ELEVEN

Sam dropped to his knees and wiped away the blood flowing freely into his eyes. He was feeling pretty dizzy and a monstrous headache was pulsing underneath the wounds. But overall it was just a flesh wound and nothing that would prevent him from getting back to Dean. He closed his eyes and pressed a palm to his head to try to stop the world from spinning.

A couple of deep breaths and he was able to open his eyes to survey the condition of his companions. Gordon was flat on his back, gun still pointed in the direction of the retreat.

Trist had ventured out from the safety of the outcrop. He kicked at the monster still ensnared in the net. It had been shot dead. "Do you think they're coming back?" His voice was meek and trembling.

"Doesn't matter," Gordon grunted as he rolled over and pulled himself to his knees, stopping to catch his breath. "We need to get back." He got shakily to his feet and in the moonlight Sam could see his arms were slick with blood.

He examined his own forearm which he had used as a shield. It was scratched apart and sore, minor wounds in the grand scheme of things, but most importantly didn't appear to have been bitten.

Gordon held out a hand to Sam, who grabbed the jar at his feet and stood up as well. Held up under the flashlight they could see a small amount of mucus rolling around inside the container. Despite his pains Sam allowed himself a moment of hope.

He grabbed one of the packs which had been tossed aside and carefully stowed the jar away, then slung it on his back. Wiping the blood away again, he pressed his hand to the gashes on his forehead to staunch the bleeding.

"Do you guys need some bandaging before we head out?" Trist asked looking tentatively from Sam to Gordon. Tristan had managed to remain spotless and unmarred.

Sam nodded agreement even though he was anxious to head back. "I just need some gauze and a roll, just for the walk back." Trist handed him the supplies and Sam proceed to wrap his forehead as tight as he could. At least he wouldn't have any more blood in his eyes.

"Gordo, how 'bout you?"

Gordon was crouched by one of the bodies. In one swift movement he sliced off its head. "Better that it stays dead," he said as he stood.

"Hey Gordon," Sam ventured, "you weren't bit were you."

"Uh no." He looked down and assessed his bloody arms. "Just scratched to hell."

"What about back here," Tristan said from behind him, motioning to a dark sticky patch on Gordon's lower back.

He lifted his shirt to reveal a slash large enough for a kidney transplant. He tried unsuccessfully to turn and see it. "Is it bad?"

"Best to wrap it, just in case" Tristan answered vaguely.

"Be quick," Gordon said and looked expectantly to the sky, which had lightened significantly since they had first left the cabin.

They lumbered back to the cabin in silence, the carcass of the last bat swinging from the net in Tristan's hand. Sam was never happier to see the glow of cabin lights. Besides feeling drained he was eager to get back to Dean. Hopefully, Jack's prediction was off and Dean would be feeling much better. They had to have been gone for hours now.

Sam entered the cabin first and was startled to find his brother convulsing erratically, taken over by one intense, aggressive fit. Jack was practically sitting on his arm trying to inject something.

"Help," he grunted, trying to keep Dean from flopping off the bed.

Sam was at his side in less than a second, all pains and thoughts out of his head.

He grasped his shoulders, "Dean!" His eyes were rolled back in his head as great spasms rocked through him. "What's happening," Sam demanded.

Jack didn't answered, he had managed to get his needle into the IV line and was injecting something. Seconds after the medication hit Dean's blood stream he instantaneously relax.

Sam patted his cheek gently, "Dean?" Dean's eyes remained closed, he was burning up like a angry furnace, sheets soaked in sweat, a new bandage around his head.

He looked at Jack with the intention of angrily asking what the hell had happened, but his resentment dissipated when he saw Jack kneeling beside his brother's bed utterly strained and exhausted.

Jack met his eyes, genuine worry filling his face. "Things have been rough." That was an understatement Sam thought looking down at his brother again.

"Is he okay?"

"I won't go so far as to say okay…"

"Well, what's happening, how long had he been like this?" Looking at his brother the guilt set in upon him heavily. How could he have left him like this, with a stranger? Did he really think he was doing Dean more of a favour by running off on a hunt? Wouldn't it have been just a successful if he had stayed behind? A million what ifs that tore him apart the more he thought about it.

"It just started to get bad," Jack lied when in reality he had been trying to control the fits for a least an hour, some much worse than the one Sam had witnessed. "I figure it's a neurological toxin so the seizures are part of the poisoning. Valium stops them… if I can get it in, but," he massaged his temples in frustration, "everything about this poison is so fucking fast." He rubbed his weary eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose letting out an exasperated sigh. "The valium is just consumed, it doesn't last longer than a couple of minutes."

Sam was barely listening, focused on mopping the sweat from his brother's face. He fingered the bandage around Dean's head, mirroring his own wound management.

"He smashed his head on the cot's frame," Jack explained feeling quite blameworthy that he had not anticipated such a problem. He had since wrapped some thick blankets over the bar. "It was my fault, I should have been more prepared…"

"Don't worry about it," Sam interrupted him turning to look Jack in the face, hoping he could see how thankful he was becoming. At least he had left Dean in good care; even he would not have known how to better manage the seizures.

"Now, we just need to get some antitoxin out of the venom and then it's happily ever after, right?" Trist asked from the doorway.

Jack frowned deeply, "yeah… about that…"