AN: There's a fair amount of naughty words in this one. It just kind of happened.
Lena, before you ask, yes, Dean's in this one. ;-)
* * *
It's so hard to do
And so easy to say
But sometimes, sometimes
You just have to walk away
Walk Away by Ben Harper
* * *
Dean didn't look back, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep going if he did. Especially if Sam looked at him or, even worse, said his name.
Dean had seen some football players working out before a game on TV once. Each athlete wore a harness with a rope to a heavy weight that they dragged behind them as they ran. That's what Dean felt like leaving Sam behind. Like his body got heavier with every step.
What the hell was he thinking leaving Sam behind like that? I was thinking I couldn't get him out, Dean reminded himself.
And there was the problem. Dean was supposed to be able to fix it. To watch Sam's back. Not leave him behind hurting, and though he covered it pretty well, scared.
Not helpless, Dean reminded himself. Awake, armed, and a damn formidable Hunter even flat on his back. Dean was well aware of Sam's doubts about his own Hunting ability, but Dean didn't share them. Sam had slipped back into the life like pulling on a well worn glove. He hadn't really been in Hunting shape at first, but he was far from out of shape, and had quickly gotten back up to speed, enough that Dean no longer held back in sparring, for the first time ever. That brought the number of people he sparred with all out up to exactly two.
Dean rode out the resulting pang over Dad stoically. It was getting harder to believe that they'd ever find him. Some of the things they'd been through...if Dad was really okay, how could he stay away? Because he trusts us to watch each other's backs. And yeah, A for effort, F for execution on Dean's part.
In a very short time, the woman in white, Bloody Mary, and a sadistic shapeshifter had taken their shots at Sam, and gotten their licks in. But Sam had bounced back with impressive resilience, especially given how little he slept and ate, and in the middle of mourning the woman he loved. Sometimes, Dean thought Sam was the strongest of the three of them.
And if Sam didn't think he was a great Hunter, he should revisit their trip to Blackwater Ridge. Dean winced, partly from his ankle, which was happily swelling as he went, but more from the reminder of getting strung up next to the guy they were there to save and needing Sam to find him and cut him down. Sam had come through in a big way. Dean's proudest moment from that fight? Watching Sam sweep the entire little family behind him, ready to take on the wendigo barehanded before letting it get to the civilians. The picture at once made Dean all but glow with pride over the man his little brother had become and get a lump in his throat at Sam's readiness to throw himself into danger.
Can't have it both ways. Dean hated that phrase.
He snagged up a sturdy branch that looked about the right length. He might chafe at needing a literal crutch, except pride went out the window when Sam was hurt. He'd never done well with the kid hurt, especially when he couldn't fix it.
"Daddy, Sammy's butt is red. Don't forget the cream."
"Daddy, Sammy's crying cuz his teef hurt. I got the 'lynol."
"Hey Sammy, you wanna a band aid with a bear or elephant? Yeah, bears are awesome and tough. You think Mr. Bear protects you when you're sleepin'? No?" Surprise, then pleased comprehension when a chubby finger jabbed him in the chest. "That's right, smarty. I protect you. That's what big brothers do."
"I know you don't like the pink stuff, Sammy, but your neck's gonna keep hurting and you're gonna keep feeling all hot and yucky unless you keep taking it. Hey, let's pretend it's super hero juice! I'll fly you around if you drink it all."
"Lemme hold this on your lip and it will feel better in a couple minutes. Promise. And no more climbing on the counter to get Uncle Bobby's Oreos! I know you like them. Just give him your sad eyes and he'll give you some. Yup. Just like that."
"Whoa, dude. Your first stitches, and they're on your chin! Listen, I'll make funny faces while the doc is doin' 'em and if you hold still, I'll read you whatever books you want." A sigh. "Yes, even The Fire Cat."
"Slow it down. Here, feel me breathing? Try to breathe nice and slow, with me. You're okay. You just got the wind kicked outta you. That's it. Good job. You know what ghosts like to chew? Boo-boo gum Hey! That is not a stupid joke. Let's get you home, then I'll go have a little talk with those boys about four third graders going after one first grader. No, I'll be fine."
"Squeeze as hard as you need to. I don't care if you leave finger marks on my arm. Doc says you'll probably pass out when they set it, and that's okay too. I won't even make fun of you." A crack, a strangled cry, both of which hurt Dean far more than the bruises he did gain on his forearm. "You still with me? Badass. That's my boy. Hey dude, how's a hippo like a Zippo?"
"Few more steps and we'll be back to the car and you can sit down. You gonna hurl? Yeah, I gotcha. Blood loss is a bitch. There you go. You wanna wait for Dad to get done burning the bones to do your stitches, or do you want me to stitch it right now? You sure? Okay, just lie back and count to ten while I clean it. Hey, Sammy? Why did the chicken cross the playground?"
A card is addressed to "Sammy the geek Winchester" in the freshman dorms at Stanford. On the outside is a pig dressed in sunglasses and a bikini. Inside are three one hundred dollar bills and a handwritten note that reads: "A little birdie in Minnesota said you're off work for a couple weeks with a screwed up knee. This should help tide you over. And for old time's sake, how can you tell when Dracula has a cold? By the coffin. Don't roll your eyes. And be more careful, bitch." When Dean got Sam from Stanford years later, the card was on the mantel.
Anger. One hand keeping Sam from falling over, the other gesturing at the bartender. "Why the fuck did you keep serving him? If he has alcohol poisoning, you're paying for the hospital bill and I'm taking it out of your hide! Yeah, I'm sure he did look like he needed it -- he buried his girlfriend yesterday. Did you seriously just ask me that? I sure as hell am not paying for his last two drinks." Much more softly. "C'mon, Sammy. Let's get out of here. Just walk to the door, then I'll carry you if you need me to. Don't give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing you pass out. Yeah, man. I know you miss her, but this isn't the way." Readjusting his grip, then speaking fiercely. "Not everyone, Sam. You're not losing me." Two steps out the door before the inevitable collapse. "Holy shit, you got heavy."
Shooting something that looked just like him? Easy. Especially when just seconds before it had had its hands locked around Sam's neck. Agreeing that it wasn't safe for Sam to go to the hospital was much harder. "Shut up and suck on more ice chips. Your throat closes up, you're going to end up in the hospital with a tube down your throat. Remember how miserable Dad was when that happened to him? Yeah, he pulled it out, then they sedated him and shoved it back in." He tucked one more homemade ice pack against Sam's back and held his shoulder as he arched against the intrusion, not letting go until the lean body relaxed again. "Yes, I left some ice for other people. Probably. Dude, your bruises have bruises. You don't do this, you aren't going to be able to move tomorrow." Dean eyed his work critically. "Maybe a little more ice...hey, is that any way to talk to the guy who's gonna get your coffee?"
The last thought reminded Dean of Sam's parting words as he'd first set out to get help. You know, right before Dean had left him behind.
The ground under Dean's right foot slid away a little and he swore as the bad ankle turned, very nearly sending him tumbling. And shit did that hurt. Dean was forced to stop for a minute. He leaned hard on his walking stick, breathing heavily and swearing. He didn't have time for this!
A small sound, out of place in the forest, caught Dean's attention, and he eased his Colt out of his pocket, grateful he'd been moving by the light of the moon rather than using his flashlight. He only had the seven rounds in his gun, having left the rest of the ammo with Sam, so he had to be smart about it. He statued and listened for all he was worth.
There it was again. A sniffling sound that he'd swear was human. It sounded like someone was trying very hard not to cry. Playing a hunch, Dean called out softly. "Grace Harris? Is that you? I'm an FBI agent and we've been looking for you."
Another sniffle, then a very young voice said, "Are you real? I wanna go home!"
Despite everything that had gone wrong, Dean smiled. The kid was okay! "Grace, I'm real, I promise. My name is Dean. I'm gonna turn on my flashlight, okay?" She made a sound of assent, so he turned it on. Though it was angled toward the ground, he could make out the child blinking at him from 20 feet away.
She looked like she'd spent a while in the woods. Her hair was a tangled mess, matted with twigs and leaves, and her face and clothes were filthy. But she was standing and talking and alive, which was more than Dean had honestly expected.
"Are you hurt?" he asked gently. She shook her head.
"I'm just hungry and thirsty and scared," she said in a small voice. "I had so many nightmares, and then they just let me go. But I don't know how to get home."
Dean put away the gun and instead pulled out the water bottle Sam had forced him to take. His M 'n' M's were in the same pocket, where Sam must have slipped them, for which he was grateful. "Here. Have the water and candy. If you can walk a ways, we'll get where we can call for help. Then we'll call your parents and get you whatever you want to eat, okay?" He tucked the walking stick under his armpit and held out a hand invitingly.
Suddenly, Grace rushed at him and threw her arms around him. "Dean, I wanna go home!"
Dean patted her back. "You've been so brave," he said with complete honesty. She'd already survived a lot, and he was impressed by her resilience. "Drink the water right now, then you can eat the M 'n' M's while we walk."
The girl disentangled herself and gulped the water. She had the candy gone even faster, and Dean was disappointed that he didn't have anything else for her. He estimated that they were about two miles yet from cell service and hoped she had it in her to go that far. She didn't look like it.
"What if the nightmare man comes?" she asked, scrubbing at her eyes again.
"The nightmare man?" Dean had a feeling the oneiroi had only let her go because it had new prey trapped.
"He's made out of oil and he put me in there." Grace pointed behind her and Dean shown the flashlight that direction. There was a tangle of thick tree roots that formed a nearly impenetrable cage against the trunk of a weeping willow. One corner of it had a hole large enough for a determined child to crawl through. Dean ground his teeth. If Grace had been in there, they could have walked right past without finding her.
"If he comes, I'll shoot him. I'll keep you safe."
Grace gave him a little smile. "Okay," she said, looking at him adoringly. Heh. Chicks of any age love me, Dean thought, smiling back. He hadn't needed the extra motivation, but now he had yet another reason to hurry. On cue, a shotgun sounded in the distance and Dean's heart lurched. All his instincts said to hurry back to Sam, but his head knew better. He'd already covered a good eight miles; going back didn't make logical sense.
And there was tough little Grace to take care of.
For all her enthusiasm, though, the child didn't get far. She was hungry and exhausted. She just couldn't continue. In his head, Dean cursed Winchester luck and hard decisions and ugly Greek monsters. Then he sucked it up and helped her climb onto his back.
Unlike Sam, Grace could not defend herself, and there was no way he was leaving her alone out there. His ankle would just have to deal.
It was just as difficult and painful and miserable as he'd expected. Trying to distract both of them, Dean told stories about little Sammy growing up until he ran out of breath for it. Then Grace told him about her little sister Emma pulling the heads off her Barbies and coloring all over Grace's backpack.
Then she fell silent too, her head resting on his shoulder.
They staggered on through the interminable trees. Somehow, Dean never actually fell, but that was a combination of luck and sheer determination more than coordination. The ankle, then the entire leg screamed at every step until his gait was more stagger / drag than normal walking. Dean's world narrowed to keep moving and don't drop the kid.
They'd been going for a hundred years, give or take, when a buzzing made Dean startle. Grace barely even reacted, but she didn't fall either, so he'd take it as a win. It buzzed again before his mind realized it was his phone.
His phone?! Holy crap, he had service!
Dean fumbled twice before getting it open. "Yeah?"
"Dean Winchester!" yelled the person on the other end. "What the hell are you doing?"
* * *
AN: So many flashbacks! It's all Jenjoremy's fault. (Bet she had no idea how many times I'd throw her under the bus when she gave me this prompt!) But it was soooooo fun to write! It was a challenge to make the little vignettes work without Sam's side of the conversation or much exposition, but a good challenge.
A quick note: not only is The Fire Cat a real book, it was my favorite and I probably made my parents read it 738063158 times.
supernaturalsammy67: Thank you yet again! I referenced the Skin episode even more in this one -- such a good ep.
Jenjoremy: As you know, I fixed the thing with adrenaline and mayonnaise in the last chapter (after laughing at myself a lot). Sylvester chases Tweety, but I think he also tries to teach his kid to catch mice and always fails. I don't especially mind mice myself, but the thought of a whole bunch crawling over me when I couldn't get away? Well, I might just give myself nightmares! I really hope these flashbacks were what you had in mind.
JaniceC678: Luckily, as cat owners, we don't have to worry about mice here. Not that fatso and the old man could catch any, but their presence alone seems to deter rodents. I'm not afraid of mice per se, but I really don't want them crawling on me!
Long Live BRUCAS: Definitely! I just have to torture them for a bit first...
Timelady66: I literally read your story with my mouth hanging open, then read it out loud to my entire family! Oh. My. Gosh. Again, as a farm girl, I'm not real squeamish, but holy cannoli at seeing such a huge rat. I laughed and laughed over you saying you'd get the tree off you and beat Dean out if the woods!
Christine: Ah, I am familiar with having an asshole brain, though I never heard it called that (and I love the turn of phrase). Sorry for the super creepy last chapter. The whole trapped thing freaks me out all by itself. Yeah, Dean isn't doing so great either...hating leaving Sam behind SO much.
stedan: Thank you! You're so kind! Yeah, I wouldn't do the periodic table, that's for sure. Honestly, I'd probably write a story in my brain. It's what I did as a kid whenever I was bored.
Kathy: I see comments from you for the first three chapters, so we're getting there. NEVAH made me laugh. I can't take credit for this premise -- it's all Jenjoremy. I knew you'd like the flashbacks and want more explanation too...I bet even more after this chapter! You said something here which is so spot on that I'll have to come back to it later. And no, I'm not telling you what!
MewWinx96: Oh, thank you so much! You're very kind!
muffinroo: I had a feeling that the mouse attack would push some people's buttons. Sorry about that...