Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the wonderful reviews you guys are giving me.
Author's Note: Sorry this is so late in updating. I had computer difficulties and I had to rewrite this chapter because the last version of this completely sucked.
Author's Note 2: This is mostly a Joshua-centric chapter… I couldn't really write anything from Sam's POV for this. I will have more of him in the next chapter.
Author's Note 3: We are a little over halfway done with this story. Just thought I'd give you all a heads-up.
Supernatural
"The War To End All Wars"
Chapter 9
Sam leaned heavily on Dean as they limped across the hot desert sand like contenders in a three-legged race. Sam's injured leg had stopped responding to what Sam needed it to do and it now dragged behind them, leaving a thin trail in the sand.
Dean had woken up two days prior, confused and disoriented. He had remained that way for about a day and a half, before he finally snapped out of it. Sam didn't remember what exactly had happened, but he did remember himself slipping into unconsciousness and waking up sometime later to Dean dragging him across the desert and cussing him out at the same time. That had been a little over an hour ago.
"Damn it," Dean muttered as Sam stumbled over his injured leg and nearly fell. Dean supported him easily. "Why did Clayton have to choose us for the center of the city patrol?"
"Because Clayton's a jackass," Sam mumbled, leaning even more of his weight on Dean. "And because we're too damn amazing for our own good."
"I don't know about you," Dean teased, wincing as Sam's hand brushed against his injured shoulder. "But I know I'm pretty damn awesome. Clayton's nuts to think you're anything close to me."
Sam rolled his eyes and stuck his dry tongue out at Dean.
"Jerk," he muttered. Dean smirked.
"Bitch," he replied. "How you holding up, Sammy?"
"Is that a trick question?" Sam rasped, wincing as his injured leg got caught in a hole. He would have fallen if it hadn't been for Dean's steadying hands on his shoulders.
"Jesus, Sam," Dean said with a soft sigh. "Would it kill you to stop being so damn stubborn all the fucking time?"
"Yeah," Sam said, smirking ever so slightly. Dean rolled his eyes in return. "I'm fine, Dean. Really."
"Yeah, and I'm the tooth fairy," the elder man grumbled. "Next time you get yourself nearly killed, stay put, okay? I'll come find you and drag your sorry ass out of there."
"Dude, you would look awful in a tutu. And you were pretty much unconscious when I found you and there was a fire on your ass," Sam said, attempting to stand up straighter. He nearly fell on his face again. "What did you expect me to do, let you burn into a crisp? Become Dean Roast? Cause that wasn't going to happen. So quit your bitching already."
"Someone gets grumpy when they're tired," Dean commented. He winced as he moved his injured arm to brush sand out of his eyes.
"You okay?" Sam asked. Dean looked at him incredulously.
"I'm fine, dude. I, at least, can walk, which is more than I can say for your sorry ass."
Sam rolled his eyes and yawned heavily. The pain in his leg increased in intensity and he swore when he attempted to move it underneath him.
"Fuck," he muttered. Dean looked at him, concern pouring off of him in waves.
"That's it, Sammy," he said. "The next foxhole we find, we're stopping in it. I don't care how damn close we are to the camp. You are going to rest, even if it kills you."
Joshua was beyond worried. Saying that he was worried was like saying that it was only slightly cold in Antarctica. Clayton and his patrol had gotten back a week before, without Richardson and Winchester. There had been a rash of bombs hidden throughout the city, scheduled to go off at any pressure on certain buildings. All it would take was one of the censors to go off and all of them would go off. There had been three all together. At first they had been thought of the Air Force's bombs, but when the Air Force had called and told them they had rescheduled their bombs to go off at a later date, a team of bomb experts had determined what had really happened.
Harvelle had broken her arm when the third bomb had occurred about ten yards away from where Clayton and Harvelle had been standing in the first place. Clayton had ended up with a concussion and a broken nose. The broken nose was not from the explosion itself, it was from Singer punching him in the nose after Clayton refused to let Reeves and Singer go after Richardson and Winchester. Upon hearing that, Joshua nearly decked Clayton himself, but figured since he was a medical professional; it wouldn't be a good thing to have to reset someone's already broken nose.
Joshua was sitting in the medic tent, staring off into space and debating whether or not to go and make sure Harvelle and Clayton were okay. Those two were down right stupid, like everyone else in the army, when it came to admitting injury. If they were in pain, they'd just suck it up and get on with it, consequences be damned.
"Whitely?"
The sound of Jackson's quiet voice broke Joshua out of his thoughts. Joshua turned to face the company clerk.
"Yeah, Jackson?" Joshua asked, standing up. He couldn't quite squash the tiny bud of hope growing in his chest as he asked, "Is there any news on Richardson and Winchester?"
"No, sir, I'm sorry," Jackson said, looking down at his feet. "But there is other news." It had been a week, and everyone was beginning to feel the loss of Richardson and Winchester. Hell, even Smith and Ryan weren't as big as assholes anymore. They were quiet and subdued now.
"What is it?" Joshua asked urgently. "Is it Clayton? Harvelle? Are they okay?"
"They're fine," Jackson said hurriedly. "It's about the Air Force. They're scheduled to bomb the city the day after tomorrow."
"Damn it! No! They can't do that! Richardson and Winchester are still out there! They'll be killed!" Joshua angrily began pacing the medical tent, wishing not for the first time in the past hour that Winchester and Richardson were alive and safe at the camp, playing a practical joke on Smith and Ryan or doing calisthenics in the center of camp.
"I'm sorry, sir," Jackson squeaked, alarmed. He had obviously never seen gentle, even-tempered Joshua Whitely, camp medic, get so pissed off about something. "But that's not all."
"What the hell?" Joshua demanded, his voice rising.
"We're getting ready to move the camp somewhere further away from the city," Jackson said, looking down at the ground. "Seeing as the Air Force is going to bomb this place into oblivion."
"So we are leaving Richardson and Winchester to die?" Joshua shouted. "Are you fucking people on fucking crack? There is no way in hell that I'm leaving them out there to fucking die! That is not a damn option!"
"I'm s-so-sorry," Jackson stammered, his voice a squeak. "But they're direct orders from Clayton."
Was it only three days ago that Joshua was telling Winchester that he couldn't disobey a direct order? What a hypocrite Joshua was turning out to be.
"Where the hell is Singer?" Joshua asked, lowering his voice a notch. "I need to talk to him."
Jackson seemed to get the thought that was running through the medic's head, for he shook his head and readjusted his wire-framed glasses.
"I'm sorry, sir, but he was put in charge of getting everything together for the move. He's probably packing up his tent," Jackson said. "Clayton gave the entire company direct orders not to talk to Singer, Reeves, or Harvelle and to keep them separated as much as possible."
There had been a lot of talk between the three of going after Richardson and Winchester, since they got back to camp. Joshua wasn't really surprised that Clayton had finally ordered them apart, but still…
"That's bull shit!" Joshua shouted. Jackson flinched and somewhere deep down, Joshua felt faintly guilty for scaring him. The guy was only trying to do his job; it wasn't his fault that Richardson and Winchester were missing and presumed dead. Hell, in a couple of hours they would be dead.
"Whitely, I'm sorry, I really am," Jackson said. "There's nothing I can do. Clayton will court marshal anyone who's not ready to go within the next twenty minutes. I have to help the kitchen staff pack up their gear."
"Leave it," Joshua growled. "It will only help the Air Force blow the place up faster. That stuff is explosive anyway."
Jackson gave a faint smile before looking over his shoulder briefly. He dug into his pockets and produced a small key ring with a car key hanging from it. He tossed it to Joshua, who caught it, staring at Jackson in surprise.
"There's an ancient jeep in the back of the compound," Jackson explained. "It's old, but it runs. Clayton won't be looking for it. You have a little over an hour to find Winchester and Richardson and get the hell out of there, or otherwise, you're dead. Try to find Jo's brother, Bob, and his wife, Ellen. They're medics at the 4063 MASH unit. They're located near the city, if they haven't already moved yet. If you can't find Richardson and Winchester, join up with them. They'll keep you safe."
"What are you going to do when Clayton comes looking for me?" Joshua asked, touched by the company clerk's thoughtfulness.
"I'm going to tell him that I don't know anything," Jackson said. "And that the entire thing was Singer's idea. Crazy idjit has been going on about stealing the jeep for weeks. Winchester, Richardson, and Singer were going to steal it and go AWOL for a couple of weeks."
"What?" Joshua said, fighting back a chuckle. "That's crazy!"
"That's the three musketeers for you," Jackson said with a sad smile. "Anyway, it has a full tank of gas. Please, get them back safely. And take Singer with you!"
"Will do, Jackson," Joshua said. "If there's anything I can do for you…"
"Just get Winchester and Richardson back safely," Jackson said, turning to leave. "Please. That's all I want."
"I'll do that, Jackson," Whitely promised. "And get Singer's ass in here for me!"
"Will do, Whitely," Jackson said, exiting the tent.
Joshua twirled the key to the ancient truck around his finger, trying to decide what he would need to take. If he and Singer would be joining up with the 4063rd, then he wouldn't have to take very many medical supplies. He decided to take a couple of bottles of water and enough rations to last a couple of days for two people. He had all those supplies already in his tent, so he set about finding them.
Twenty minutes later, Singer walked into his tent and coughed to announce his presence. Joshua looked up and tossed his now full duffel bag to Singer.
"You want to come with me to find Richardson and Winchester?" he asked. Singer's eyes widened.
"Joshua, you can't be serious," he said.
"I can and I am," Joshua said grimly. "The Air Force is going to bomb this place into oblivion and Clayton isn't going to order a search and rescue for them. As far as he's concerned, they're dead. He may be right, he may not be. I have to find out, though. Jess will kill me if Winchester doesn't make it, and I for one, value my life. Now, are you with me?"
Singer was quiet for a moment, thinking it over in his mind. It didn't take him very long. He nodded once.
"Hell yeah," he said. Joshua almost smiled.
