Will have language and violence.

Summary: When Dean fails to reveal how sick he feels, he gives the black dog the upper hand. SickDean, WorriedSam/John. Dean is 17, Sam is 13.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sam, Dean, John, or anything Supernatural related, but the story is mine. Enjoy!!

Hahaha. Because I love all my readers and felt cruel leaving you all with a cliffy, he's a second update that I just wrote to keep you all happy!!! Thanks for all the reviews so far!!

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Caleb signaled John and Dean that he had a visual twenty paces away at two o'clock. The Winchesters nodded their understanding. Unfortunately, that's when they heard a second growl a bit closer in the opposite direction.

"Shit!" John shouted in frustration. Nothing in their research informed them that there may be more than one black dog in a specific area. As far as he knew, they hunted alone. Apparently, he was wrong. A howl sounded in the distance. There was a whole pack and they were closing in.

They weren't prepared for this hunt any longer. John wasn't about to risk his son's life like this. It was too big to handle.

"Dean, run! Get inside the truck and lock the doors. Caleb and I'll follow."

"But dad…!" Dean protested. He wasn't ready to walk away so easily and leave his father and friend to the dogs.

"GO! Now damn it!!" Dean stumbled back from his father in fear. He had never heard that tone from him before. John's voice was filled with unadulterated terror for his eldest son. Without another word, Dean hurried through the undergrowth back towards the truck.

His infected lungs had other ideas however. When he heard a black dog hot on his trail, he tried to speed up but couldn't get the strength or energy to succeed. Not without oxygen.

Dean needed to cough and clear his lungs, but he couldn't get them to cooperate any longer. Without the needed oxygen to feed his screaming muscles, his legs seized up and he hit the ground hard.

The impact forced him to relinquish his hold on the gun and it went sailing through the air, landing a good fifteen feet away.

The next sensation he felt were the clawed feet of the beast and its heavy weight on top of him. It just stood there at first, as though claiming its territory. Dean could feel its sharp nails digging through his t-shirt and into the top layers of his skin.

The creature's hot breath ghosted over Dean's neck sending chills down his spine. Moving strictly on instinct, he brought his arms up over his head to protect it and his neck, knowing full well that these types of beasts tended to go straight for the jugular.

With the added pressure on his back, Dean couldn't breathe at all. He didn't have the strength to fill his lungs. In panic and flooded with adrenaline, he attempted to drag himself and the beast above him towards his gun. The beast growled, then howled loudly to let the rest of the pack know it had found an easy feast.

Black dots coated Dean's vision as his body began to shut down. The pain began to recede from his body to be replaced with blissful peace. He realized he had stopped moving, but had no idea when. He felt himself detach from his physical form. He vaguely heard shouting in the distance, then felt his phone vibrating in his left pocket.

The beast decided it had waited long enough. It pounced on the boy's back, using its weight as an advantage and drooling as the satisfying sound of a rib or two snapping beneath it, then when it knew its prey wasn't going to put up much of a fight, it began to tear its claws down the boy's back. Another dog joined the party and bit into Dean's right shoulder, attempting to drag him away from the first as though playing tug of war. Dean let out a guttural scream of pain with what little air he inhaled as the beast temporarily left his body, then gave into the beckoning darkness.

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"Pastor, he's not answering his phone. Something's wrong."

"I told you, Sam… maybe it's not safe to answer his phone right now. Give him time."

"Dean always answers! No matter what! I'm telling you something isn't right!"

"Have you tried your father yet?"

"He never answers." Jim's heart constricted at the emptiness in the boy's voice.

"Then I will try him." The pastor took the phone and dialed John's number which he had memorized years ago. Please let them be okay…

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John managed to shoot and kill the beast tearing at his son's back, but only maimed the second one. He was out of bullets.

"Son of a bitch! Get the fuck off of my boy!"

Caleb quickly arrived at his side and sent the last three bullets he had into the beast, sending its lifeless form to the ground, teeth still imbedded in Dean's profusely bleeding shoulder.

"God… Dean!" John quickly made his way to his eldest's side. Due to the darkness, John couldn't see Dean's injuries and was frantic. He dropped to his knees but was afraid to move his son until he knew the extent of the damage. Caleb stood a few feet away, reloading his gun with his last five bullets and keeping an eye out any more dogs in the area. He couldn't keep his eyes from flickering to Dean's still form.

John angrily grabbed the beast that was still attached to Dean and snapped its jaw, freeing his son from its grasp.

"Dean? Dean! I need you to wake up, kiddo," John coached. Dean remained on his stomach, completely motionless.

"Shit. Son, you need to respond for me." He carefully laid two fingers on the side of Dean's neck feeling for a pulse. At first, he couldn't find one and his heart sank into his stomach.

Thankfully, after pressing a little harder and sliding his fingers down a few centimeters, he felt the erratic and sluggish pulse. "Thank god."

"Is he alive, John?" Caleb called over his shoulder.

"Barely. I can't see a damn thing. We've gotta get him in the light before I can evaluate his injuries." Caleb nodded even though he knew John wasn't watching him.

"Dean? Come on buddy. You gotta wake up now." John gently moved Dean's lax hands away from his head and placed them on the ground above him. He carefully tapped the side of Dean's face that was facing upwards.

After a few heart stopping moments for the father, Dean began to stir. He hadn't moved far before he let out a pained yelp, making John jump back slightly. He slid back to his son's side and saw the intense pain written across his face in the form of a grimace. His eyes were squeezed shut, attempting to block out the rest of the world.

John ran his fingers through Dean's hair to calm him. "Son, I need you to open your eyes for me. I know you can do it…" To his relief, Dean's eyes opened to mere slits, but something was better than nothing.

"Atta boy. Can you talk? Where are you hurt?" Dean's breathing began to pick up pace till he was panting. "Kiddo, you need to calm down. I know you're in pain, but you're going to hyperventilate if you don't control your breathing."

The slightest of nods was the only response he got and he watched proudly as his son fought against the pain to try and do as his father asked.

"That's it… breath nice and slow… in and out…good Dean. Now I need to check you over for injuries so just hang in there for me, okay?" Another minimal nod. John could feel Dean's form shaking beneath his finger tips. Either he was really cold or going into shock.

John started with the essential areas, being the nervous system. He ran his fingers through Dean's hair again, half to help calm him, and half to make sure there were no cracks or dents in his skull.

He then moved down to his son's neck and spine, making sure they were all straight and not broken. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Dean, can you move your fingers and feet for me?"

Dean tapped all his fingers once against the hard earth above his head, then shifter his feet slightly.

"Good boy." So no paralysis. At least that was something. Knowing his son was having trouble breathing, he decided to check his ribs next. He started up, just below Dean's shoulders and ran his steady hands over each rib. Thankfully, his boys were so skinny that even through a t-shirt, he had no problem assessing the bones.

John began to breathe easier as he worked his way through his boy's rib cage and wasn't finding any significant damage. However, as he reached the last two ribs and put slight pressure on them, Dean let out a strangled yelp and tried to struggle away from his dad's ministrations.

"Easy! Easy, son. I'm sorry. Just keep breathing for me. You'll be alright." John's heart broke as he saw the tears streaming down Dean's face, reflecting the stars' light.

"Shhh…" he soothed, rubbing soft circles in the back of Dean's neck to help relieve some tension.

"John?" Caleb inquired after hearing Dean's pained protest.

"He's got at least two broken ribs." John went to run his hand down his face to keep his composure, but as his fingers neared his eyes, he realized they were darker than they should have been… and they were dripping.

"God damn it!" Both Dean and Caleb jumped at this.

"What? What is it?" Caleb rushed out.

"He's bleeding. Bad. We've gotta get him to Jim's and patch him up." John turned sorrowful eyes to his battered son.

"We've gotta move you out of here, kiddo. It's gonna hurt like a bitch, but I need to stay with me, okay?" Dean's whole body tensed at these words. He really didn't want to be touched or moved right now.

John debated on the best way to carry Dean. There was the fireman's carry over the shoulder, or cradling him in his arms. Neither would be good for Dean's ribs, but he didn't have much choice. The longer they sat around, the more Dean bled out.

"Caleb, find Dean's gun for me. We can't afford to have it traced back to us in any way if someone else comes across it." Caleb moved off to where he noticed a metal shape glinting in the darkness.

John felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and swiftly pulled it out. The caller ID said it was Jim.

"Jim? We're heading to your house. Dean's been hurt." With that, he hung up and turned back to his charge. I'm so sorry, son.

TBC

There's the beginning of hurtDean for everyone who's been waiting for it. How'd I do? More suggestions? Let me know!