Nothing was following him. No twinkle lights, no bear, nothing. Unless the cat was taking cover in the tall yellow clumps of grass that clung to the red clay under his feet. Dean slowed to a walk as he looked back over his shoulder, scanning the flat prairie behind him. He couldn't see any sign of movement.

Not like it'd be hard for the animals to track me if they wanted to, he thought, feeling his injured arm gingerly. I'm leaving an awesome blood trail for 'em. He looked down at the red staining his coat sleeve and filling his left hand. His right arm was throbbing, the Mark answering the pain in syncopation, half a beat off.

Deal with that. Now. His father said in his head.

"Yessir."

Dean dropped the obsidian onto the ground and knelt down in the grass beside it. He wiped his left hand on his jeans, cleaning off most of the blood, and began to work his way out of his jacket, relieved to discover that, in spite of the pain, the fingers on his right hand mostly obeyed him, however clumsily. Both hands were trembling, though, as the adrenaline that had fueled his escape from the cave wore off.

His jacket was torn and dirty, of course. He hoped he didn't look as bad as it did. The amulet rocked once, as if gently mocking that thought. He thought he heard it echo, yes sir—

"I know—I know—" he grumbled back at it.

Once his jacket was on the ground next to the obsidian, he inspected his flannel shirt. It was soaked with his blood, some of which was just starting to stiffen the fabric, and it was punctured, too. He took a deep breath, flexing the fingers of his right hand, testing and pushing mentally against the resulting throb in his arm. His hand closed up almost by its own will into a fist. He let his breath go, and began to unbutton the cuff and then to pull the sleeve up over his forearm, hissing as the Mark and the wounds around it were exposed to the air.

The bear's teeth had gotten him in four places that he could see, above the Mark and below it. The wounds gaped wide and he could see the layers of skin and the beginnings of his muscles underneath. Like tiny mouths threatening to spit their meat out. Shit. Here and there, strands of fabric from his shirt had embedded into them. He picked at the cloth in the wounds, pulling out the bits he could see, but he knew he would need to flush them. One puncture had grazed the edge of the Mark itself and this one had begun to scab over already. The other three were swollen and still oozing sluggish blood. "Goddamn it—"

He needed water and a bandage. The water would have to wait, but the wrapping couldn't, unless he wanted to just lay down here and bleed, while the cat and the bear finished their wrestling match and decided to come find him to play with instead. He'd used his handkerchief on his improvised weapon, and it was now gritty with dust and sweat. He could tear a strip from his flannel shirt, maybe, though he wasn't sure that the obsidian was still sharp enough for cutting heavy cloth. If I'd kept my boot sheath on, I wouldn't be in this fix—he thought. Would've worn it, too, except for Sam giving me the scared puppy face. The amulet rocked, poking him with its horn. "Fine—except that I wanted to make this trip unarmed, just for him. Happy?"

Dean covered the worst—mouth—hole with his flannel cuff and clapped his left hand firmly over it, applying pressure as he gazed out over the top of the tall grass in front of him, thinking. All he could hear was the rustle of the breeze across the prairie, and the chirp of some unknown bird or bug somewhere nearby. Where the hell am I? It didn't look like the area around the Tower, except for the red clay earth. And how the hell am I supposed to get back?

Through the cave, sure—if it was still there and was not being guarded by an angry bear or a cat who seemed to think he should stay put. He'd been stupid enough to blindly follow that damn cat into that cell, and even if he made his way back to the cave, he wasn't sure he would be able to find the fissure where he and the creature had entered the Tower again. "Assuming it's a place I can even reach right now."

Back was not the way, then, almost never was, in fact. Better to push through whatever was in front of you. So—forward. To the trees up ahead, which he guessed might be a mile or two away. Bobby had taught them that, out on the plains at least, trees meant water. He hoped it'd be nice clean running water that he could use to rinse these aching wounds and then drink his fill.

First, though, a bandage. If his flannel was out, that left his t-shirt. Dean raised the collar of the black cotton shirt to his nose and took a cautious sniff, recoiling as the smell of sweaty, dank cloth hit him.

Idjit, Bobby seemed to say fondly in his ear. The Mark pulsed again. "Hey, you don't get to mock Bobby," he told it.

Even with the sweat, the shirt was the cleanest thing he had, so it'd have to do. He worked his arms out of his flannel shirt as carefully as he could, leaving the shortsleeved top. He stopped and considered whether pulling it straight off over his head was the best option. The bird-bug chirped again, and he raised up from his crouch and poked his head up over the grass tops. It was quiet and still out there. He sighed. "Here goes nothin'."

If he got back to Sam, one thing he was going to leave out of this little story was just how hard it was to get out of that damn t-shirt without jarring his right arm. Finally, after a couple minutes of contortions and cursing, he managed to work it off. At least the sleeve slide easily over the amulet and his wounded forearm onto the ground.

The breeze, so welcome after he'd escaped the cave and the bear, now sent a shiver across his body as it hit the half-dried sweat on his torso. Dean grabbed his flannel and managed to get it on, his clumsy right hand trembling with the effort of holding the fabric so that he could fasten a couple of buttons. He bent his elbow and raised his arm up above his heart to slow the bleeding, inspecting his forearm once more. His exertions hadn't helped anything there at all, had aggravated things it seemed. The deepest wound was still dripping down his arm and onto his pantleg. The other punctures were surrounded by swollen, tender skin, but scabs seemed to be starting to close over them.

Dean picked up his t-shirt and stared at it. Gonna have to tear it up, I guess. The obsidian might still be sharp enough for this job, anyway. Dropping the shirt in his lap, he grabbed the rock chunk and wedged it, sharp side up, between his knees. Then he found the bottom seam of the shirt and held it as tightly stretched as he could manage, bringing the cloth down over the corner of the rock and tugging it across. One pull—nothing tore. His second just stretched out the material, and he almost threw the shirt to the wind in frustration. But he took another breath, reset his grip on the cloth by twisting a bit of it around the palm of his clumsy hand, and brought it down a third time. He felt it give, heard a gorgeous ripping sound. "Ha! Yes!"

Once he'd started the tear, he found it was easy to rip the shirt from the bottom up to the collar. He pulled the halves apart, measured out the width for a strip of bandage, and repeated the process. When his right arm began throbbing in time to his efforts, he rested his forearm up on his chest and took the t-shirt strip in his teeth, keeping up the pace until the shirt lay in black jagged ruins in his lap, the collar and sleeve pieces forgotten and trailing threads by his knee.

Wrapping his forearm was easier, but not by much. He started by this elbow, pulling the cloth all the way around just above the worst of the teeth marks, bracing his arm against his stomach to keep the bandage tight. When he got close to the end of a strip, he tucked the tail bit underneath the growing bandage and started over fresh. The Mark disappeared under the black cloth but did not stop its rhythmic beat. If anything he felt it pick up the tempo as if in protest. "Suck it up," he told it through a grimace.

The strips made it down his arm and halfway back up to his elbow before he ran out. He finished his bandage with a simple over and under knot, pulling the loose side tight with his teeth. Not my best field work, he thought, inspecting his covered arm, but at least it'll keep me from bleeding all over myself for a while.

He pulled himself up, popping his head over the top of the grass again, but could see nothing. He realized that the bird-bug had gone silent, too—not a good sign, but he'd been lucky so far, so things were probably due to change any minute. He was not so lucky with the standing, though, as a wave of dizziness hit him as he uncurled from his crouch. He nearly landed back on his ass before he was able to shake it off. When he was reasonably sure that he wasn't going to entertain the bird-bug by taking a graceless back flop into the grass, he reached down for his jacket with his left hand, intending to pull it on over the bad arm. Something in his jacket pocket bumped up against his leg as he lifted it, and he stopped cold. What the hell was that?

Dean felt the object through the fabric. It was a bit oblong, hard in some places and a little squishy in others. He groaned, suddenly remembering, and reached in to pull out the apple that Sam had tossed him that morning. The thing was not in the best shape—its streaky red and yellow skin was massively bruised on one side. Bet my back looks just like that about now. But the skin hadn't split, somehow, and the fruit underneath was not completely pulped. It actually looked almost semi-edible. He bounced it once in his palm and grinned, pulling on his jacket and then reaching down for the obsidian which his clumsy hand was able to grasp long enough for him to straighten upright and drop it into his left pocket.

His stomach gurgled and his mouth watered as he contemplated the fruit in his hand. He tossed the apple up once more, caught it in his left palm. "Never thought I'd be so damn glad to see a mushy apple."

The amulet chimed and he nodded at it. "Thanks, Sammy."

So, I hope you follow me to the river and just a little bit further. And I would love to know what you think! Have I gone off the rails? Does anyone want to know what might happen next? Thank you for taking the time to read this!