a knife after Sam had kicked him and thrown it at Sam. “You should be grateful,” the man had told him before he'd cracked Dean across the temple.
Grateful? Grateful that his aim was for crap, and that it wasn't Sam's femoral artery he'd hit? Grateful that he hadn't pulled the gun instead?
They hadn't come in yet. Dean still had no idea what the hell they even wanted.
A quiet moan sent his heart racing. “Sammy?” he whispered urgently. “Sammy, c'mon, wake up.”
Slowly Sam's eyes fluttered open, murky hazel still seeking him out first. “D'n?” he mumbled, but it was enough.
“Yeah, it's me,” Dean said, shutting his eyes tight for a minute in relief. Thank god. “How you feeling?”
Sam licked his lips before responding. “Like...truck...hit me.”
Dean snickered. “Yeah, I hear you. Roadkill.”
“You get the...the name of the driver?”
Dean pursed his lips. “Took off too fast,” he said, trying to make it sound light and failing. “And apparently decided to take us with him.”
He could see the minute it dawned on Sam that they were somewhere else. “Where...?” Before Dean could stop him, Sam was pushing himself up to sitting. Sam hissed and shut his eyes tight, already tumbling backwards towards the floor.
Dean caught him easily, ignoring the throbbing of his head at the sudden movement or his arms as Sam's weight pulled at the already sore muscles. “Don't know. We were already here when I came to.”
Sam opened his eyes at that, fear evident in his gaze. “Came to? Dean-”
“I'm fine,” Dean assured him. “Just another bump on the head. Good thing my skull's too hard to crack, huh?”
Sam didn't look convinced, but he let it go. “What happened? Last thing I remember was...”
“I think you were going for the car,” Dean said, his mind helpfully supplying what happened next: the knife flying, Sam screaming and falling to the ground, Dean doing his own bit of screaming, and then the fallen hunter rising to knock his brother out.
Sam grimaced, hand slowly reaching for his leg. “Leave it be,” Dean said, pulling Sam's hand away before it could reach its destination. Better that Sam not touch it or know how bad it was.
“They haven't said anything? Nothing at all?”
“No,” Dean said. He took a moment to glare again at the door before turning back to Sam. “No one's been in or out. When I came to, there was a first aid kit and a bowl of warm water with a wash rag. That's it.”
Sam began pushing himself up again. “Hey, easy Rambo,” Dean said, trying to push Sam back down. “You gotta rest, Sammy.”
“We have to get out of here,” Sam said stubbornly. Always the determined one, his little brother. “God knows what they could do to us next, and I don't want to stay around and watch them rip your arms out of their sockets again.”
Woozy and down for the count, and the kid was still worried about him. “Won't let 'em this time,” Dean promised, stupidly touched at the amount of concern from Sam. “I'll be right in front of you, and they won't get to either of us, promise.” He frowned, another thought he'd been chewing on coming to mind once more. “And I want to know how they found us in the first place.”
“Probably the same way Dad would've,” Sam said quietly. “Some hunters do have law enforcement connections. If Dad did put an APB out on us, and hunters followed the police who followed us...”
Dean swallowed, feeling sick. They should've just dumped the damn car when they'd had the chance to. “Sammy, I'm sorry,” he said, unable to offer anything else.
“It's not your fault,” Sam said without hesitation, and for the first time since he'd woken up, his voice held no trembling, his gaze solid and focused. “I mean it. I didn't want to dump the car anymore than you did.” He cracked a wan grin. “Winchester luck, remember?”
Yeah, Winchester luck. Always bad with last minute saves. “Sometimes I wish we had no luck,” Dean grumbled, but he got Sam's point. No matter how they'd been found - and Dean doubted they'd ever know, though Sam's idea held the most merit - they needed to focus on the here and now.
Sam met his gaze and gave a small smile. “We still have to get out of here,” he reminded Dean, eyes moving around the small wooden room and their limited options. Dean watched him take in the barred windows, the one door, and the random metal shelves with various items in the room.
Dean decided to narrate before Sam got the grand idea to stand up and investigate for himself. Nothing Dean hadn't already done, anyways. “Nothing on the shelves except empty crates. Shelves themselves would topple fast if we put them in front of the door. No weapons, no tools, only a few bottles of engine oil and the empty wood crates. I searched them already.”
“What's in the first aid kit?” Sam asked after a moment.
Dean regarded the little white tin with some hesitation. “Rubbing alcohol, some bandages, and a bottle of aspirin, which you're taking some of in a minute. Medical tape. That and the wooden bowl, a rag, and water that's bordering on cold now.” Yeah, they could get out of there with that.
Except Sam was actually looking at everything like they could. “Wanna share with the class, oh boy scout?” Dean asked with raised eyebrows.
Sam rolled his eyes in perceived annoyance, then promptly fell back onto the floor. “Jesus, Sammy, easy,” Dean exclaimed, hands instantly cradling his brother's nearly white face. Slowly Sam blinked and brought himself back to awareness. “You okay? Sammy!”
“M'fine,” Sam murmured, but he looked glassy-eyed again. God they were screwed. If Sam had a concussion on top of everything else...
“Just rest,” Dean said firmly. “Let me get you some aspirin first, though. And I'll deal with whoever decides to barge in.”
But Sam was already shaking his head, this time more carefully. “No time for meds. Get the oil,” he said softly. “Bring it over.”
Dean rose reluctantly, eyes still on Sam. The kid had almost no color in his cheeks, and his breaths were coming in small pants. “Sammy...”
“We're busting out,” Sam said. “Oil, and hurry.”
When had he ever not listened to Sam? Dean obediently brought the bottles over to where Sam was slouched over himself. “You thinking the windows?”
“Or the floor,” Sam said. Upon peering up through his bangs and finding Dean's bewildered look, he gave a wan smile. “There's a draft through the floorboards. I'm thinking the cabin or whatever we're in is on a hill, because I can smell the night and dirt.”
Tunneling out. Dean carefully stepped over and around Sam to the floorboards his little brother was pointing at. Sure enough, Dean could feel the air coming through the boards. The boards on the wall looked sturdy and were notched into place, but the floor boards were slightly separated. Dirt was obvious between the planks on the floor, except near where they met the wall. There, Dean could feel air. All of the nails looked rusty, but they weren't deeply embedded in the wood. The age of the cabin was visible in the twisting of the boards and the way they had been laid down without concrete, making the nails at the edge the only thing between them and an escape. Any pitch that had been laid between the boards had long since deteriorated.
Dean turned around to ask for the bandages, but Sam was already holding the tin out towards him. “Be careful,” Sam said softly.
With a quick nod Dean got to work. The bandages kept the nails from cutting into his fingers as he gently pulled at one of the highest ones, just to see if it would work, if any of them would come out.
In less than thirty seconds he had it out. The wood gave a little easier after having been freed. He tossed a triumphant grin over his shoulder to Sam, who still looked pale and in pain. But he threw a thumbs up back. Dean forced his inner protective big brother nature to shut up and focused on the boards. If he could get them out, that'd go a lot longer towards helping Sam than sitting there worrying about him.
Logical, yes. Easy to do...not so much.
He used the oil sparingly, letting it soak into the wood and around the nail before he began on the next one. It came out a little easier, but it still took some tugging. The next one was harder to get out, and he spent a good five minutes on it.
By the time he'd loosened enough boards to move, it'd been about half an hour by his estimation. Now it was just a matter of getting the boards out of the way. “Think you can help me move them?” Dean asked, glancing back at his brother.
If Sam had been pale before, he was completely white now, save for the slight flush to his cheeks. Goddamn blood loss. “Shit, why didn't you say something-” Dean started to say, scrambling to reach his brother, when Sam slumped back towards the floor again. Dean barely managed to grab him before his brother cracked his head against the wood. “Sammy,” he said urgently, resisting the impulse to shake his brother back to awareness. “Sammy! C'mon, kiddo.”
“Dean?” Sam whispered, and Dean hated the lost tone to his voice. “Can we go?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “We're leaving.” Whether the boards wanted to move or not.
To get them out, he was going to need to move Sam. As gently as he dared he shifted his brother until Sam was leaning against the wall a few planks over. Then Dean started the tedious task of prying his fingers in between the boards and pulling. Splinters dug and pulled at his fingers and hands, and the roughness of the wood cut through his skin, but Dean had more important things to focus on. Namely, getting Sam out. A few more nails had to come out, and the dry dirt beneath them didn't help, but after some shifting, it became obvious very quickly that Sam had been right: at least one part of the cabin was exposed to air. Either they were in a basement or a hill.
Either way, so long as they could get out, Dean didn't care.
They were one plank away from just barely being able to squeeze through when footsteps were heard from outside the door. “Dean,” Sam whispered in between pants, but Dean had already heard. Cover the hole or get out now?
God knew what the men were going to do, and Sam couldn't handle much more. He needed to be somewhere he could actually relax and rest without what was probably a concussion, blood loss, and a little bit of shock playing havoc on his body. Out it was.
Without hesitation Dean pulled at the board as hard as he could. The wood groaned and slowly shifted down across the floor, revealing grass, dirt, and about two feet of clearance. It'd have to do. “Can we go?” Sam managed.
“Yeah,” Dean said, reaching for Sam. Sam let Dean pull him across the floor, his arms shaking. He did try and put his feet through the hole on his own, and managed to slide out with only a few hissing sounds of pain.
Dean was one foot into the hole when the voices outside the door registered, and he couldn't stop himself from freezing.
“I put the call out to hunters to only sit on them, that was all, while I dealt with the cops arresting me. I wasn't expecting the boys to put an APB out on me, but I didn't want this! I just wanted to find them! And now you're telling me they're both hurt?”
“You sounded pretty damn urgent, John, said your boys were getting into all sorts of trouble, and you don't understand, they struggled-”
Dad. The urge to let their dad get them out of trouble was so strong that Dean almost called out to him. Almost.
Then the memory of Sam's face on the stairs, Dad's cold voice from the study, flashed through his mind. No. Dean hadn't gone this far to lose Sam now.
Without pausing this time he shoved himself through the hole, then edged himself out from underneath the building. Definitely a cabin, out in the middle of nowhere, and definitely perched on a hill. It looked like erosion was edging up underneath the crest that the cabin had been built on. Lucky them. Around them was a forested area, but not heavily so. There were trees and hills and were they still in Nevada?
“S'not all desert, Dean,” Sam said softly to his left. The kid was leaning against a tree, looking just as washed out as he had before. But he was upright, or trying to be, at any rate, and still reading Dean's mind without any issue.
“Let's go,” Dean said, hurrying over to Sam. “Get on my back, now.”
Sam looked at him like he was nuts. “Dean, I'm not a kid anymore-”
“You're down a working limb, and you still don't weigh that much,” Dean argued. “Sammy, we don't have time for this, it has to be now.”
Sam looked like he had a lot more to say on the subject, but then he swayed. Dean carefully kept him up long enough for Sam to admit defeat. “Can we hotwire a car?” he asked.
Dean shook his head. Not with their dad inside: it'd be the first place Dad would look once they were discovered missing. “We can make it to the road, hitchhike it,” he said. He was fairly certain that the rushing sound off in the distance was the highway. Rushing sounds meant cars. Somebody would stop to help. “C'mon, squirt.”
It took only one good hoist to get Sam up on his back and wrap his arms around Sam's knees. Dean's arms protested slightly, his shoulders still feeling the tight captive grip of hours before, but he forced it down. Sam had his arms around Dean's neck and shoulders in no time, and with Sam this close, Dean could feel the small tremors that wracked his brother's frame.
Sam should've had medical help hours ago.
Dean started making his way down the small incline and off into the forest. They were on the low ground now, but eventually it would have to go high again. High would mean a road.
The only problem was that it was still pretty dark outside. Trees were everywhere, and while morning was obviously on the horizon, the sun wasn't out yet, which meant their light was limited at best, nonexistent at worst. He found himself pulling his hands away from Sam to keep branches at bay as they made their way through the terrain.
Even with their headstart, Dean could still hear the shouts echoing through the trees. Guess they'd been found out. Time to pick up the pace.
“What do they want with us?” Sam asked against his neck.
“Who knows,” Dean muttered, eyes desperately seeking out the roots around them. The next part looked like it was just long rocks, and he crossed over those with speed. Anything to give them more covered ground.
Another branch came at them, but Sam's hand reached out beyond them to push it away. “Gotta be getting closer,” Sam murmured, and Dean didn't know who he was referring to.
A sharp decline nearly sent Dean head over heels. He managed to get his feet under him and make it a calculated stumble, and better yet, still hang on to Sam. He still tossed a winced, “Sorry,” over his shoulder at his brother, whose fingers were digging in to Dean's skin.
“S'okay,” Sam whispered, but the pain in his voice told another story. Mentioning that now, doing anything except getting out of there, wouldn't do them any good, so Dean plodded on.
When the next chorus of shouts came, Dean could make out the sound of his name, Sam's, and the fact that their pursuers were definitely closer. “Sonuvabitch,” Dean cursed, breaking into a run. Sam kept his grip tight as they ran through the forest. Trees flew by, branches were ducked under in favor of speed, and the ground wasn't even considered. So long as it didn't give beneath them, Dean didn't care.
Finally, his eyes could make out an incline. The sky was a pink color now, making it easier to see. It would work against them, but if they could just make it to the road, they could get a car. They could hike back to Vegas. They could get Sam help. They could get away.
Above them, lights passed and flashed by, and Dean knew they'd hit the road. “Thank god,” he breathed, but didn't stop his speed. He nearly tripped on a root but kept going, Sam's weight nothing while the adrenaline surged through his veins. His heart was pounding in his chest, his lungs were burning, but god they were gonna make it. He started up the lowest part of the incline, eyes tracking the lights that flashed above. The lights that...that weren't flashing, but were getting brighter.
“Dean.”
Dean slammed to a halt, eyes shooting up to the figure standing above them. The lights behind him made his silhouette all too clear, and even if Dean hadn't heard the familiar voice, even if Sam hadn't whispered the name in a shocked tone, Dean would've known his dad anywhere.
Crashing branches behind him told him that the others were practically on top of them, but Dad stood between him and the road, and those were probably the truck's damn headlights that were aimed at the incline. Dad had still known exactly where they'd go, and he'd beaten them to the only exit they'd had.
“No,” Sam whispered, voice filled with despair. “No.”
The sky was burning with a bright sun, but there wasn't anything beautiful or good about it. Dean felt his frustration and misery burn in his eyes. Dad loomed over them, tall and large and imposing, and they were done. They were done.
It was over.
“Dean,” Sam choked out, and Dean finally hung his head and cried.
Part 10
Next update tomorrow, on account of it being my birthday and thus, you getting a prezzie from me. :) Also, the total wordcount just keeps going up. Apparently I can't help but write more in certain places...
Title: On Our Own
Chapter: 9 of 11
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the end of season 5, though especially for 5x04.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.
Summary: AU. When Sam is fifteen, his dad makes a decision based on a dark future he was apparently shown by an 'angel': split his sons up and abandon his youngest to keep that future at bay. Dean refuses to let it happen, but if they want to stay together, there's only one option: run.
Wordcount: This chapter, 3,314. Total: 33,467.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11A
Part 11B
Epilogue (to come!)
Four hours, by Dean's count. Four hours they'd been in the damn room. He had no idea where they were, or how long it'd been before they'd gotten there. It was still dark through the windows that he could see out of. The barred windows that wouldn't hold any escape.
He glared daggers through the wooden door, hoping like hell that whomever was on the other side could feel their imminent death. Those sons of bitches. They'd jumped them in the parking lot, nearly suffocated Sam, then-
His gaze slid back to where Sam was still laying, unconscious, on the small blanket that had been spread out on the ground for them. They'd at least given Dean a first aid kit and a bowl of what looked and smelled like clean water. Like that was going to make up for putting a goddamn hole in his brother's calf.
The kid was a mess. He'd reopened the wound in his hand from the motel shelf when he'd landed on the pavement. His other hand was scratched to hell, and his knees were bruised. There was a lump on the side of the head from when he'd been knocked out, and on his calf was a dark red wound that Dean was currently rewrapping.
He'd stabbed Sam. Grabbed a knife after Sam had kicked him and thrown it at Sam. “You should be grateful,” the man had told him before he'd cracked Dean across the temple.
Grateful? Grateful that his aim was for crap, and that it wasn't Sam's femoral artery he'd hit? Grateful that he hadn't pulled the gun instead?
They hadn't come in yet. Dean still had no idea what the hell they even wanted.
A quiet moan sent his heart racing. “Sammy?” he whispered urgently. “Sammy, c'mon, wake up.”
Slowly Sam's eyes fluttered open, murky hazel still seeking him out first. “D'n?” he mumbled, but it was enough.
“Yeah, it's me,” Dean said, shutting his eyes tight for a minute in relief. Thank god. “How you feeling?”
Sam licked his lips before responding. “Like...truck...hit me.”
Dean snickered. “Yeah, I hear you. Roadkill.”
“You get the...the name of the driver?”
Dean pursed his lips. “Took off too fast,” he said, trying to make it sound light and failing. “And apparently decided to take us with him.”
He could see the minute it dawned on Sam that they were somewhere else. “Where...?” Before Dean could stop him, Sam was pushing himself up to sitting. Sam hissed and shut his eyes tight, already tumbling backwards towards the floor.
Dean caught him easily, ignoring the throbbing of his head at the sudden movement or his arms as Sam's weight pulled at the already sore muscles. “Don't know. We were already here when I came to.”
Sam opened his eyes at that, fear evident in his gaze. “Came to? Dean-”
“I'm fine,” Dean assured him. “Just another bump on the head. Good thing my skull's too hard to crack, huh?”
Sam didn't look convinced, but he let it go. “What happened? Last thing I remember was...”
“I think you were going for the car,” Dean said, his mind helpfully supplying what happened next: the knife flying, Sam screaming and falling to the ground, Dean doing his own bit of screaming, and then the fallen hunter rising to knock his brother out.
Sam grimaced, hand slowly reaching for his leg. “Leave it be,” Dean said, pulling Sam's hand away before it could reach its destination. Better that Sam not touch it or know how bad it was.
“They haven't said anything? Nothing at all?”
“No,” Dean said. He took a moment to glare again at the door before turning back to Sam. “No one's been in or out. When I came to, there was a first aid kit and a bowl of warm water with a wash rag. That's it.”
Sam began pushing himself up again. “Hey, easy Rambo,” Dean said, trying to push Sam back down. “You gotta rest, Sammy.”
“We have to get out of here,” Sam said stubbornly. Always the determined one, his little brother. “God knows what they could do to us next, and I don't want to stay around and watch them rip your arms out of their sockets again.”
Woozy and down for the count, and the kid was still worried about him. “Won't let 'em this time,” Dean promised, stupidly touched at the amount of concern from Sam. “I'll be right in front of you, and they won't get to either of us, promise.” He frowned, another thought he'd been chewing on coming to mind once more. “And I want to know how they found us in the first place.”
“Probably the same way Dad would've,” Sam said quietly. “Some hunters do have law enforcement connections. If Dad did put an APB out on us, and hunters followed the police who followed us...”
Dean swallowed, feeling sick. They should've just dumped the damn car when they'd had the chance to. “Sammy, I'm sorry,” he said, unable to offer anything else.
“It's not your fault,” Sam said without hesitation, and for the first time since he'd woken up, his voice held no trembling, his gaze solid and focused. “I mean it. I didn't want to dump the car anymore than you did.” He cracked a wan grin. “Winchester luck, remember?”
Yeah, Winchester luck. Always bad with last minute saves. “Sometimes I wish we had no luck,” Dean grumbled, but he got Sam's point. No matter how they'd been found - and Dean doubted they'd ever know, though Sam's idea held the most merit - they needed to focus on the here and now.
Sam met his gaze and gave a small smile. “We still have to get out of here,” he reminded Dean, eyes moving around the small wooden room and their limited options. Dean watched him take in the barred windows, the one door, and the random metal shelves with various items in the room.
Dean decided to narrate before Sam got the grand idea to stand up and investigate for himself. Nothing Dean hadn't already done, anyways. “Nothing on the shelves except empty crates. Shelves themselves would topple fast if we put them in front of the door. No weapons, no tools, only a few bottles of engine oil and the empty wood crates. I searched them already.”
“What's in the first aid kit?” Sam asked after a moment.
Dean regarded the little white tin with some hesitation. “Rubbing alcohol, some bandages, and a bottle of aspirin, which you're taking some of in a minute. Medical tape. That and the wooden bowl, a rag, and water that's bordering on cold now.” Yeah, they could get out of there with that.
Except Sam was actually looking at everything like they could. “Wanna share with the class, oh boy scout?” Dean asked with raised eyebrows.
Sam rolled his eyes in perceived annoyance, then promptly fell back onto the floor. “Jesus, Sammy, easy,” Dean exclaimed, hands instantly cradling his brother's nearly white face. Slowly Sam blinked and brought himself back to awareness. “You okay? Sammy!”
“M'fine,” Sam murmured, but he looked glassy-eyed again. God they were screwed. If Sam had a concussion on top of everything else...
“Just rest,” Dean said firmly. “Let me get you some aspirin first, though. And I'll deal with whoever decides to barge in.”
But Sam was already shaking his head, this time more carefully. “No time for meds. Get the oil,” he said softly. “Bring it over.”
Dean rose reluctantly, eyes still on Sam. The kid had almost no color in his cheeks, and his breaths were coming in small pants. “Sammy...”
“We're busting out,” Sam said. “Oil, and hurry.”
When had he ever not listened to Sam? Dean obediently brought the bottles over to where Sam was slouched over himself. “You thinking the windows?”
“Or the floor,” Sam said. Upon peering up through his bangs and finding Dean's bewildered look, he gave a wan smile. “There's a draft through the floorboards. I'm thinking the cabin or whatever we're in is on a hill, because I can smell the night and dirt.”
Tunneling out. Dean carefully stepped over and around Sam to the floorboards his little brother was pointing at. Sure enough, Dean could feel the air coming through the boards. The boards on the wall looked sturdy and were notched into place, but the floor boards were slightly separated. Dirt was obvious between the planks on the floor, except near where they met the wall. There, Dean could feel air. All of the nails looked rusty, but they weren't deeply embedded in the wood. The age of the cabin was visible in the twisting of the boards and the way they had been laid down without concrete, making the nails at the edge the only thing between them and an escape. Any pitch that had been laid between the boards had long since deteriorated.
Dean turned around to ask for the bandages, but Sam was already holding the tin out towards him. “Be careful,” Sam said softly.
With a quick nod Dean got to work. The bandages kept the nails from cutting into his fingers as he gently pulled at one of the highest ones, just to see if it would work, if any of them would come out.
In less than thirty seconds he had it out. The wood gave a little easier after having been freed. He tossed a triumphant grin over his shoulder to Sam, who still looked pale and in pain. But he threw a thumbs up back. Dean forced his inner protective big brother nature to shut up and focused on the boards. If he could get them out, that'd go a lot longer towards helping Sam than sitting there worrying about him.
Logical, yes. Easy to do...not so much.
He used the oil sparingly, letting it soak into the wood and around the nail before he began on the next one. It came out a little easier, but it still took some tugging. The next one was harder to get out, and he spent a good five minutes on it.
By the time he'd loosened enough boards to move, it'd been about half an hour by his estimation. Now it was just a matter of getting the boards out of the way. “Think you can help me move them?” Dean asked, glancing back at his brother.
If Sam had been pale before, he was completely white now, save for the slight flush to his cheeks. Goddamn blood loss. “Shit, why didn't you say something-” Dean started to say, scrambling to reach his brother, when Sam slumped back towards the floor again. Dean barely managed to grab him before his brother cracked his head against the wood. “Sammy,” he said urgently, resisting the impulse to shake his brother back to awareness. “Sammy! C'mon, kiddo.”
“Dean?” Sam whispered, and Dean hated the lost tone to his voice. “Can we go?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “We're leaving.” Whether the boards wanted to move or not.
To get them out, he was going to need to move Sam. As gently as he dared he shifted his brother until Sam was leaning against the wall a few planks over. Then Dean started the tedious task of prying his fingers in between the boards and pulling. Splinters dug and pulled at his fingers and hands, and the roughness of the wood cut through his skin, but Dean had more important things to focus on. Namely, getting Sam out. A few more nails had to come out, and the dry dirt beneath them didn't help, but after some shifting, it became obvious very quickly that Sam had been right: at least one part of the cabin was exposed to air. Either they were in a basement or a hill.
Either way, so long as they could get out, Dean didn't care.
They were one plank away from just barely being able to squeeze through when footsteps were heard from outside the door. “Dean,” Sam whispered in between pants, but Dean had already heard. Cover the hole or get out now?
God knew what the men were going to do, and Sam couldn't handle much more. He needed to be somewhere he could actually relax and rest without what was probably a concussion, blood loss, and a little bit of shock playing havoc on his body. Out it was.
Without hesitation Dean pulled at the board as hard as he could. The wood groaned and slowly shifted down across the floor, revealing grass, dirt, and about two feet of clearance. It'd have to do. “Can we go?” Sam managed.
“Yeah,” Dean said, reaching for Sam. Sam let Dean pull him across the floor, his arms shaking. He did try and put his feet through the hole on his own, and managed to slide out with only a few hissing sounds of pain.
Dean was one foot into the hole when the voices outside the door registered, and he couldn't stop himself from freezing.
“I put the call out to hunters to only sit on them, that was all, while I dealt with the cops arresting me. I wasn't expecting the boys to put an APB out on me, but I didn't want this! I just wanted to find them! And now you're telling me they're both hurt?”
“You sounded pretty damn urgent, John, said your boys were getting into all sorts of trouble, and you don't understand, they struggled-”
Dad. The urge to let their dad get them out of trouble was so strong that Dean almost called out to him. Almost.
Then the memory of Sam's face on the stairs, Dad's cold voice from the study, flashed through his mind. No. Dean hadn't gone this far to lose Sam now.
Without pausing this time he shoved himself through the hole, then edged himself out from underneath the building. Definitely a cabin, out in the middle of nowhere, and definitely perched on a hill. It looked like erosion was edging up underneath the crest that the cabin had been built on. Lucky them. Around them was a forested area, but not heavily so. There were trees and hills and were they still in Nevada?
“S'not all desert, Dean,” Sam said softly to his left. The kid was leaning against a tree, looking just as washed out as he had before. But he was upright, or trying to be, at any rate, and still reading Dean's mind without any issue.
“Let's go,” Dean said, hurrying over to Sam. “Get on my back, now.”
Sam looked at him like he was nuts. “Dean, I'm not a kid anymore-”
“You're down a working limb, and you still don't weigh that much,” Dean argued. “Sammy, we don't have time for this, it has to be now.”
Sam looked like he had a lot more to say on the subject, but then he swayed. Dean carefully kept him up long enough for Sam to admit defeat. “Can we hotwire a car?” he asked.
Dean shook his head. Not with their dad inside: it'd be the first place Dad would look once they were discovered missing. “We can make it to the road, hitchhike it,” he said. He was fairly certain that the rushing sound off in the distance was the highway. Rushing sounds meant cars. Somebody would stop to help. “C'mon, squirt.”
It took only one good hoist to get Sam up on his back and wrap his arms around Sam's knees. Dean's arms protested slightly, his shoulders still feeling the tight captive grip of hours before, but he forced it down. Sam had his arms around Dean's neck and shoulders in no time, and with Sam this close, Dean could feel the small tremors that wracked his brother's frame.
Sam should've had medical help hours ago.
Dean started making his way down the small incline and off into the forest. They were on the low ground now, but eventually it would have to go high again. High would mean a road.
The only problem was that it was still pretty dark outside. Trees were everywhere, and while morning was obviously on the horizon, the sun wasn't out yet, which meant their light was limited at best, nonexistent at worst. He found himself pulling his hands away from Sam to keep branches at bay as they made their way through the terrain.
Even with their headstart, Dean could still hear the shouts echoing through the trees. Guess they'd been found out. Time to pick up the pace.
“What do they want with us?” Sam asked against his neck.
“Who knows,” Dean muttered, eyes desperately seeking out the roots around them. The next part looked like it was just long rocks, and he crossed over those with speed. Anything to give them more covered ground.
Another branch came at them, but Sam's hand reached out beyond them to push it away. “Gotta be getting closer,” Sam murmured, and Dean didn't know who he was referring to.
A sharp decline nearly sent Dean head over heels. He managed to get his feet under him and make it a calculated stumble, and better yet, still hang on to Sam. He still tossed a winced, “Sorry,” over his shoulder at his brother, whose fingers were digging in to Dean's skin.
“S'okay,” Sam whispered, but the pain in his voice told another story. Mentioning that now, doing anything except getting out of there, wouldn't do them any good, so Dean plodded on.
When the next chorus of shouts came, Dean could make out the sound of his name, Sam's, and the fact that their pursuers were definitely closer. “Sonuvabitch,” Dean cursed, breaking into a run. Sam kept his grip tight as they ran through the forest. Trees flew by, branches were ducked under in favor of speed, and the ground wasn't even considered. So long as it didn't give beneath them, Dean didn't care.
Finally, his eyes could make out an incline. The sky was a pink color now, making it easier to see. It would work against them, but if they could just make it to the road, they could get a car. They could hike back to Vegas. They could get Sam help. They could get away.
Above them, lights passed and flashed by, and Dean knew they'd hit the road. “Thank god,” he breathed, but didn't stop his speed. He nearly tripped on a root but kept going, Sam's weight nothing while the adrenaline surged through his veins. His heart was pounding in his chest, his lungs were burning, but god they were gonna make it. He started up the lowest part of the incline, eyes tracking the lights that flashed above. The lights that...that weren't flashing, but were getting brighter.
“Dean.”
Dean slammed to a halt, eyes shooting up to the figure standing above them. The lights behind him made his silhouette all too clear, and even if Dean hadn't heard the familiar voice, even if Sam hadn't whispered the name in a shocked tone, Dean would've known his dad anywhere.
Crashing branches behind him told him that the others were practically on top of them, but Dad stood between him and the road, and those were probably the truck's damn headlights that were aimed at the incline. Dad had still known exactly where they'd go, and he'd beaten them to the only exit they'd had.
“No,” Sam whispered, voice filled with despair. “No.”
The sky was burning with a bright sun, but there wasn't anything beautiful or good about it. Dean felt his frustration and misery burn in his eyes. Dad loomed over them, tall and large and imposing, and they were done. They were done.
It was over.
“Dean,” Sam choked out, and Dean finally hung his head and cried.
Part 10