Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the awesome reviews you guys are giving me.

Author's Note: This chapter was originally 11 pages long, which I have no doubt you all would have loved… however, I decided to shorten it to four pages so I wouldn't take the next two weeks trying to edit it. So, you get the first half this chapter today and the next part tomorrow.

Author's Note 2:This chapter has yet another cliffhanger. I have a tendency to do that when there is a lot of action or it's a really intense moment. I tried not to do that too much this story, but it happens.

Supernatural

"The War To End All Wars"

Chapter 7

Smoke. Heat. Pain. Agony. These were all the things Samuel Winchester associated with crawling back to consciousness an hour after the third and final bomb went off. A deadly fire was spreading its way across the center of the city, heading straight for Dean and Sam. Sam was covered head to toe in dirt, sand, and random house parts that had been blown all over the place when the explosion had occurred. He couldn't move. Hell, he could hardly breathe. How the fuck was he supposed to get out of this one?

He managed to force one eye open and immediately regretted it as the acidic smoke began to burn his eyes. He blinked, his eyes watering, and couldn't see anything except black and orange. It was as though Halloween had come a month early.

"D-de-dean?" Sam managed to get out, coughing horribly as he did so. His chest ached with the effort and his head threatened to split in two. "Dean?"

If there was a reply, he didn't hear it. He was coughing too heavily, due to the smoke that hung in the air, making it impossible to breathe.

"Fuck," Sam whispered as he attempted to pull himself free from the housing parts. Searing pain shot up his leg, reverberating around his knee. His left arm felt as though someone was trying to yank it out of its socket. His chest and stomach felt as though someone were sticking a machete through them.

Slowly and carefully, Sam began to inch his way out from underneath the debris. Each movement brought untold agony to his body and his face contorted into many indescribable expressions, some humorous, some downright scary. At last, after what felt like decades but was actually closer to a half an hour, he was free.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered while attempting to stand. His head felt as though a blunt axe was going through it, trying to split in two. His leg threatened to give out on him at any second.

"S-m?" came a quiet voice.

Sam blinked, startled by the sound of Dean's voice coming from next to a pile of bricks.

"Dean?" Sam called back, coughing again as the smoke burned his lungs. "Where are you?"

"Here," came Dean's descriptive reply. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Richardson?" Sam went into army mode, steeling himself against the pain that was threatening to consume him.

"Okay?" Dean asked. The question was incomplete, but Sam knew what he was asking.

"I'm just peachy," Sam said, coughing and praying that Dean wouldn't hear the obvious lie in his voice. "You?"

"M'head hurts," Dean said, his words becoming clearer. "And m'chest. And m'ankle. I feel like shit, dude."

"Was that a complete sentence?" Sam rasped, spotting Dean amidst the smoke and flames. He was leaning up against what used to be a car but was now a mass of metal and rubber. The part furthest from Dean was already on fire.

"Yeah," Dean said, an embarrassed smile crossing his face. It disappeared instantly when he saw Sam inching his way towards him. "Hell happened?"

"You could say that," Sam attempted to joke. It was lame, but it was the best he could come up with. It earned him an eye roll from Dean at least.

"Happened?" the elder man asked, his voice just as hoarse as Sam's.

"Boom," Sam said, placing his good hand against the already hot metal to balance himself. The world spun alarmingly and he began to lose concentration. Dean's hand on his shoulder brought him back.

"Dude?" Dean's soft, half-question sent Sam into action. There was no way they were going to die here. Not now, not this way. Screw the pain, Sam thought. We are getting out of here. Alive. Even if I have to carry Richardson out of here.

"We need to get out of here," Sam said, steeling his mind against the pain that flooded through him with every breath he took. "Can you walk?"

Dean attempted to take a step forward, but ended up pitching face first towards the ground. If Sam hadn't caught him at the last minute, he would be Dean roast. The flames were already beginning to lick at their boots.

"No," Dean whispered, flinching closer to Sam, away from the heat of the flames. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Sam might've laughed at his best friend's fear of fire. Maybe.

"Then I guess I'll have to carry you," Sam said, coughing again. He felt liquid in his mouth. He put his hand up to it, alarmed when he pulled it back and found blood.

"No," Dean protested. He pointed to Sam's leg, which looked mangled, even underneath all the material of his uniform. "Shit."

"Yeah, we're in deep shit," Sam agreed, pretending that Dean wasn't talking about how his leg looked like a pretzel.

"Dude," Dean coughed, sending a glare towards Sam. It would have been more effective if Dean hadn't looked so damn pathetic.

"Let's just go," Sam said, coughing through the smoke. His chest felt as though someone were driving a flaming sword through it every time he inhaled. He knew there was no way he would make it to camp, not without help.

"Can't," Dean wheezed. "Walk."

"I'll help," Sam said, hoping his flinch wasn't too obvious as he put weight on his injured leg and attempted to move his practically destroyed arm.

Dean was too exhausted from the efforts of standing to make too much of a protest. He leaned heavily on Sam, who was making a huge effort not to scream out in agony.

"Man," Dean coughed as Sam began to limp slowly out of the city. "Where's an iPod when you need one? I could seriously use some Kansas or AC-DC right about now."

The words were whispered in between hacks and wheezes, each reverberating through Sam and sending pain crashing through the walls he built against it.

"We could make some music," Sam suggested, pausing for a moment to shift Dean's weight a little.

"Carry, on my wayward son," Dean began, before collapsing into a hacking fit.

Sam coughed as well. The smoke was becoming thicker and oilier. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. Every inhalation felt as though someone were trying to rip out Sam's lungs from the inside.

"D-n?" Sam wasn't able to talk more than a syllable anymore.

"S-my?" Dean asked at the same time.

"Okay?" they asked in sync.

Their reply to each other was a simple nod. Talking took too much effort now. The smoke was too thick and their injuries too great.

Dear god, please let us get out of here alive, Sam thought.

Sam could hardly stand anymore. His breath was coming in shallow gasps and the ever present pain was increasing with every half-step he was taking. Dean's near dead weight on his upper body only increased the hellish feeling he was experiencing.

They had been walking for close to four hours now and they had barely gone two miles. The camp was a little over ten miles away from the city. Sam knew there was no way in hell he would ever make it.

"S-m?" Dean coughed.

The smoke had cleared considerably when they left the outskirts of the city. Dean had started regaining more alertness as they walked on, a fact Sam was thankful for. The more alert Dean was, the less work Sam would have to do.

"M-fine," Sam muttered, stumbling and nearly falling on his face when a sharp lance of pain shot up his injured leg.

"Yeah, and I'm Madonna," Dean joked weakly, straightening up a little bit. His voice sounded better and he seemed to be willing to walk by himself.

"The resemblance between you two is astonishing," Sam said, his voice still extremely weak and scratchy. "I mean, seriously, when you're in the shower, you can hit the exact same notes she can."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He put weight on his injured leg and grimaced.

"Whatever, jerk," Sam said, catching the look but not commenting on it. He hurt too much from dragging Dean for the past two miles to give a damn anymore. He was so tired.

"Seriously, you okay?" Dean asked, stopping for a moment and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder to halt the taller man's progress.

Sam nearly fell over again. If it hadn't been for Dean's gentle, but firm grip on his shoulder, he would have fallen face first in the dust and not have gotten back up again.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam insisted. "Can we walk now?"

He shuffled forward a few steps, hoping Dean would get the message.

"I thought I was bad about chick flick moments," Dean muttered, catching up to Sam in one step. "Serious-"

Dean broke off in a fit of coughing, one that left him doubled over, gasping for air, and clutching at his chest.

"Dean?" Sam asked, alarmed. One second, they were joking and getting along fine, the next Dean was trying to hack up his lungs.

"I'm-cough-fine," Dean got out. "Just a little smoky, that's all."

He stood up and started swaying. It was Sam's turn to support the older man as Dean went from being alert and wide-awake to being passed out in Sam's arms.

"Dean!" Sam groaned, hoping his friend was going to be okay. He put a hand on Dean's head and found it extremely sticky. Alarmed, he pulled his hand back and was horrified to find blood.

He inspected Dean's head a little closer and found a four-inch long gash that looked pretty deep. It was swollen and angry looking, the first signs of an infection. Judging by the way Dean had passed out, Sam also was willing to bet that his friend had a concussion.

"Shit," Sam swore as loudly as he could. He coughed heavily as he tried to inhale oxygen into his lungs. "Dean! You've got to wake up! C'mon, man, don't do this to me now! Don't you dare!"

As gently as he could, he set Dean down on the ground, checking for a pulse. He was relieved to find a strong one.

"Dean?" Sam asked, tapping his friend's face lightly with his hand and trying not to give away how freaked to hell he really was. "C'mon, Dean. Sleepy time over."

Dean's response was to cough and stir.

"S-my?" he asked, blinking hazily. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Dude, no sleeping, okay?" Sam said, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders and helping him sit up.

"Guh! Don't do that!" Dean said, his voice weak as he attempted to bat Sam's hands away. "M'head hurts like a bitch!"

"You have a concussion, you idiot," Sam said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "We need to get back to c-c-camp."

Sam was suddenly out of breath. His chest and shoulder felt as though someone was trying to drive a sword through it and he could hardly breathe. Unconsciously, he put one hand up to massage his shoulder.

"Sam? Damn it, Winchester! Look at me! Sammy!"

Dean's worried voice faded away as Sam sank into a dark oblivion.

Read and review!! Next update will be tomorrow. Hope you all enjoyed it!