Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad, Wolf?
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke and the CW, the lucky skunks.
Thank you, Jubilea for the rush beta work. Much appreciated.
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The wolf was standing on the hood of the car, growling at Sam who was still sitting in the passenger seat with the window wide open. He had to get the wolf away from Sam. "Hey!" Dean shouted. "I just fixed this car! Get off before you scratch the paint!"
The wolf jumped down from the hood, and headed for Dean growling.
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Sam heard Dean yell, and whipped his head around to look at his brother. 'Damn it, Dean!' he thought. 'Just once, can't you look out for yourself?' And as quickly as the thought came, it went. He knew Dean would never put his own safety over the safety of others. He did not have it in him to remain idle while others were in jeopardy. With a flash of bittersweet pain, Sam knew that especially applied to him.
As the wolf crept closer to Dean, Sam slid across the seat, and soundlessly out of the driver's side window. He was not armed, as he had not taken a weapon into the library. Somehow, that had made sense to Sam at the time, but it left him woefully unprepared for this. If his father was here, he'd be cut down to size in two minutes, Marine-style. 'Stop it,' he silently chastised himself. 'This isn't helping.'
Sam advanced slowly towards Dean on the opposite side of the Impala as the snarling wolf. It was so close to Dean, he was sure Dean would be able to count the hairs on its back. Dean noticed Sam's movement, and angrily gestured him to stop. 'Like hell,' Sam thought shaking his head at Dean, and pointing to the trunk. 'You can't get to the trunk, and one of us needs to,' he silently communicated.
The wolf leaped at Dean, who had the presence of mind to bring up his right arm to protect his throat, and toss the car keys to Sam who deftly caught them. And, that is when time slowed down.
Dean was knocked backwards on to the gravel when the full weight of the wolf came to bear. Sharp flashes of pain coursed through his arm as the wolf sunk his teeth through his leather jacket, and into his flesh. The wolf was standing on his chest, making it nearly impossible to take a a deep breath. Dean panted in short gasps, trying to suck in enough air to stay conscious. Already his head was spinning, and flashes of light appeared in his vision.
The wolf's back paws ripped through his jeans. Dean could feel the blood running down his thighs as the skin tore in jagged strips. "Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled. He tried to get his legs free to kick the wolf's underbelly. Using his free left hand, Dean pressed his thumb into the wolf's eye. It was a soft gelatinous mass, not unlike a spoiled grape. His thumb sank deeper into the wolf's eye socket. The wolf yipped, but it did not completely release its grip. 'Come on, Sam,' Dean thought. 'Where are you?'
"Hey!" Sam shouted. That did get the wolf's attention. He did not release his grip on Dean's arm, but he did stop shaking it. The wolf looked at Sam, and growled deep in his chest. Sam brought up his left arm, and fired the handgun. When nothing happened, he brought up the shotgun with his right arm, and fired. The wolf only growled louder in response. If neither the silver, nor the rock salt worked, what would? Sam reached into the trunk, and pulled out the gun loaded with consecrated iron. The poker had worked, hadn't it? He fired the gun, but it also had no effect. The wolf, deciding Sam was not an immediate threat, turned his attention back to Dean.
'Okay,' Sam thought frantically, 'Assume Alicia created the thought form. How would a seven year old girl believe a wolf could be killed?' With a sudden burst of insight Sam made for the woodpile.
With the diversion Sam caused, Dean managed to get one leg free. He kicked the wolf with one leg, and hit it with his free arm. The pressure on his chest eased some, with the wolf's shifted position. The wolf's hot breath blew fetid bursts of air in Dean's face as the wolf pressed closer to Dean. In the next moment it was gone.
Dean grabbed his injured arm, and looked up at Sam. Sam towered over him, with an ax slung across one shoulder. "Dean, can you stand?" Sam asked. He bent low to offer Dean a hand. Dean considered it briefly for a moment, and then attempted to stand on his own. After struggling for several seconds, he reluctantly grabbed Sam's hand, and Sam pulled him to his feet.
"You look like Paul Bunyan," Dean said tightly.
"Yeah, well, that makes you Babe the Blue Ox," Sam replied, the smile on his face, not reaching his eyes. He cast a sidelong glance at Dean, and noticed he was swaying slightly. Sam grabbed Dean around the waist to avoid jostling his injured arm. "Come on, let's get you to the hospital," Sam said.
"No," Dean said, his voice barely over a whisper. "No hospital." Dean lost his balance, and stumbled as he resisted against Sam's gentle steering towards the Impala. Sam easily steadied him.
"Dean, quit being such a stubborn ass," Sam snapped. Worry etched his face, and filled his hazel-brown eyes with growing concern. "You're hurt pretty bad."
"You can fix it," Dean insisted leaning heavily against Sam. "No hospital."
Realizing he would not be able to convince Dean until he at least took a look at Dean's injuries, Sam led Dean towards the cabin. The three steps up the cabin porch proved almost too much for Dean to negotiate, but in the end, they managed. Stumbling awkwardly through the door, Sam barely managed to keep Dean upright long enough to deposit him gracelessly on to the sofa.
Sam pushed one of the throw pillows under Dean's head. Was it really only this morning Dean had patched him up on this very spot? Dean's eyelids fluttered closed. "Hey there," Sam said tapping Dean lightly on his uninjured arm. "You pass out, and I am taking you to the hospital."
Dean's eyes snapped open. His green eyes glassy with pain he tried to focus on Sam. "Sam, you can't."
"I can, you're not that heavy," Sam retorted with attempted levity. "I'm pretty sure I could manage, and you really should be at a hospital." He grabbed the first aid kit that was still sitting on the small side table, and found the scissors. He started to cut away the remnants of Dean's shirt.
"You can't, Sam. If you take me to the hospital, someone will file a report," Dean protested. "We can't take the chance we'll draw too much attention to ourselves."
"Dean, it doesn't do any good to stay out of prison, if you're dead," Sam replied bluntly. He set down the scissors, and gently pulled the leather jacket off Dean's good arm first. Then he slid it carefully off Dean's injured arm pulling the cut shirt with it. The fabric grabbed on the wound, pulling tender flesh. Dean elicited a small groan despite Sam's best efforts.
"We can't take the risk of it getting too hot to let us finish our job," Dean said the argument obviously not over. "No one else should die because we can't stay to do our thing." He caught Sam's eyes with his own. "Promise me."
"I'm not promising I'll let you die," Sam said his gaze falling on Dean's injured arm. The blood was oozing slowly from the puncture wounds. At least it missed arteries. "You can't ask me to do that."
"You did," Dean whispered.
Sam's eyes snapped back to Dean's face, but his eyes were closed. Sam knew he had hurt Dean by extracting that promise from him. He knew he was forcing him to work against his nature, the same way their father had. Sam understood what an impossible thing he had asked Dean to do. If the situation were reversed, he would have no easier a time of it than Dean was.
However, Sam also knew that even though he was fighting this with everything he had, there was a chance he would lose. He did not want to hurt someone, kill anyone, and he couldn't bear the thought he may even kill Dean if he turned evil. Until one day, some hunter like Gordon would come along, and send his soul to hell with the yellow-eyed demon, and his father.
It would be better for them both if Sam were stopped before that happened. At least, that is what Sam was telling himself. "Dean?" Sam said tapping him on the shoulder again. "Dean, wake up."
"M'tired," Dean protested opening his eyes slightly.
"I know man, but you have to stay awake," Sam insisted. He grabbed the peroxide Dean had used earlier. He was discouraged to discover it was almost empty. Knowing the best treatment for puncture wounds was wound irrigation Sam decided to mix a simple saline solution.
"Dean, I'm going to run out to the car really quick," Sam said his eyes connecting with Dean's eyes, verifying his understanding. "I'll be right back."
"Yeah, okay," Dean mumbled, "Don't forget the clothes."
Sam shook his head at the strange request. He walked out to the Impala keeping a sharp eye out for the wolf. Opening the trunk, he searched for the salt. He found the holy water, and grabbed it with one hand, while he continued to rifle through the trunk with the other. Sam was surprised to find his duffle bag jammed near the back. Snagging his bag, Sam found the salt underneath, and grabbed it too.
Sam hurried back inside the cabin. It was dark in the cabin, after being outside. Sam fumbled with the duffle, tossing it on to the kitchen table. He poured some of the salt into the flask of holy water, and shook it until the salt dissolved. Sam grabbed several towels from the bathroom, and returned to Dean.
"Dean, are you ready?" Sam asked placing one folded towel beneath Dean's arm.
"Yeah," Dean replied simply.
Sam poured the saline solution into the bite wound until over half the bottle was used. Dean flinched, and jerked his arm once, but otherwise gave no indication of pain. Sam wrapped Dean's arm quickly with a sterile bandage.
Moving on to Dean's chest, Sam noticed three large bruises with light scratches. He used some of the peroxide on the scratches. Sam pushed lightly on Dean's chest near the bruises, and was relieved he could not find any broken ribs. Dean groaned softly, and opened his eyes.
"Do you think you can stand? We need to get your jeans off," Sam said. At Dean's nod, Sam helped him into a sitting position. "If you can unbutton them, I'll do the rest," Sam stated.
"K," Dean replied softly. His hands shook slightly as he unbuttoned his jeans. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's waist, and helped him stand just far enough to slide the jeans down past his hips. Sam lowered Dean back on to the sofa, and carefully pulled Dean's pants all the way off, removing his shoes as he went. Helping Dean back to a prone position, Sam again pulled the throw pillow under Dean's head.
Placing a towel under Dean's legs, Sam examined the scratches on Dean's legs. 'Damn,' Sam thought. 'These scratches are deeper than I thought they were.' One in particular was very deep, and blood was seeping at from the wound at a steady rate.
Sam used the remaining saline solution, and peroxide to clean the scratches on Dean's legs. Dean's leg jerked, and Sam narrowly avoided a knee in his eye. Sam pulled the side table with the lamp, as close to him as he could. Grabbing a needle, and the surgical grade thread, Sam hunched down beside Dean.
"Dean, I'm going to have to stitch a couple of these cuts," Sam warned.
"I'm ready," Dean replied. Dean moaned softly as the needle entered the sensitive skin on his inner thigh. Sam frowned, and worked as quickly as he could.
Nearly an hour later, Sam sat back on his heels, and stretched cramped muscles. He grabbed the sterile bandages, and lightly wrapped Dean's legs covering rows of tiny sutures. Sam removed the soiled towels from under Dean, and tossed them on the floor next to Dean's pants. He walked into the kitchen, and returned with a glass of water.
"You can go to sleep now," Sam reassured Dean handing him two ibuprofen pills, and helping him to a seated position.
Dean looked up at him with pain-filled eyes, "Thanks, Sam," he replied dry swallowing the pills. He drank nearly half the glass of water Sam gave him, before handing it back to Sam. He lay back down, and closed his eyes.
Thunder boomed as Sam made his way on stiff legs up the stairs to fetch a blanket for Dean. Lightening flashed illuminating the loft. Sam grabbed the blankets and pillows from both beds, and went downstairs to make Dean more comfortable.
Sam pulled the side table back where it belonged, and balanced the ax carefully between the sofa and the side table. Sam placed both blankets over Dean, and arranged the pillows to take the pressure off Dean's injuries.
Stepping over the soiled jeans and towels, Sam pulled three logs, and paper kindling from the wood box. He arranged the wood, and kindling in the fireplace listening to the sounds of the spring storm beating on the cabin roof. Within moments, a fire was burning brightly.
The jeans, and shirt were a total loss, so he scooped them up, and tossed them into the garbage. Sam used the bloody towels to mop up the blood on the floor from the jeans. He placed the towels in the kitchen sink, and filled the sink with cold water to rinse them. Sam thought briefly about going out to the car to get his laptop, but decided it was not worth getting drenched. He would wait until the storm had died down.
Thunder boomed, and moments later, lightening flashed illuminating the Impala as rain danced on the hood. "The windows!" Sam shouted, and ran out the door to the car.
Jumping in the car Sam quickly rolled up both windows. Using his jeans, and the hem of his shirt, Sam sopped up any rainwater in the car. Sam reached behind the seat for the laptop, and made a mad dash for the cabin.
Sam kicked off his wet shoes, and placed the laptop on the table. He quickly removed his soaked shirt, and damp jeans draping them over the chairs to dry. He spied his forgotten duffle bag on the table, and opened it up hoping he had missed a clean shirt earlier. His duffle was full of his and Dean's neatly rolled, and freshly cleaned clothes. "Thanks, Dean," Sam said softly shrugging on a clean t-shirt.
"We'll consider us even if you made it to her in time," Dean replied softly from the sofa.
"A little water got in, but I cleaned it up," Sam admitted walking closer to Dean. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Nah, just tired," Dean replied not opening his eyes.
"It's the blood loss," Sam stated. "Here, drink the rest of the water." He pressed the glass into Dean's hand.
Dean drank the rest of the water, and handed the glass back to Sam. "We should visit Alicia," Dean said.
"You should sleep," Sam insisted. "She'll probably be going to bed soon anyway."
"Yeah, okay," Dean acquiesced closing his eyes again.
Sam went to refill the glass with water. He decided that he, at least, was hungry. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, and returned to the living room. He placed the glass of water within easy reach of Dean along with two more pain pills. He dragged the throw rug with his foot over to the area in front of the sofa, and sat down. Sam leaned against the sofa, and ate his cereal watching the flames dance in the fireplace, and listening to the rain and thunder.
Dean opened his eyes a few hours later, driven awake by thirst and pain. He spotted the pills, and the glass of water Sam left out for him, and downed both. Dean heard Sam's soft snoring, and noticed Sam was sleeping with his head resting against the arm of the sofa. "Sam," Dean said lightly kicking him with his foot. "Sam, wake up and go upstairs to bed."
"Nah, I'm good," Sam replied sleepily. "Dean needs me here."
Dean sighed, and grabbed one of the blankets Sam had covered him with. He tossed it over Sam as well as he could with his left arm. "Good night, Sam," he said.
"G'night," Sam replied.
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That chapter was for Jubilea, who has been pestering me for the Dean whumpage I promised her was coming with this story. I hope you're happy.