Author's Note: First off, thank you so very much to snseriesfan, Vanessa Sgroi, BranchSuper, Mic(the mom), DimensionJumper, Heartless BytchhakaHelenBach1, Julefor, PsychoPicasso, Shorty22133, AlElizabeth, KnightJellyofCamelot, and 3 unknown guests for all the wonderful reviews. Wow, what did I do to get so many great reviewers? If it was my begging and pleading for reviews, I can do it more and if it was my excessive Dean whumpage in the last chapter, well I can definately do that again (insert evil laugh here.) Anyway, as many of you have guessed, we are now back to the beginning and I appologize for the feeling of déjà vu that the first part of this chapter may cause but I felt that nine chapters later you guys may need a recap of the teaser.
Chapter Ten: Keep On Fighting
Dean Winchester stared up at the sky and tried to figure out why it was green instead of blue. The sky was supposed to be blue, wasn't it? Maybe the fact that the sky was the wrong color was the reason he was so cold. But people always used the color blue to represent cold so wouldn't the sky not being blue make it warm? That made sense, right? Sure. But a green sky, that didn't make any sense at all. Wait, now it wasn't just green, it was becoming red. It was strange though. The red seeping into the green sky was accompanied by a strange wet feeling on his forehead and into his eye. Maybe it was raining. A green sky raining red rain. And it was still making him so cold. Maybe if he wiped the red rain off of himself, he could get warm again. He reached up with his right hand and swiped rather clumsily at his face. The wetness didn't go away, it merely smeared all over and the rubbing motion caused him pain.
The sharp pain jerked Dean out of the hazy murkiness that his brain had been drowning in. With a gasp, he blinked several times and tried to make sense of his surroundings. Now he became certain that the sky was still blue, but it was being mostly obscured by the dense trees all around him. And it wasn't raining. The right side of his face was covered in blood. Okay, well that explained the pain. But his head and face weren't the only places that were hurting. His back and chest felt like they were on fire, his left leg was in agony, and his whole body was cold, a sure sign of shock and/or blood loss. Not his worst day, but certainly not his best.
The real question though was what had happened for him to be in this less than perfect condition. Dean closed his eyes, trying to remember. Running. He'd been running. Running from something. The pounding in his head derailed his thoughts. Damn, but he hurt.
Dean put his hand up to his head to try and figure out how bad the bleeding was. There was a lump and a gash at his hairline that was pouring out blood and a shallower cut down the side of his face where the blood was sluggishly oozing out. The head wound was pretty bad, but he wouldn't bleed out. On to the other injuries. Dean gently pressed his fingers over his ribs, checking for breaks. At least one broken and several more fractured or bruised. His breathing wasn't hindered so he assumed that his lungs weren't punctured. He had no way to check the reasons that his back hurt, but he prayed it was just bruising and nothing major. He knew back injuries could be serious and that he probably shouldn't move, but a voice in the back of his head was yelling at him that he couldn't lay on the ground for too long waiting for help. So he slowly and carefully sat up. As he did so, his left leg screamed at him in protest. Dean closed his eyes against the pain, struggling against the overwhelming urge to lie back down and perhaps pass out. After a moment, when he had himself back under control, the hunter opened his eyes and looked to see what the damage on his leg was like. Damn. His knee was obviously swollen, he could tell even with the joint hidden by his jeans, and the lower part of his leg was positioned at a very odd angle. But the good news was that there weren't any bones popping through his flesh. So, probably dislocated and fractured but not broken. The bad news was that the lower portion of his leg was bleeding heavily from four long, deep, ragged gashes that ran from knee to ankle.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean spat out through clenched teeth.
Just how the hell was he supposed to get up and get back to the others. Others? Who had he been with? Sam. Sam was definitely with him before, so why wasn't he here now? Oh, right he was back at the camp. Camp? Why were they camping?
It didn't matter right now. He had to stop the bleeding. Dean struggled out of his leather jacket, and pulled off his dark blue flannel shirt. He then took out his pocket knife and cut the denim pant leg off just above the swollen knee. He'd have to get the damned thing set after he took care of his open bloody wounds. After cutting the denim into long strips, Dean folded his shirt and pressed it against the cuts, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. He then took the strips of cloth and used them to tie the shirt tightly over his wounds.
When he was done, the injured young man wanted nothing more than to lay back and rest, but that wasn't an option. Using what little strength he had left, Dean gripped his leg and jerked the bones back into place. This time he couldn't stop himself from crying out. And he didn't even try to remain upright. Falling onto his back (which jarred his other injuries and hurt like hell), Dean felt the darkness trying to take over, but he didn't let it. He was hurt for some reason and if that reason was nearby and he lost consciousness, there was a good chance he'd never wake up.
What he needed was a plan. Okay, step one: Don't die. Step two: try to remember why he was injured and what he was up against. Step three: figure out how the freakin' hell he was gonna get up and walk outta here.
His gaze fell upon his shot gun, lying just out of reach. If he could scoot over and grab it, he could use it as a means of defense and as a crutch. So, steps one and three were looking attainable. But what about step two? What had happened to him?
Suddenly, Dean heard a something growling off to his right. He turned but didn't see anything. The sound got closer, much too close to be hidden by the trees or bushes surrounding him. But still he couldn't see the creature. That's when he remembered.
What little blood he had left drained from his face and he began to shake. Dean prided himself on his fearlessness during hunts, but right now he had to admit that he was terrified. But really, who in his position wouldn't be. He was alone and severely injured in the middle of an 800,000 acre forest. His brother probably wouldn't be rushing to his rescue any time soon, and there was no way he'd be able to move very quickly. His best weapon was lying just out of reach, leaving him with just a small knife on the ground near his hand and the pistol that was tucked into the back of his pants and pinned between his body and the forest floor. Oh, and he was being stalked by at least one, and possibly more, of the creatures that he hated the most. The beasts that paralyzed him with fear. The things that had once torn him to pieces and sent his soul to unending torture in Hell. Vicious monsters that couldn't be seen but were extremely dangerous. Dean was being hunted by hellhounds.
Trying to hold the panic at bay, Dean struggled once more into a sitting position. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the air to his right.
"C'mon, you son of a bitch. Come and get it. I'll blow your freakin' brains right outta your head just like I did your buddies. C'mon, what are you waiting for?"
But the beast did not approach him, obviously intelligent enough to realize that even injured, its prey was dangerous. Dean wasn't dumb either. He knew that if he tried to get to his feet he would leave himself open to attack. They were at a standoff.
Dean was the first to move. He leaned forward, placing his left hand on the ground for leverage and started to shift his good leg underneath himself. He had only just started the move when the hellhound rushed him. Dean heard the claws tear through the underbrush as it came at him and, having tricked his opponent into revealing its location, he raised his gun and fired. Two shots and the monster was dead.
The hunter wasted no time patting himself on the back, though. He shifted sideways and snatched up the shotgun. Then, with a grunt of pain, Dean used the long weapon to brace himself against as he rose to his feet. The agony radiating from his injuries almost drove him back down. But his survival instincts took over and he started limping towards his original destination. Dean's movements were slow and clumsy and he hoped that he'd make it to where he was going with no further interruptions. He wasn't sure if he'd survive another confrontation. Of course it was now extremely unlikely that he'd avoid more hellhounds now that he was bleeding and the smell of it was probably attracting all the creatures in the area. Besides, even if he reached his destination, he had no clue what he'd find there. But one problem at a time.
Dean's struggles to keep moving were getting harder as he went. The shirt around his leg was already starting to turn dark with his blood and his knee was throbbing despite his best efforts not to use it. And as crutches went, a shotgun was a pretty lousy one. But the hunter forced himself on.
An hour later, Dean was reduced to dragging his left leg behind him and stopping to rest against a tree every few minutes. While he was resting, he took out the map and tried to figure out where the hell he was in relation to where he wanted to be. After a moment, he blinked in surprise when he realized that he was there. Dean looked around warily, but there was nothing to see but trees. Of course, the area that he'd marked on the map was fairly large, so maybe he just had to explore a bit. With a tired and pained groan, Dean pushed away from the tree and continued on.
Half an hour of searching revealed exactly what he'd first seen. Nothing. It was strange. Dean was at the exact epicenter of several vicious attacks and there was no trace of anything out of the ordinary. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find. Maybe a gate to Hell, or a hellhound nest filled with little invisible killer puppies, or a freakin' evil milkbone factory. But all that was there was trees, bushes, dirt, rocks, and moss. Yay.
"Damn it all!" Dean cursed out loud. "Don't you tell me this was all for nothing." The hunter had no clue who he was yelling at, but he wished that whoever it was heard him and for once in his life took pity on him. Because there was just no way he'd be able to make it back to camp by himself with the hellhounds still out there. But there were no answers to be found here. Nothing to end all of this and keep his brothers and the others at the camp safe. He'd failed. The story of his life.
When he heard a growl come from nearby, part of him wanted to just slump down to the ground and let the creature have its meal. But that just wasn't the way Dean Winchester did things. He was trained to fight until he could fight no more and despite the exhaustion, blood loss, and pain, he could still fight. So, Dean swung his shotgun up, pointed it in the direction the sound had come from and waited. Panting and low growls gave away its place and Dean pulled the trigger. A sharp yelp, a splatter of blood, and then nothing.
Dean wished it had been this easy to take out the hellhound that had come after him when his deal was up. But at the time he'd been held down helplessly because of that bitch Lilith. Besides, no matter how many of the creatures he would've killed back then, they would've just kept coming until they'd accomplished their mission of killing Dean and collecting his soul. Life would've become a never ending battle against hellhounds as they attacked him one after another, until he was ripped apart. Kind of like what was happening right now. Which brought to mind a truly horrible idea. What if they were here right now to kill him and send his soul back down to the pit? What if God had decided that he wasn't in fact worth the trouble of saving and was casting him back to Hell? No, Dean couldn't do that again. He couldn't go back. He felt his breathing speed up as a full on panic attack threatened him, but just then, a calm voice in his head pointed out that he was being ridiculous. The attacks had started long before he'd gotten there. Besides, if all of this was truly aimed at him, that demon bitch Candy would've been bragging about it. But the demons were just as confused as him. So, it wasn't about Dean. He wasn't a target for Hell yet again. The relief that flowed through him at that revelation was almost enough to bring him to his knees.
Then a growl off to his left reminded him that he was still in danger. Before he could turn towards the sound, he heard the telltale sounds of running and knew that the beast was ready to pounce. Dean spun and pulled the trigger, praying that he'd hit his attacker. Two things happened simultaneously. The hellhound let out a whine as it fell to the ground dead and Dean let out a cry as his left leg ended up giving out under the strain and he fell to the ground as well. His leg was on fire, his ribs and back were throbbing, his head spun from the concussion he'd suffered and Dean was no longer able to fight the darkness that was seeping in around the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw before blacking out once more was a man he'd never seen before standing over him watching his plight with a somewhat amused smile on his face.
Author's Note Part Two: Hope everyone enjoyed. And yep, next chapter answers will be revealed! Please take just a moment if you've got one to leave a review and let me know what you think.