AN: It's soooooo late, but I just wanted to get this out yet tonight! FWIW, I meant for the alpha to not be able to "swim" through the earth on her own, which is why there were two of the other gwyllgi that came up with her…but that was just a throw-away sentence. I didn't do a very good job of explaining. I guess readers can't just read my mind too! LOL
Some angst here, as promised, but also a fair bit of humor. Angst still to come later, because we can't just let 'em off too easily.
And if you've never seen the movie The Three Amigos, Google "you killed the invisible horseman." Do it.
Scootersmom: Thank you so much!
Lena: Okay, so sometimes you do get in my head. You'll see in this chapter which of your thoughts is spot on. And I always like your questions. Sometimes they give me ideas, sometimes they confirm the direction I was already going, and sometimes they show me details I've missed. Dean's fortune comes to bear in this chapter, I promise. And I'm so glad you enjoyed the jerk/bitch and Star Wars reference. And thank you for the lovely words about the action scenes.
BitterSweetJoy: Of course I want to answer your questions, especially when they are things I missed or didn't make clear in the story! I feel privileged to have readers who've chosen to take this little trip with me, and the least I can do is make it worth your time as much as I can. The questions you ask are good ones, and the comments you make are helpful.
DearHart: Angst here, angst next chapter, plenty of h/c for all! Promise!
The alpha's uninjured front paw reached back and Dean pushed down even harder, ignoring the screaming from his bad arm. He couldn't get it and she was going to kill him…and then there were hands on top of his and pushing down, and the skull blade suddenly went down. Sam. Once it started, it went in not just the length of the blade, but the entire shaft as well. The alpha's paw fell, useless, and her body gave one last, violent spasm and fell still.
Ten minutes earlier
Sam only distantly felt his battered body hit the hard ground. He laid there for a minute, not quite out, but not able to force his eyes open. Then hands were turning him, and a voice was saying, "Oh, my God. Sam? Sam, can you hear me?"
But the hands were too small and uncertain, the voice too high. And that, more than anything else, gave him the fuel to force his lids up. He licked his lips and focused as hard as his exhaustion allowed. "Lori? Where's Dean?"
"I don't know." Her hands hovered uncertainly over his shoulders, as if not sure where she could safely touch him. "Is all this blood yours? I need to call 911."
"No." Sam cleared his throat and said it again. "No, we put the trap spell back in place, but those things are still in the woods. We can't put anyone else at risk." He leveraged himself to his feet with nothing more than willpower. "Stay out of the woods! Call for a ride or whatever you have to do, but don't go in there."
Lori scowled. "And what do you think you're going to do?"
"Help Dean."
Later, he wouldn't remember his lurching, stumbling run back towards his brother. The only thing that would stick with him was the urgency, the fear that he never should have left Dean's side, and that he would be too late. And he almost was.
The alpha's death throes tossed both Winchesters off her body to land gracelessly on the cold ground. Dean ended up on his left side, which meant that his good arm was beneath him. His vision was hazy and he squinted for a moment, trying to figure out if it was the dark or if there was still dirt in the air that was making it so hard to see. He decided it was probably the injuries, considering he had no interest whatsoever in moving. It was like now that the immediate threat had been dealt with, his body had put up a sign that said, Closed for Repairs and refused to do anything else.
Sam was sprawled on his back in front Dean, only a few feet away. His face was turned toward his brother, and though his eyes were opened, he didn't appear to have any more impetus to move than Dean. "Y-you good, Sammy?" asked Dean a little hoarsely.
"Aces. You?"
Good, Sam's voice was clear. Though he obviously wasn't fighting fit, he was at least awake and in possession of all of his marbles. "Fan-fucking-tastic." Dean smiled lazily. "If I asked you to reach my gun, would you take it the wrong way?"
Sam snorted a laugh, then wrapped an arm over his torso. Dean frowned a little to see all the blood on his brother's shirt. "Do-don't make me laugh," gasped Sam. He caught his breath. "Why do we need a gun?"
"Sheriff will send help after we fire twice."
Sam shifted a little, but didn't get anywhere. "I, um, I'm not sure I can get at mine. Where's yours?"
This time Dean snorted. "In my pants." Life was far funnier than it should have been, especially since laughing hurt. Sam laughed. And groaned. And laughed again.
"Hang on." Dean had an idea. His right arm was completely useless, but maybe, just maybe he could roll a little. With a huff and more effort than it should have taken, he managed to flop over. Right onto his face. "Shit," he said, meaning it. Was there any part of his body that didn't hurt? He turned his head to look at Sam, who was outright giggling. Apparently, both Winchesters had lost their respective minds.
"I'm sorry, Dean." He actually sounded it. "That just…looked funny." Sam reached out a long arm and got his hand on Dean's back. He slid it down and pulled the gun. He couldn't quite get it to point up, so instead he sighted at a nearby tree he could hit from the low angle.
"Wait, wait," urged Dean suddenly. "We can't call anyone else in here – we didn't kill all of them."
"Ah, shit. You're right." Sam lowered the gun to the ground like it took a lot of effort. "We gotta get out of here. They're trapped again, but we'll have to come back."
Dean really hoped that could get out of there without running into any of the gwyllgis, because there was a zero percent chance he could fight off even a determined kitten right now. "Good thing you didn't shoot like that. You coulda killed the invisible horseman! You were supposed to fire in the air!" said Dean, suddenly remembering an old movie. He knew he should be moving, knew they had to get out of there, but he was more than a little loopy.
"Did you just quote The Three Amigos?" asked Sam, incredulous. Then both brothers were laughing harder than their injuries warranted. It sounded sort of like ha ha ow ha ha ugh ha ha oh, shit ha ha dammit ha ha for fuck's sake, stop laughing.
"Blood loss makes you act drunk, Sammy."
"You're worse. You're lying on your face cuz you can't even move."
"And you can?"
"I got the gun."
"Tell anyone you groped my gun and I'll kill you."
They couldn't help it. They started to laugh again, and it hurt just as much as before. Dean's mind was slow and muddy, but a few things coalesced. "Sam, we, uh, we can't stay here." The thought almost drifted away, but he ruthlessly pulled it back. "We got to get away from super bitch over there." Despite his best efforts, he started giggling again, and that set Sam off too.
But Sam must have been listening, because he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. By the way his head was hanging down, it couldn't have been easy. But Dean couldn't let his little brother show him up now. He raised himself up on his elbows and struggled to sit up. It made the woods dance a bit, but he did it. Yeah, me. Sam was up on his knees and pulling at Dean's jacket like he'd be able to help his brother up. Sure, bud. You look like a good breeze could take you down, but you go ahead and pull me up. Dean would have laughed at that, but he remembered just how much laughing hurt right now and opted to focus on getting the hell to his feet.
To that end, Dean batted Sam's hand away and put his good left hand flat against the ground, pulled heels back until his feet planted and heaved. Well, he sort of heaved. But, whatever. Now his feet were beneath him and he just needed to straighten out his legs and not puke or pass out. No prob. See? Now he was standing and…
Abort! Abort mission! The world was waving and his stomach was swirling and nothing was right. And he was faceplanted against a tree and holding onto it like a lover. Or a lifeline. And shit, his arm hurt. His ribs hurt. All of the things hurt. And life sucked, but…"Sammy?"
"Present."
Hey, look. Sam had his own tree to love on. His eyes were half-mast, and the need to protect Sammy sobered Dean up like nothing else could have. His clothes were tacky with blood, and he could feel the warmth spreading on his arm again, but the rest of him was feeling cold. Way too much experience with injuries told him it was time to go now or he'd lost his chance and find himself eating dirt. He pushed himself upright, having to wait for the horizon to steady, and his stomach with it. Blood loss or concussion? Who knows?
"Okay, c'mon, Sammy. Time for good nurses and hot drugs. Or the other way around." Hey, Sam was standing upright. Mostly. "Atta boy."
Dean steeled his resolve and steadied his legs, and pulled Sam's arm across his shoulders. The first step almost ended up with them both eating dirt as Sam's ankle decided that would be a great time to remember that it was full of teeth marks. But somehow, Dean was pulling Sam up and Sam was pulling Dean up and they were walking or staggering and making progress.
Dean was quite certain that the woods weren't supposed to wave like that and he knew he was dripping blood as he went, leaving a lovely trail, but it all faded.
Step.
Step.
Get Sammy out.
Step.
Lean on a tree.
Catch his breath.
Sammy's tipping – steady him! "C'mon, man, keep your eyes open. Sammy. Listen to me. We're not dying in this damn woods." Was he slurring? Didn't matter. Couldn't matter.
Get.
Sammy.
Out.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean said they had to get out, and Sam knew he was right. He also knew that he wasn't really firing on all cylinders. See, I listen to your car crap sometimes. But he was so tired. More tired than he could ever remember feeling, like he'd been awake for a month straight. And, not to whine like a little bitch (as Dean would say), but how many freaking places had he been hurt?
Getting to his hands and knees made the darkness lick at the edges of his sight. But Dean was waiting on him. He put a hand out to help his brother up, but it was, predictably batted away. He just wasn't sure Dean was totally capable of standing on his own right now. He was covered in blood. Of course, Sam was too. But he found it much more motivation to think about his brother's injuries. In fact, the thought of Dean trapped like an animal waiting for slaughter in some underground lair brought a welcome burn of anger. Welcome, because it propelled him to his feet. Well, if propelled could mean dragged upward with the help of a sturdy tree and some judicious swearing.
But he was upright. Bonus.
Sam's stupid eyelids were so heavy. Like boulders. Or. Um. Heavy rocks.
He looked over at Dean and wondered why his brother was kissing a tree. It didn't look very comfortable. Damn he hoped there weren't any more monsters. They would be the world's easiest prey right now for the…uh…monsters…that were called…somethinglongandhardtosay.
Sam's head snapped up, which was a pretty bad idea, given that the movement move his brain throb in time with his ankle. And thigh. And he didn't want to think about this any more. Dean pulled Sam's arm across his shoulders, and it was such a familiar situation Sam almost relaxed.
No. Relaxing bad. Stay awake. Help Dean. Or be helped. He wasn't sure which was happening now. He was sure they almost bit it. It seemed almost miraculous that they didn't fall.
It got harder to walk, mostly because Sam started to feel like he was floating. He couldn't feel his feet any more. Or his legs. And hey, nothing hurts. That's nice.
Soooooo nice.
"—my…sten to…dying…"
Huh?
Walk. Dean wanted him to walk. He could do tha --