Dean dragged John clear of the flames. The tears across his father's torso were horrific.
"Is it caught? Is it on fire?"
"Yeah Dad, it's burning." He fumbled a field dressing out of John's pockets and tore it open, almost vomiting when he saw the full extent of the wounds.
John's handsome face twisted into a grimace as he struggled to raise his head and look. "You sure?" He panted.
"Yeah, it's down. Keep still, you're bleeding!"
"We need to be back inside the circle." John kicked impotently at the ground in an attempt to get himself back onto his feet.
Dean took his father carefully under the arms; dragging him into the circle, a grunt of effort bursting through his lips. John was heavy.
John cried out in something akin to a half sob. A sound his eldest had never heard from him before.
"I'm sorry!" Dean's voice was almost frantic as he pressed the dressing down, trying to staunch the blood flow from the deepest wound.
"I think there's still another one out there. I'm pretty sure of it." John grasped for his son's jacket sleeve and tried to pull himself upright once more. "We aren't safe."
"Okay." Dean shuffled around on his knees, making sure to keep a calming hand on his father as he repaired the circle. "Stay down Dad, please."
John rolled his head fitfully sideways and grimaced in frustration, his white teeth bared in a growl. "Don't have time for this." He ground out as if bleeding to death were merely an inconvenience. "Dean, you okay?"
"I'm fine! You're not okay, let me deal with that!"
John coughed a little, the spasm to his diaphragm pushing his stomach muscles against the torn open skin and before he finally went quiet.
Dean continued to apply pressure, trying to stop the life blood that was leaking out of John's torso. He tied off a dressing over the worst wound. His father's silence was alarming.
"Dad? Dad!"
John's dark lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes, responding to his kid's distress. "I need to get up, Dean." He said, not seeming to understand the extent of his injury through his haze of shock. "Get me up."
"No! You're not okay, man!" There was a sob caught up with the words. "Just lay down, I'm gonna take care of it!"
The dressings were all used up; Dean tore off the bottom of his t-shirt and packed it into the remaining wounds.
John tried to elbow him off. "There's still one out there. The mate. The one I hit earlier."
"DAD! Please, just stay still. I'll get it, you're gonna bleed out if you keep this up. I KNOW!" Dean shot to his feet, scanning the bushes for any sign of movement.
John patted the ground next to his body, his hand blindly groping for the flare gun. He found it and loaded a flare into it with shaking, bloody hands.
"Dammit, I've got it, give it to me." Dean took the flare gun out of John's hands, shocked at the amount of blood on his father's clothing and the ground beneath him. "We need to get out of here."
John's bafflement was clear on his features as the weapon was snatched from him.
Seeing his father's confusion, Dean spoke slowly, clearly. "We need to go. I'm gonna pull you up now. Okay? We'll get to the cabin. The cabin has supplies."
"We can't leave the circle." John protested weakly. "Not safe."
Dean slung the rifle on his back, stuck the flare gun into his waistband.
"We gotta go and I'm not leavin' you here."
He tried to lift John.
John cried out at the movement and let his legs go limp, a dead weight. An immovable dead weight that outweighed his son by about 20 pounds.
Dean gasped, panting with effort. "Uhh… Dad, try please!" He could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes, blinked them away. "I'm NOT leaving you here!"
John tried to get his feet under him, leaning precariously against his son, somehow understanding the gravity of the situation by the nearly frantic tone of voice. His muscles wouldn't respond and as he shifted his stomach tore and began to bleed again.
"Crap!" Finally Dean managed to get John upright, more or less. He staggered under the weight, recovered his balance and began to half carry him in the direction of the cabin.
John cried out again, brow furrowed in agony.
Pleading now, his heart hammering with adrenaline, Dean panted. "Come on, just keep going. Please just keep moving."
"Son," a panted breath. "It's a half mile hike. Neither one of us are going to make that."
"You are gonna make it! Dammit! Don't you give up on me!" He was hauling John bodily along, fear lending him strength.
John's head lolled sideways, limply.
Dean nearly went down as his father's full weight dragged at him. "Keep movin' you old bastard!"
He snapped his head up weakly, resisting his son's pull. "Wait." Before Dean could react, his hand came down and fished into the waistband of Dean's jeans, pulling the flare gun and shooting into the darkness. There was a flash of blazing light as his shot hit the other Wendigo and it erupted into flames.
John swayed, his legs buckling entirely.
"Way to go Dad." Dean managed to gasp out, holding onto him in some sort of crazy, desperate hug, trying to stop him going to the forest floor.
His father's dark eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he began to lose consciousness.
Dean forced him up against a tree, barely able to take the weight. He freed an arm to pat at his father's face.
"C'mon! You've gotta keep goin'. We're nearly there."
John's eyes flicked open, glazed. "Son?"
Dean's breath was sobbing in his throat as he dragged John on towards the cabin. He could hear someone repeating "I'm sorry Dad, I'm sorry." Over and over again. He thought it might be himself but didn't seem to be able to stop.
"It's starting to hurt really bad, kid." John's hand went to his stomach, his face contorted into a grimace.
They slid to the floor together, landing in an untidy sprawl. Dean pushed his father's hand onto the worst wound.
"Hold tight."
He looked around frantically; the beaten-down trail to the cabin was already in sight but he wasn't going to be able to get John back onto his feet. Maybe he could slide him along? Dean leapt up and kicked violently at two small saplings until they broke off. He ripped them free and made a makeshift stretcher by sliding one into each arm of his jacket.
John's forehead was beginning to bead with sweat, despite the cool night air. "Feels like Nam... hit by snipers near Cam Li."
"Oh shit, Dad. Don't say that!" Dean pulled John's upper torso on the little stretcher and began to haul him along the trail. "Keep talking, man."
From behind him weakly, "My buddy Jake...yeah...he didn't make it out."
"You're gonna make it out." Dean put as much conviction in his tone as his panting allowed.
"Had nightmares for a few years. Used to see him all torn up." John's breath caught on a groan of pain.
Dean kept going, the cabin now in sight.
"Woke up your mom so many nights..." the dark voice trailed off.
The revelation was painful, as it inevitably was when John occasionally let slip something about his life with Mary. For a second Dean didn't realize his father had gone quiet.
The silence remained for too long.
"DAD!" Dean slapped the stubbled cheek. There was no response. Again, harder, feeling the rasp of the beard under his palm. . "DAD! Speak to me!"
John's lashes fluttered. "Huh?"
They reached the cabin steps just as Dean fell to his knees. He staggered upright immediately, panting with effort, tears tracking unnoticed down his cheeks.
"Don't you die! Don't you dare die!"
"Never wanted you boys in a war." The voice was faint then suddenly stronger as John's face scrunched up on misery. "Here you are... I put you here."
"It doesn't matter… You DIDN'T… Wasn't your fault." The words were clipped, forced out between gasps for breath as Dean pulled John up the steps. He kicked open the door and they both collapsed over the threshold.
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