Fic: Wild By Skye (12/27)
As Sam barreled through the woods at full-tilt, his brother racing right beside him, he cursed the fact that they caught on to the wendigo so late in the game.
While the basic rules were the same, the specifics were different for each wendigo (its appetite for human flesh usually dependent on the monster's size). This one killed eight people every ten years. Also, this particular wendigo made fast work of racking up victims when it came out of hibernation. By the time the boys got into town, the count was up to seven. They had one chance to torch this bastard before it holed up and slept for another ten years.
Sam could just barely see the beast fleeing headlong through the forest ahead of them. It was wounded (Dean had managed a glancing blow with a burning limb), but it was still outpacing them. With every stride, the distance between it and the Winchesters grew.
This hunt had been frenzied and off the cuff from the start. They had had no time whatsoever to track it or study it. They had no idea where its lair was, and that was a very, very bad thing. Once the wendigo decided to hibernate (and only one victim short of its typical number of man-snacks was close enough that the wendigo might decide to call it a decade), it would crawl up in some hole that the brothers would never be able to find. While hibernating, wendigos were impossible to locate; otherwise, hunters would spend their time searching out the lairs and slaying wendigos in their sleep. During hibernation, it was like the wendigo disappeared entirely until its next feeding cycle.
Sam had a bad feeling the wendigo was heading for its lair. If it was going to choose hibernation over dealing with two hunters, they were in real danger of losing their prey.
Sam and Dean poured all their energy into running after the creature. They both knew what was at stake and what would happen if the creature reached its lair and crawled up into its hibernation hole.
They'd been chasing it through the woods for miles, it seemed. But Sam had to face the fact that this was a race they were losing.
"Sam," Dean barked between heaving breaths, never slowing his pace, "it's getting away!"
"I know!" Sam yelled back, even as he watched the wendigo's shape ahead of them grow smaller as it pulled even further ahead. He was about to lose sight of it entirely.
Sam wanted to scream. Instead, he yelled a command at Dean. "Catch him!"
Dean shot Sam a short look that said it all. Dean understood exactly what Sam meant.
Sam asked his body for more speed that it didn't have to give. "Just… occupy it… keep it…" Sam gasped as he continued running, "from getting… into… its lair! Hold it off… 'til I get there… with… the flare gun!"
An indefinable shift in Dean's energy, his presence, told Sam at once that Dean was going to do it.
"Just hold it off!" Sam repeated to stress that part to Dean. Because Dean wasn't going to have a weapon when he caught up to the wendigo, and his brother was just the kind to throw himself into a fight anyway.
Dean, never breaking stride, jerked off his shirt and threw it aside. Then he flung himself to the ground.
The wolf hit the forest floor tangled in Dean's pants. He twisted and flailed a moment, impatiently kicking himself free of the garments. It helped that the wolf, while just as heavy as Dean, had its mass in different places. Jeans that would stay on Dean wouldn't hug the wolf's contours enough to stay put. With a few frantic kicks, the wolf slipped out of the remaining clothes, jumped to its feet, then began to run after the wendigo.
Within seconds, Dean was streaking ahead of Sam, racing faster than Sam's pitiful human legs could carry him. Sam kept on the pressure, running for all he was worth, but Dean was leaving him in the dust.
Sam still tried to keep up, though there was no way he could actually keep pace. Sam could never hope to run as fast as a wolf.
"Just hold it!" Sam called after his brother.
The wolf was flying over the ground, closing on the wendigo's trail. Sam cursed again when he saw the wendigo had disappeared… he couldn't see it anymore.
From the way Dean was charging forward, ears sleeked back and body flexing with every mighty stride, Sam had to assume Dean could still see it. Or if not see it, smell it well enough to track.
Sam ran. He thought his lungs were going to give out and his muscles screamed in protest, but he kept running. He lost sight of Dean. The wolf bolted into the underbrush ahead of Sam and just disappeared.
Sam, the flare gun gripped desperately in one sweaty hand, pumped his legs faster, though they already felt like lead.
Sam's heart was pounding so loudly in his ears, he was surprised he heard the shot. The report of a gun cracked the air, loud and resonating, coming from directly ahead. Sam almost stumbled, confused.
Dean didn't have a gun. How could he have shot the wendigo?
He couldn't have. Which meant someone else was out in the woods with a gun. And his brother was out there, in the form of a fearsome predator and unarmed.
Urged by panic, Sam tapped the last of his reserves and ran harder. The gunshot had been close… too close.
Then Sam heard a pained yelp.
Dean!
Sam exploded into a small clearing and allowed himself only a split-second to assess the situation.
The wendigo was nowhere in sight. A dark patch in the grass (which Sam would examine more closely later) was probably what was left of the monster.
A spent single-shot flare gun was discarded on the ground.
A shadow amid the bushes (that had to be the crevice-size entrance to an underground cave) jumped out at Sam's hunter training immediately. It must have been the wendigo's lair. He tucked that detail away and assessed the surroundings.
There were two figures in front of Sam.
Dean, as the wolf, was wounded. Sam could see a smear of red blood in the animal's gray coat as Dean shied away from his attacker. Dean's hackles were up, his body tensed and defensive, but he wasn't growling or snarling. He looked more surprised than angry.
A man was crouched in an attack stance brandishing a hunting knife in one hand. The knife was streaked with blood.
That was all Sam needed. He brought up the flare gun and aimed it at the knife-wielding enemy.
"Stop! Don't move!" Sam's body was already on the brink of collapse from the long and grueling chase through the forest. The new surge of adrenaline upon suddenly seeing the man with a weapon was giving him enough energy to protect his brother, but it was stressing the limits of his endurance to do it.
All Sam could process for a few heartbeats was that Dean was hurt. Dean had been attacked. No one attacked Sam's brother and got away with it.
The wolf was whimpering and limping toward Sam.
The man saw the animal moving and readied to lunge at it.
"I will kill you!" Sam bellowed. A flare gun wouldn't work as well against a person as a wendigo, but Sam had other weapons on him… the flare gun need only harm the attacker enough to give Sam a chance to draw his own knife. Then it would be a knife fight, but so be it.
The figure, dark and threatening, spoke. "Sam?!"
Sam blinked. That sounded like…
"Dad?"
Sam forced himself to concentrate on the man's face, when before he had seen only a man, a knife, and the threat both posed.
It was John Winchester, facing Sam with a bloodied hunting knife in his hand.
Sam, flabbergasted, couldn't quite convince himself to lower the weapon he still had pointed at his father, not while the man still held a knife painted with Dean's blood. Sam spared a glance toward Dean. The wolf was closer to Sam than John, but he'd stopped his movement toward Sam when John acted as though he meant to defend Sam against the wild animal. Dean was standing still, tongue lolling from exertion and body shaking.
Now Sam knew why Dean hadn't been bristled for a counter-attack when Sam came upon them in the clearing. Dean wasn't going to lunge at their own father. But he had been cut… Sam could see blood dripping down Dean's side.
It made Sam's blood boil. He turned an accusing look on his father. "What did you do?!"
John, now standing upright with the knife held idly at his side, blinked at Sam's frantic tone. "I've been tracking this wendigo for a week; I'd finally found its lair and meant to ambush it here when it came crashing out of the woods with that…" he gestured to Dean with his knife, "on its tail."
Sam finally made himself lower the flare gun (because he only then remembered he was aiming it), his body feeling numb and shaky from shock and exhaustion.
This was nothing like the way they expected this hunt to end. Sam turned his eyes again to Dean.
"Why did you hurt him?" Sam demanded furiously.
John frowned. "That thing?" Again, John gestured absently at the wolf.
Sam dropped the flare gun and approached Dean.
"Son," John warned sharply, "don't get too close…"
"You knifed him," Sam hissed as he dropped to his knees beside Dean. Dean's lean body was trembling. The creature that normally looked so solid and strong looked remarkably brittle and weak as Dean looked up at Sam piteously with pleading golden eyes.
Sam touched Dean's shoulder, winced at the look in Dean's eyes, then craned to look at the animal's injured side. "Let me see," he murmured.
"Damnit, Sam," John grumbled, "did you hear what I told you? Get away from that thing. A wounded animal is dangerous…"
Sam ignored his father, pressed his hand to the blood-stained fur, and grimaced when Dean yelped and sidled away from Sam's touch. Sam's hand came back sticky and red.
"Shit," Sam muttered. He peeled out of his shirt. "Lay down," Sam gently said to Dean.
Dean obediently lowered himself to the ground and gingerly rolled on to his uninjured side to give Sam access to the wound.
Sam balled up his shirt and pressed it to Dean's side. Dean whined and struggled feebly against the pain.
John was coming closer. "Sam, what the hell is going on here? And where's your brother?"
Sam didn't pay any attention to his father. He was trying to assess Dean's injury. He gave the blood a chance to soak into the shirt then drew it away. The gash he saw was ugly, but not as deep as John Winchester usually inflicted. Dean must have jumped to the side at the last second and managed to avoid an out-and-out stabbing.
John's strong hand fell on Sam's shoulder, followed quickly by John's equally strong voice. "Sam… I'm talking to you."
"Back off or help me," Sam snapped, turning up the briefest of venomous glances at his father.
Sam didn't wait for John's answer… he had more important things to worry about. Sam resumed putting pressure on the knife wound in Dean's side, wincing when Dean whimpered. "Sorry," Sam whispered.
Sam sensed more than saw John slowly drop to the ground beside them. "Sam… what's going on?" This time he asked gently.
Not that it would get him an answer.
Sam could feel the blood slowly soaking through the shirt in his hands and wetting his palms. Dean's breathing was becoming labored.
All kinds of not good.
Sam leaned in close to Dean's head, bringing his lips to the wolf's ear so John wouldn't overhear. "We have to get this bleeding under control… change."
Dean rolled his golden eyes up to Sam, begging silently, then his gaze shifted meaningfully to John. Dean looked back up at Sam, terror flooding his lupine expression.
Sam winced sympathetically. He knew Dean's fears. He shared them. But he was more scared of losing Dean. He knew the change aided healing, and that was what they needed right now.
"Sam… where is Dean?" John asked again, this time with a hint of concern in his voice.
Dean looked slowly toward John again.
Sam looked up at John. "Dad… get out of here."
John looked floored. "What?"
Sam glanced back down at Dean still tenaciously holding his wolf form. If they were alone, Dean wouldn't hesitate to change. He did now because John was there. Sam knew Dean was scared to reveal himself as a lycanthrope in front of their father.
"Go away!" Sam pleaded. If John wasn't there, Dean would change and his body would heal.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" John asked. When Sam refused to answer him, only focused on the bleeding wolf, John lost his patience. Not that he'd ever had much with Sam to begin with. "Sam, for god's sake, just leave the animal alone. It's as good as dead anyway."
Sam flew at their father before he really knew he was moving. He leapt over Dean and shoved John. Hard. Not expecting the assault, John fell back on the ground with a surprised grunt, his knife skidding through the grass to land a few feet away.
The wolf yelped in distress behind them.
"Sam!" John barked, angry and confused at Sam's strange behavior.
Sam was standing over him, shaking he was so angry. He wanted to hurt something, and John was looking like a very convenient and appropriate target. He'd stabbed Dean!
"… Sam…" a weak voice issued from behind him.
Sam, his father instantly forgotten, whirled around to face Dean. He was human again, lying naked on his side with a bloody cut tracing a line across his ribs. His face looked ashen from blood loss and pain, but the tightness to his expression was all about John.
Sam rushed back to Dean's side and dropped down beside him. Anxiously, he examined the wound.
It was no longer bleeding. The change had helped. The blood on Dean was what had already been spilled, but nothing new was pumping from the wound.
"Thank god," Sam whispered, body sagging in relief. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder and mustered a weak smile. "Man… you scared the living crap out of me."
Dean didn't answer. Didn't look at Sam. He was looking past Sam, watching their father. Dean's face was frozen. Unreadable.
Sam was so sorry Dean had had to do it.
Not deigning to turn around and face John, Sam used the last clean spots on his stained shirt to gingerly dab at Dean's wound, looking at it critically until he decided it wasn't likely to tear itself open again, then he tossed the shirt aside. "You think you can make it back to the car?"
Dean slowly moved his eyes away from John and rested them on Sam. He nodded stiltedly.
Sam nodded encouragement and helped Dean struggle to his hands and knees. When Dean braced one foot on the ground, hand on his knee, to attempt standing, Sam crowded in and slid underneath Dean's arm, pulling Dean's arm around his neck and hauling Dean upright. They had to look quite the pair, Dean naked and covered in blood and Sam shirtless and bent over to let his brother's arm loop around his shoulders for support.
Dean hissed at the pain but didn't say a word.
"Easy," Sam said needlessly, looking closely at Dean's face for any signs he couldn't or shouldn't make this hike. Dean was collecting himself slowly but surely. The weight he let Sam take eased incrementally as Dean felt surer on his feet and hesitantly stood upright, his free hand covering the wound.
Sam gave him a minute then frowned at him. "You good?"
Dean's face was pale but he forced a nod, eyes resolutely closed. "Yeah… just waiting for the world to stop spinning."
"Take your time," Sam said quickly. "The wendigo's dead, so I'm not in a hurry."
Dean gave a tight smile, "What, don't need to get back for a hot date?"
Sam snorted.
Dean took a few steadying breaths then looked up. He froze. "Where's Dad?" he croaked.
Sam looked up and found the clearing empty. Their dad was gone. That made Sam's teeth grind. "Don't know… and I don't care," Sam growled.
"Sam…" Dean scolded.
"What? He stabbed you, Dean."
"Lay off him, man," Dean rasped, "he didn't know it was me."
Rationally, Sam knew that was true, but he wasn't in a forgiving mood. He was frayed from the hunt that had gone wrong from the start, the marathon charge through the woods, finding Dean bleeding from an injury inflicted by their own father… It was too much to expect calm and logic after all that, so Sam went silent. Dean tugged at his arm that was looped around Sam's neck, indicating he meant to stand on his own. Sam carefully slid out from underneath Dean's arm but hovered nearby, ready to catch his brother if Dean wasn't quite up to standing on his own yet.
Dean swayed but remained upright, seemingly by sheer force of will.
Sam stepped in beside his brother and lowered his face, "I'm so sorry, Dean…"
Dean closed his eyes. "Me too."
"Here," John's voice intoned lowly from behind the two boys. Sam and Dean startled and looked back toward their father as John laid a blanket over Dean's shoulders. Dean numbly accepted the blanket; Sam recognized the emergency blanket John kept in his truck. John must be parked nearby.
Dean gingerly wrapped the blanket around him, mindful of his damaged side.
Sam was glaring angrily at John.
John caught Sam's look and frowned. "Sam… I didn't know."
"Sam…" Dean intoned meaningfully.
Sam looked away from John and focused on Dean. "You ready to get out of here?"
"How far away are you parked?" John asked.
Sam set his jaw mutinously a moment, then answered, "Few miles, at least."
John looked at Dean, who was barely staying on his feet. "I'm just over there, let me give you boys a lift back to your motel."
Dean stiffened at the idea of leaving behind his baby.
"Sam and I will come back for the car," John assured, knowing why Dean had balked. He looked down remorsefully at Dean's blood-streaked side. "You're not up for miles of walking."
Dean and Sam looked at each other, then Sam nodded and stepped in to gently herd Dean toward John's vehicle. "He's right… come on."
Dean hesitated, as though he would prefer walking miles to leaving his car alone that long, but with a grumble he conceded defeat and followed their father.
John's black truck was parked just out of sight of the wendigo lair. John got behind the wheel and Sam helped Dean into the cab before cramming in beside him. Dean sagged back against the seat and closed his eyes, body wrapped in the rough gray blanket. Sam watched him with worry a moment but decided Dean was feigning sleep to avoid John (and any questions he might have asked) more than it was due to the extent of his injury.
Sam gave John directions to their motel and the rest of the ride was made in silence. At one point, Dean genuinely did start to nod off and listed to the side, leaning into Sam.
Sam tugged the blanket closer around Dean and looked once, uneasily, at their father.
When they got back to the motel, Dean was feeling better, if not one hundred percent. Sam used his keycard to let Dean in and asked awkwardly, "You need anything?"
Dean shook his head. "Go get my baby."
Sam studied Dean as he shuffled toward the bathroom. When Dean closed the bathroom door, Sam ducked into the motel room long enough to fetch himself a clean shirt, then he shut the door and returned to the truck where John was waiting.
Thirteen
While the basic rules were the same, the specifics were different for each wendigo (its appetite for human flesh usually dependent on the monster's size). This one killed eight people every ten years. Also, this particular wendigo made fast work of racking up victims when it came out of hibernation. By the time the boys got into town, the count was up to seven. They had one chance to torch this bastard before it holed up and slept for another ten years.
Sam could just barely see the beast fleeing headlong through the forest ahead of them. It was wounded (Dean had managed a glancing blow with a burning limb), but it was still outpacing them. With every stride, the distance between it and the Winchesters grew.
This hunt had been frenzied and off the cuff from the start. They had had no time whatsoever to track it or study it. They had no idea where its lair was, and that was a very, very bad thing. Once the wendigo decided to hibernate (and only one victim short of its typical number of man-snacks was close enough that the wendigo might decide to call it a decade), it would crawl up in some hole that the brothers would never be able to find. While hibernating, wendigos were impossible to locate; otherwise, hunters would spend their time searching out the lairs and slaying wendigos in their sleep. During hibernation, it was like the wendigo disappeared entirely until its next feeding cycle.
Sam had a bad feeling the wendigo was heading for its lair. If it was going to choose hibernation over dealing with two hunters, they were in real danger of losing their prey.
Sam and Dean poured all their energy into running after the creature. They both knew what was at stake and what would happen if the creature reached its lair and crawled up into its hibernation hole.
They'd been chasing it through the woods for miles, it seemed. But Sam had to face the fact that this was a race they were losing.
"Sam," Dean barked between heaving breaths, never slowing his pace, "it's getting away!"
"I know!" Sam yelled back, even as he watched the wendigo's shape ahead of them grow smaller as it pulled even further ahead. He was about to lose sight of it entirely.
Sam wanted to scream. Instead, he yelled a command at Dean. "Catch him!"
Dean shot Sam a short look that said it all. Dean understood exactly what Sam meant.
Sam asked his body for more speed that it didn't have to give. "Just… occupy it… keep it…" Sam gasped as he continued running, "from getting… into… its lair! Hold it off… 'til I get there… with… the flare gun!"
An indefinable shift in Dean's energy, his presence, told Sam at once that Dean was going to do it.
"Just hold it off!" Sam repeated to stress that part to Dean. Because Dean wasn't going to have a weapon when he caught up to the wendigo, and his brother was just the kind to throw himself into a fight anyway.
Dean, never breaking stride, jerked off his shirt and threw it aside. Then he flung himself to the ground.
The wolf hit the forest floor tangled in Dean's pants. He twisted and flailed a moment, impatiently kicking himself free of the garments. It helped that the wolf, while just as heavy as Dean, had its mass in different places. Jeans that would stay on Dean wouldn't hug the wolf's contours enough to stay put. With a few frantic kicks, the wolf slipped out of the remaining clothes, jumped to its feet, then began to run after the wendigo.
Within seconds, Dean was streaking ahead of Sam, racing faster than Sam's pitiful human legs could carry him. Sam kept on the pressure, running for all he was worth, but Dean was leaving him in the dust.
Sam still tried to keep up, though there was no way he could actually keep pace. Sam could never hope to run as fast as a wolf.
"Just hold it!" Sam called after his brother.
The wolf was flying over the ground, closing on the wendigo's trail. Sam cursed again when he saw the wendigo had disappeared… he couldn't see it anymore.
From the way Dean was charging forward, ears sleeked back and body flexing with every mighty stride, Sam had to assume Dean could still see it. Or if not see it, smell it well enough to track.
Sam ran. He thought his lungs were going to give out and his muscles screamed in protest, but he kept running. He lost sight of Dean. The wolf bolted into the underbrush ahead of Sam and just disappeared.
Sam, the flare gun gripped desperately in one sweaty hand, pumped his legs faster, though they already felt like lead.
Sam's heart was pounding so loudly in his ears, he was surprised he heard the shot. The report of a gun cracked the air, loud and resonating, coming from directly ahead. Sam almost stumbled, confused.
Dean didn't have a gun. How could he have shot the wendigo?
He couldn't have. Which meant someone else was out in the woods with a gun. And his brother was out there, in the form of a fearsome predator and unarmed.
Urged by panic, Sam tapped the last of his reserves and ran harder. The gunshot had been close… too close.
Then Sam heard a pained yelp.
Dean!
Sam exploded into a small clearing and allowed himself only a split-second to assess the situation.
The wendigo was nowhere in sight. A dark patch in the grass (which Sam would examine more closely later) was probably what was left of the monster.
A spent single-shot flare gun was discarded on the ground.
A shadow amid the bushes (that had to be the crevice-size entrance to an underground cave) jumped out at Sam's hunter training immediately. It must have been the wendigo's lair. He tucked that detail away and assessed the surroundings.
There were two figures in front of Sam.
Dean, as the wolf, was wounded. Sam could see a smear of red blood in the animal's gray coat as Dean shied away from his attacker. Dean's hackles were up, his body tensed and defensive, but he wasn't growling or snarling. He looked more surprised than angry.
A man was crouched in an attack stance brandishing a hunting knife in one hand. The knife was streaked with blood.
That was all Sam needed. He brought up the flare gun and aimed it at the knife-wielding enemy.
"Stop! Don't move!" Sam's body was already on the brink of collapse from the long and grueling chase through the forest. The new surge of adrenaline upon suddenly seeing the man with a weapon was giving him enough energy to protect his brother, but it was stressing the limits of his endurance to do it.
All Sam could process for a few heartbeats was that Dean was hurt. Dean had been attacked. No one attacked Sam's brother and got away with it.
The wolf was whimpering and limping toward Sam.
The man saw the animal moving and readied to lunge at it.
"I will kill you!" Sam bellowed. A flare gun wouldn't work as well against a person as a wendigo, but Sam had other weapons on him… the flare gun need only harm the attacker enough to give Sam a chance to draw his own knife. Then it would be a knife fight, but so be it.
The figure, dark and threatening, spoke. "Sam?!"
Sam blinked. That sounded like…
"Dad?"
Sam forced himself to concentrate on the man's face, when before he had seen only a man, a knife, and the threat both posed.
It was John Winchester, facing Sam with a bloodied hunting knife in his hand.
Sam, flabbergasted, couldn't quite convince himself to lower the weapon he still had pointed at his father, not while the man still held a knife painted with Dean's blood. Sam spared a glance toward Dean. The wolf was closer to Sam than John, but he'd stopped his movement toward Sam when John acted as though he meant to defend Sam against the wild animal. Dean was standing still, tongue lolling from exertion and body shaking.
Now Sam knew why Dean hadn't been bristled for a counter-attack when Sam came upon them in the clearing. Dean wasn't going to lunge at their own father. But he had been cut… Sam could see blood dripping down Dean's side.
It made Sam's blood boil. He turned an accusing look on his father. "What did you do?!"
John, now standing upright with the knife held idly at his side, blinked at Sam's frantic tone. "I've been tracking this wendigo for a week; I'd finally found its lair and meant to ambush it here when it came crashing out of the woods with that…" he gestured to Dean with his knife, "on its tail."
Sam finally made himself lower the flare gun (because he only then remembered he was aiming it), his body feeling numb and shaky from shock and exhaustion.
This was nothing like the way they expected this hunt to end. Sam turned his eyes again to Dean.
"Why did you hurt him?" Sam demanded furiously.
John frowned. "That thing?" Again, John gestured absently at the wolf.
Sam dropped the flare gun and approached Dean.
"Son," John warned sharply, "don't get too close…"
"You knifed him," Sam hissed as he dropped to his knees beside Dean. Dean's lean body was trembling. The creature that normally looked so solid and strong looked remarkably brittle and weak as Dean looked up at Sam piteously with pleading golden eyes.
Sam touched Dean's shoulder, winced at the look in Dean's eyes, then craned to look at the animal's injured side. "Let me see," he murmured.
"Damnit, Sam," John grumbled, "did you hear what I told you? Get away from that thing. A wounded animal is dangerous…"
Sam ignored his father, pressed his hand to the blood-stained fur, and grimaced when Dean yelped and sidled away from Sam's touch. Sam's hand came back sticky and red.
"Shit," Sam muttered. He peeled out of his shirt. "Lay down," Sam gently said to Dean.
Dean obediently lowered himself to the ground and gingerly rolled on to his uninjured side to give Sam access to the wound.
Sam balled up his shirt and pressed it to Dean's side. Dean whined and struggled feebly against the pain.
John was coming closer. "Sam, what the hell is going on here? And where's your brother?"
Sam didn't pay any attention to his father. He was trying to assess Dean's injury. He gave the blood a chance to soak into the shirt then drew it away. The gash he saw was ugly, but not as deep as John Winchester usually inflicted. Dean must have jumped to the side at the last second and managed to avoid an out-and-out stabbing.
John's strong hand fell on Sam's shoulder, followed quickly by John's equally strong voice. "Sam… I'm talking to you."
"Back off or help me," Sam snapped, turning up the briefest of venomous glances at his father.
Sam didn't wait for John's answer… he had more important things to worry about. Sam resumed putting pressure on the knife wound in Dean's side, wincing when Dean whimpered. "Sorry," Sam whispered.
Sam sensed more than saw John slowly drop to the ground beside them. "Sam… what's going on?" This time he asked gently.
Not that it would get him an answer.
Sam could feel the blood slowly soaking through the shirt in his hands and wetting his palms. Dean's breathing was becoming labored.
All kinds of not good.
Sam leaned in close to Dean's head, bringing his lips to the wolf's ear so John wouldn't overhear. "We have to get this bleeding under control… change."
Dean rolled his golden eyes up to Sam, begging silently, then his gaze shifted meaningfully to John. Dean looked back up at Sam, terror flooding his lupine expression.
Sam winced sympathetically. He knew Dean's fears. He shared them. But he was more scared of losing Dean. He knew the change aided healing, and that was what they needed right now.
"Sam… where is Dean?" John asked again, this time with a hint of concern in his voice.
Dean looked slowly toward John again.
Sam looked up at John. "Dad… get out of here."
John looked floored. "What?"
Sam glanced back down at Dean still tenaciously holding his wolf form. If they were alone, Dean wouldn't hesitate to change. He did now because John was there. Sam knew Dean was scared to reveal himself as a lycanthrope in front of their father.
"Go away!" Sam pleaded. If John wasn't there, Dean would change and his body would heal.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" John asked. When Sam refused to answer him, only focused on the bleeding wolf, John lost his patience. Not that he'd ever had much with Sam to begin with. "Sam, for god's sake, just leave the animal alone. It's as good as dead anyway."
Sam flew at their father before he really knew he was moving. He leapt over Dean and shoved John. Hard. Not expecting the assault, John fell back on the ground with a surprised grunt, his knife skidding through the grass to land a few feet away.
The wolf yelped in distress behind them.
"Sam!" John barked, angry and confused at Sam's strange behavior.
Sam was standing over him, shaking he was so angry. He wanted to hurt something, and John was looking like a very convenient and appropriate target. He'd stabbed Dean!
"… Sam…" a weak voice issued from behind him.
Sam, his father instantly forgotten, whirled around to face Dean. He was human again, lying naked on his side with a bloody cut tracing a line across his ribs. His face looked ashen from blood loss and pain, but the tightness to his expression was all about John.
Sam rushed back to Dean's side and dropped down beside him. Anxiously, he examined the wound.
It was no longer bleeding. The change had helped. The blood on Dean was what had already been spilled, but nothing new was pumping from the wound.
"Thank god," Sam whispered, body sagging in relief. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder and mustered a weak smile. "Man… you scared the living crap out of me."
Dean didn't answer. Didn't look at Sam. He was looking past Sam, watching their father. Dean's face was frozen. Unreadable.
Sam was so sorry Dean had had to do it.
Not deigning to turn around and face John, Sam used the last clean spots on his stained shirt to gingerly dab at Dean's wound, looking at it critically until he decided it wasn't likely to tear itself open again, then he tossed the shirt aside. "You think you can make it back to the car?"
Dean slowly moved his eyes away from John and rested them on Sam. He nodded stiltedly.
Sam nodded encouragement and helped Dean struggle to his hands and knees. When Dean braced one foot on the ground, hand on his knee, to attempt standing, Sam crowded in and slid underneath Dean's arm, pulling Dean's arm around his neck and hauling Dean upright. They had to look quite the pair, Dean naked and covered in blood and Sam shirtless and bent over to let his brother's arm loop around his shoulders for support.
Dean hissed at the pain but didn't say a word.
"Easy," Sam said needlessly, looking closely at Dean's face for any signs he couldn't or shouldn't make this hike. Dean was collecting himself slowly but surely. The weight he let Sam take eased incrementally as Dean felt surer on his feet and hesitantly stood upright, his free hand covering the wound.
Sam gave him a minute then frowned at him. "You good?"
Dean's face was pale but he forced a nod, eyes resolutely closed. "Yeah… just waiting for the world to stop spinning."
"Take your time," Sam said quickly. "The wendigo's dead, so I'm not in a hurry."
Dean gave a tight smile, "What, don't need to get back for a hot date?"
Sam snorted.
Dean took a few steadying breaths then looked up. He froze. "Where's Dad?" he croaked.
Sam looked up and found the clearing empty. Their dad was gone. That made Sam's teeth grind. "Don't know… and I don't care," Sam growled.
"Sam…" Dean scolded.
"What? He stabbed you, Dean."
"Lay off him, man," Dean rasped, "he didn't know it was me."
Rationally, Sam knew that was true, but he wasn't in a forgiving mood. He was frayed from the hunt that had gone wrong from the start, the marathon charge through the woods, finding Dean bleeding from an injury inflicted by their own father… It was too much to expect calm and logic after all that, so Sam went silent. Dean tugged at his arm that was looped around Sam's neck, indicating he meant to stand on his own. Sam carefully slid out from underneath Dean's arm but hovered nearby, ready to catch his brother if Dean wasn't quite up to standing on his own yet.
Dean swayed but remained upright, seemingly by sheer force of will.
Sam stepped in beside his brother and lowered his face, "I'm so sorry, Dean…"
Dean closed his eyes. "Me too."
"Here," John's voice intoned lowly from behind the two boys. Sam and Dean startled and looked back toward their father as John laid a blanket over Dean's shoulders. Dean numbly accepted the blanket; Sam recognized the emergency blanket John kept in his truck. John must be parked nearby.
Dean gingerly wrapped the blanket around him, mindful of his damaged side.
Sam was glaring angrily at John.
John caught Sam's look and frowned. "Sam… I didn't know."
"Sam…" Dean intoned meaningfully.
Sam looked away from John and focused on Dean. "You ready to get out of here?"
"How far away are you parked?" John asked.
Sam set his jaw mutinously a moment, then answered, "Few miles, at least."
John looked at Dean, who was barely staying on his feet. "I'm just over there, let me give you boys a lift back to your motel."
Dean stiffened at the idea of leaving behind his baby.
"Sam and I will come back for the car," John assured, knowing why Dean had balked. He looked down remorsefully at Dean's blood-streaked side. "You're not up for miles of walking."
Dean and Sam looked at each other, then Sam nodded and stepped in to gently herd Dean toward John's vehicle. "He's right… come on."
Dean hesitated, as though he would prefer walking miles to leaving his car alone that long, but with a grumble he conceded defeat and followed their father.
John's black truck was parked just out of sight of the wendigo lair. John got behind the wheel and Sam helped Dean into the cab before cramming in beside him. Dean sagged back against the seat and closed his eyes, body wrapped in the rough gray blanket. Sam watched him with worry a moment but decided Dean was feigning sleep to avoid John (and any questions he might have asked) more than it was due to the extent of his injury.
Sam gave John directions to their motel and the rest of the ride was made in silence. At one point, Dean genuinely did start to nod off and listed to the side, leaning into Sam.
Sam tugged the blanket closer around Dean and looked once, uneasily, at their father.
When they got back to the motel, Dean was feeling better, if not one hundred percent. Sam used his keycard to let Dean in and asked awkwardly, "You need anything?"
Dean shook his head. "Go get my baby."
Sam studied Dean as he shuffled toward the bathroom. When Dean closed the bathroom door, Sam ducked into the motel room long enough to fetch himself a clean shirt, then he shut the door and returned to the truck where John was waiting.
Thirteen