Warnings and Disclaimers see Chapter 1

Chapter 8 Attack

Dean stopped to rest after not feeling any moss for some time. He was struggling for breath and the skin on his stomach and thighs felt like they were on fire. His head throbbed with his headache and his ribs were sore and aching, in fact his whole body seemed to be aching. He wiped his forearm across his brow for what felt like the hundredth time in an hour. He was finding it hard to concentrate on what he was meant to be doing, occasionally thinking he was on a hunt and had lost his father, he even called him a few times. He called for Sam a few times as well and once could have sworn he had a conversation with him before the reality of his situation came crashing back down again.

He decided it was time for a rest and to clean his injuries again while he could. He could just recognize he was starting to fall apart mentally because of the fever. He sat against a tree and slowly scraped up some snow and used another scrap of shirt to clean the wounds. He had struggled for some minutes just to tear a small scrap from his shirt, he was alarmed at how weak he was getting. The wound had even more red marks leading away from the wound and Dean used as much snow as he could to cool and clean the wound, not caring if he got wet in the process. He used more snow on his legs and scraped a heap together and piled it over his injured ankle, still hot and tight in the boot and sock. He lay back against the tree and just had time to marvel that it had stopped snowing before he let himself fall into oblivion.


Sam was pacing back and forth across Bobby's living room, anxiety coming off him in waves.
"Sam you are going to have to calm down and get some rest before we get going again in the morning."
"Its just not right Bobby he could be lying somewhere dyi... dy.. dy..." Sam's husky voice trailed off as he gasped for breath.
Bobby strode over to the young man and put his hands on his shoulders.
"Sam calm down, you're going to hyperventilate. Just breathe, suck it in and out."
Sam's face was going an alarming shade of red. Bobby grabbed a paper bag off the kitchen table and thrust the open end over Sam's mouth.
"Just breathe Sam, push the bag out." Bobby grabbed Sam's hand and placed it on his chest. "Come on, Sam. Copy my breathing."

Sam took a few minutes to slowly start to relax and followed Bobby's exaggerated breaths until he was breathing normally again. Bobby sat Sam on the couch.
"Thanks Bobby, sorry for freaking out like that. I've never done that it was pretty scary."
"Everyone has a panic attack once in their life Sam, don't worry about."
"I'm sorry, worried about Dean, I guess."
"Just rest here for a few minutes you will feel better."
Bobby knew Sam had to be exhausted, probably part of the reason he had the attack, everything had snuck up on him. Bobby put a pillow under Sam's head and a blanket over him. Sam's eyes blinked with tiredness as he tried to stay awake. Bobby busied himself with quietly putting another log on the fire and stoking it he turned back around he was not surprised to find Sam's eyes closed and breathing in softly as he slept. 'Damn stubborn Winchesters,' he thought as he settled himself in the armchair to grab a few hours sleep.


Dean woke up again feeling disorientated and called out to Sam to get out of bed and get him a glass of water and some pain killers. The hunt they were on must have been a doozy his head hurt like a bitch, his side was killing him, this bed was the lumpiest he had ever slept in and his ankle hurt like ..'Ahhhhh " he yelled as he grabbed his ankle, hurting his chest and ribs at the same time. He breathed through the pain and yelled at Sam for the pain killers.
"What did you do to me Sam?"
His eyes adjusted to the darkness and when he saw all the trees he became further confused.
"Where's dad, Sammy?" He called.
His hands were cold even though he was sweating heavily and had the shivers. There was water over his stomach, thighs and left ankle, and when he tried to move the ankle he was hit with blinding pain. He looked around him slowly remembering where he was. Forest, lost? Had to get back to Bobby's? That's about all he could remember except he was hurt pretty bad and had to be careful.

He slowly go to his feet using the tree he had woken up next to and realized quickly he couldn't put weight on his left foot, he spied the stick he had been using earlier. He bent slowly and picked it up. When he rose he was hit by an amazing bout of vertigo that almost had him back on the ground, instead he hung onto the tree for grim death.
"Get the bucket Sammy," he called before he remembered he was on his own, and then he was dry heaving hard. His stomach muscles cramping around what had to be a broken rib.

After the heaving subsided Dean took some shuffling steps with the help of the stick, in what he hoped was the right way but having no idea in the dark where he was going. His right foot felt numb with cold which made it harder to hop along with the feeling of pins and needles. As Dean limped along he realized his cheeks, earlobes, fingers, and toes were feeling very cold. He couldn't remember the symptoms or treatment for exposure even though he had read the first aid book a million times while criss-crossing the country with his dad and Sam.
"Sammy, symptoms for exposure?"
He wasn't surprised to get no answer. Maybe that was a symptom, talking to himself. He chuffed a laugh and concentrated on not bumping his injury's as he stumbled along.

He pushed his wet hair off his face and stumbled down a valley, where for the first time the trees were a little thinner and there was wild grass and largish rocks that he could just make out. He might be able to lean against the rocks for shelter. He was contemplating doing just that when he heard a shuffle to his left over the hill of the valley. He stopped and listened as hard as he could over his pounding heart. Whatever it was could not see him from his position in the valley. The shuffling stopped and he was about to take a step when a sharp howl pierced the otherwise quiet night. Dean's heart leap to his throat and only his training stopped him from screaming out or even breathing harder. He limped over to the nearest rock and burrowed himself between the rock and the high grass looking for any cover he could get. He made himself as small as he could biting back a howl of pain from his injuries as he hit the deck. As soon as he was settled there was another sharp howl that sent Goosebumps along his arms and spine. He knew from the howl what he had come upon. A coyote.

TBC