Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. The only profit I am making from this story is the kickass reviews you all are giving me.
Author's Note: Normally, I try my hardest not to say anything about the most recent episode of Supernatural out of respect for those of you who haven't seen it yet, but I have to say, that the end of the latest episode was so powerful, I was crying at the end of it. I am so mad at Kripke right now for making us wait till January 15th, 2009 to watch the next episode. All those in favor of going on strike, petition is being written right now (haha, just kidding).
Author's Note 2: I seriously have no idea where the hell this chapter came from. I was writing a completely different story-line one second and then the next, I was writing the last chapter. Then, today (yes, I wrote this in one day, it was that easy to write), I just sat down and wrote. This chapter flowed together better than I expected, and I have to say, it's one of my favorites. I personally really like it. I hope you all are of the same opinion.
Author's Note 3: These are all really long author's notes tonight, but I feel like talking to you guys and reminding you how wonderful you all really are. Thank you so much for reviewing this story. It means a lot to me that you take time out of your day to read and review my story. It is all greatly appreciated and the chapters I am in love with are dedicated to you all.
Author's Note 4: I hope you all have a good Turkey Day for those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, and for those of you who don't, have an awesome week. I might not be updating next weekend, due to a recent thing that is occurring in my life this weekend that will take up most of my time for the rest of my life. I am moving my horse to a new barn where I can ride her any time I want, so I will be riding her more often. Also, I will not have nearly as much time to write awesome chapters, but I will do my best to get these out to you all regularly.
Supernatural
"The War To End All Wars"
Chapter 10
True to his word, Dean stopped at the next foxhole they came to. Sam was more than grateful for the chance to sit down; it was becoming harder and harder to put up the front that everything was fine. Dean hadn't said anything about Sam's obvious lie, but Sam had noticed that he was walking less and less and Dean was becoming slower and slower.
"Dude, you're h-heavy!" Dean complained as Sam slid to the ground. The elder man was quick to follow, sighing deeply.
"S-sorry," Sam rasped, blinking tiredly. He had too much on his mind to even think about sleeping though.
"S' n-not your fault," Dean mumbled, closing his eyes and putting his good arm over his eye. "M' j-just really tired. And you eat too much. Maybe that is your fault."
Sam would have given even a small smile if he hadn't been so damn tired.
"S-shit," he whispered, moving his injured leg a little too much. Dean moved his arm and shot him a look of tired concern.
"W-what is it?" he asked, yawning heavily. He closed his eyes for a brief second before reopening them and staring at Sam directly, an eyebrow raised expectantly.
"N-nothing, man," Sam said, yawning as well. Dean shot him a disbelieving look. "S-seriously… it's n-not in-important."
"T-there you g-go again," Dean muttered moodily. "A-always d-downplaying your injuries to make s-sure no one worries about you. D-do you know how annoying that is?"
"Do you?" Sam countered, not putting any real heat behind his words. It would have taken too much energy, energy he didn't have.
"I…" Dean trailed off, coughing heavily. Sam watched in alarm as his friend drew his now blood covered hand away from his mouth
"W-when did you start coughing up b-blood?" he rasped. All thoughts of his current exhaustion were thrown out of his mind as he inched his way closer to where Dean was sitting. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him.
"About an hour ago," Dean admitted, his voice hoarse and as raspy as Sam's now. He let out one last blood-filled cough before falling silent.
"Damn it," Sam swore, clenching his good hand angrily. "Why the hell did you tell me?"
"W-what could you have done?" Dean whispered, leaning his head back and trying to breathe more easily. "I'm f-fine, Sammy. Don't worry about me."
"I-it's Sam, you jerk," he replied, yawning and rubbing at his injured shoulder. It still hurt, even though the rest of him was beginning to go numb.
"B-bitch," Dean coughed.
Joshua tapped the steering wheel of the ancient jeep nervously as he waited for Bill and Ellen Harvelle from the 4063rd to come out of the supply tent. Singer and he had arrived at the MASH unit five minutes before. Jackson had called ahead and told Bob and Ellen that Joshua and Singer were coming and why they were coming.
Joshua hoped they weren't already too late. He wasn't sure if he would have the strength to keep going if he knew that his best friend wouldn't be there for him anymore. He had already come too close to losing Sam twice; he wasn't going to try for three.
"How far away is the city from your camp?" Bill asked as he climbed into the jeep. Ellen was close behind, carrying a large, olive green, army issue duffel bag. She tossed it to Singer, who caught it easily. He placed it on the floorboard.
"About ten miles east of camp," Singer answered. He turned to look at Bob, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Why?"
"We'll start at the city itself and then head back towards your camp. It's the easiest way to find Winchester and Richardson if they're still alive," Bill replied.
"What if they didn't go in the direction of the camp?" Singer asked. Joshua turned to look at Bill as well, interested to hear the answer to the question.
Bill shrugged.
"We better hope they went in the correct direction," he said grimly. "But we're not going to be certain until you put the key in the ignition and put the pedal to the metal and go."
Joshua would have smirked if the situation hadn't been so serious. He turned back to the front of the jeep and started the ancient vehicle. He made sure there was no one behind or in front of him before flooring the jeep and steering it easily out of the MASH camp.
Dean's hand brushed against Sam's. Sam blinked lazily, not having the energy to do much else. Dean looked at him in concern.
"O-okay?" Dean rasped.
They had given up the effort of speaking in full sentences nearly two hours before, when the lack of water finally caught up to them. They hadn't really noticed it before; adrenaline had kept it at bay. But since they had stopped moving, it really hit them.
Sam blinked and nodded ever so slightly. He was slightly worse off than Dean; he might not have been coughing up blood, but he couldn't really talk, either.
"Y-yeah, r-right," Dean whispered. Sam blinked again, sighing softly.
"Y-you o-okay, De?" he rasped, wincing as the effort tore at his already burning throat. He coughed once to try and get the dust he had inhaled out of his throat.
"I-I'm f-fine, S-Sammy," Dean replied, his voice no stronger than a whisper. "I'm b-better o-off t-than y-you a-at a-any r-rate."
"D-due, s-seriously," Sam coughed. "I'm n-not t-the o-one c-coughing up b-blood."
He glared weakly at Dean, who merely rolled his eyes in response. Sam sighed, wincing at the strain it put on his ribs. He looked away, staring at the wall of the foxhole and wondering if they were ever going to get out of there alive.
The sun was going down early, due to the huge storm clouds moving in from the west. Joshua eyed them worriedly, knowing that if they did find Winchester and Richardson, they wouldn't be able to helicopter them out of there if they needed it. The winds and lightning strikes that accompany the desert storms would tear a metal helicopter apart.
"Head east for about a mile and then drive south until you see a foxhole!" Bill called from the back. "There's a foxhole about three and a half miles from your camp. That's where they might be!"
Joshua, Bill, Ellen, and Singer had all been searching for Winchester and Richardson for half an hour now and had had some luck. Singer had spotted a trail of footprints that hadn't been brushed away by wind yet. They had been heading in the general direction that Joshua was now driving. Everyone was hopeful that the footprints belonged to Winchester and Richardson, not someone more sinister.
"How long till we reach it, Harvelle?" Joshua called back. The wind was beginning to pick up, making conversation nearly impossible over the roaring of the engine and the constant bomb craters that littered the desert.
"About twenty minutes if you keep this pace up!" Bill yelled. All of a sudden, a huge bang like a gunshot sounded and Joshua lost control of the car when the front wheel flattened. He attempted to keep it level, but failed miserably.
"Joshua! Let go of the steering wheel!" Singer shouted, just as the jeep turned on to its side and everything went black.
Sam couldn't breathe. It hurt too much and every time he succeeded in his mission of drawing in oxygen; he received a mouthful of grime and nearly choked on it. Dean wasn't faring much better; his coughing had increased and the blood was darkening in color.
The sky was beginning to turn black as the storm clouds above reached the foxhole. The air temperature was starting to cool. The air seemed to crackle. All signs of an impending storm.
Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. Beside Sam, Dean let out a hoarse cough.
"S-shit," he heard the older man whisper. Sam didn't have the energy to turn his head three centimeters to the right to see what had happened to Dean. He barely had the energy to keep breathing.
"D-?" he whispered, unable to get out anything more than a syllable.
"S-Sam-my?" Dean rasped, his voice even harsher with alarm. Sam felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Even though it was feather-light, it sent another wave of pain crashing through him.
Stabbing pains shot up Sam's uninjured arm as he fought to breathe. The world seemed to be spinning around him as the pains made their way to his chest.
"C-can't breathe!" he gasped out before the entire world was suddenly on fire, both inside and out.
"Sammy?" Dean was no longer coughing, but his voice was high with alarm as a deep, resounding explosion shattered what little peace they had left.
"SAM!" Dean screamed.
Joshua fought his way back to consciousness, wincing as he attempted to move his right wrist and failed miserably. Urging himself to do so, he tried forcing his eyes open. He wished he hadn't succeeded.
The jeep had completely flipped onto one side, crushing the driver's side of the vehicle. Joshua's wrist had gotten pinned beneath the steering wheel and was what took up most of his cloudy vision. The bone was sticking out of the skin and it was dripping blood slowly down onto his nose.
"Gah," he exclaimed as he tried to move. He felt a hand brush up against his shoulder. "B-Bill?"
"Yeah, Josh, it's me."
Singer spoke softly as another hand brushed his shoulder.
"We're going to get you out," a semi-familiar feminine voice said. Joshua instantly remembered that it was Ellen. That was two out of the three people who had been with him that were accounted for.
"Where's S-Singer?" he said, surprised at how strong his voice was. His throat was on fire. It probably had something to do with the mouth full of dirt he had swallowed.
"He's on the other side of the jeep, getting ready to push it over," Ellen said, brushing his shoulder again. Joshua internally flinched as it brought out a dull ache. "But first, I'm going to have to reset your shoulder. You pulled it out of place when the jeep flipped."
"Okay," Joshua said, blinking rain out of his eyes. He just realized that the storm that had been threatening to hit had finally started. He heard a distant rumble of thunder in the distance.
"We have to hurry," Bill murmured. "Joshua said we only had an hour. It's been forty-five minutes."
"Damn it!" came the loud exclamation from Singer. He sounded angry and Joshua could relate. Fifteen minutes until the world around them literally went to hell.
"Hurry up!" Ellen ordered briskly. "We don't have time to dawdle."
"I'm going as fast as I can!" Singer snapped. "On the count of three."
Joshua barely heard the count off. He was too busy thinking about how little time they had left to find Winchester and Richardson. He distinctly remembered being pinned by his wrist one moment and then being freed from the steering wheel the next.
Bill and Singer helped him up, both being careful not to aggravate the wounded wrist any further.
"You okay, Whitely?" Bill asked, gently poking at Joshua's wrist. Joshua winced, but let the man wrap an ace bandage around it. They had nothing else; all the supplies they packed were for Richardson and Winchester.
"I'll be fine," Joshua snapped, shrugging off the anxious hand that was placed on his shoulder. "We have a little over ten minutes to find Richardson and Winchester before we're all bombed to hell. I don't know about you guys, but I certainly want to find them! Now is the jeep okay?"
"It's army issue," Singer said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't think a tank could take out one of these babies!"
He patted the dirty green, dented piece of crap and Joshua smiled.
"Well, that's one good thing that's happened today," he said. As if contesting that statement, a loud ominous boom rattled the area.
"We have to hurry," Ellen said, worry flooding her voice. "That was the first of the bombs."
"Shit," Joshua said, hopping into the driver's seat again. Bill and Singer glared at him until he moved into the passenger's seat and let Singer take the wheel.
"Let's do this thing," Singer said through gritted teeth.
Bill climbed into the back along with Ellen and then they drove off.
Sam was dying. He realized this as the first drops of rain began to hit his face and the bombs coming from somewhere nearby exploded around them. Dean was begging for him to hold on, but he doubted that he would be able to. It hurt too much.
It wasn't a bad way to die, dying out here when it was raining in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was kind of peaceful. It wasn't as painful as he thought it was going to be; it was more like fading away.
"Damn it, Sammy!" Dean yelled, breaking through Sam's peace. The older man sounded seriously distressed. Sam wished there was something he could do for him; Dean had been an amazing friend, but it was Sam's time. Besides, going back, trying to help Dean, it would bring back all the pain he had managed to forget.
"Sam!" Dean shouted again.
Sam felt something hard hit his chest. He couldn't help himself, he coughed, and let his eyes flutter open.
"Sam, you with me?" Dean asked, letting worry surge through his voice. Sam realized that it was the first time he had ever heard Dean so worried about something. He also realized he was lying flat on his back, something he hadn't been doing when he had blacked out.
"De-?" he whispered, fighting back the urge to scream as another wave of pain rolled over him.
"Yeah, Sammy, it's me," Dean whispered, squeezing his hand. "Your heart wasn't beating and you had stopped breathing… I didn't know what to do."
Dean was scared. He could hear it in his friend's voice, the way he kept going on and on about not knowing what to do. Sam felt guilty for scaring Dean like that, but he couldn't breathe.
"De," he whispered again, trying his hardest to hang onto consciousness. For Dean, he told himself. If nothing else, hang on for Dean.
"Yeah, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice barely above a raspy whisper.
"Can't," Sam tried. He swallowed as best he could and attempted a deep breath. He let out a small whimper when pain flooded through him again.
"Can't what?" Dean demanded. He was scared again. Sam could tell as he started slipping away again. He heard Dean call his name one more time before he finally faded into a state of permanent unconsciousness.
"Sam!" Dean screamed as he watched his friend close his eyes. The hand Dean had been squeezing for dear life was now limp in his hand, with just the slightest hint of a pulse. He held onto it, knowing that if he let go, he'd lose Sam for good.
Dean felt tears slide down his face and mingle with the pouring rain that was already there. He didn't have the energy to fight against them. They were coming too quickly. He sniffed once, trying to get himself under control, when he heard it.
It came from far off, nearly lost in the sound of an exploding bomb even further away, but it was there. No matter how faint, Dean caught the yell.
"Richardson! Winchester!"
His breath caught in his parched throat. Could it be? Was it really…? No, Dean decided. It must have been his imagination playing tricks on him. There was no way that could be...
The screeching of brakes and boots stomping over to the edge of the foxhole, followed by an all too familiar face detested that theory.
"Bobby?"