I don't own have anything to do with Supernatural, but the story itself is mine.
Hi! Once again, thanks so much for all your reviews. I'm stoked that you all love this so much. I've had a blast writing it. Enjoy!
Dean slowly opened his eyes, vaguely aware of the low growling echoing around him and the sound of panting. It took several seconds to realize the panting sound was coming from his own ragged breathing, a direct result to the pain in his chest. Several more seconds passed before Dean opened his eyes, using his other senses to absorb his surroundings as he tried to reorient himself. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something wasn't quite right, or maybe that it finally was. And then, in a flash, everything came rushing back at him in a flood of memories and emotions.
"Sam!" Dean hollered, fear and apprehension at what he might not hear overtaking him.
"I'm over here," Sam called back in a panic. "Dean, hurry!"
Sam's alive! That was all it took for Dean to spring to action, although he still wasn't entirely sure where he was; which dimension he was in. Finally opening his eyes, Dean stretched his arms forward, readying himself to crawl to Sam's aid. The pain in his leg brought him to another halt, and Dean looked back, seeing the blood pouring from the open wound in his right leg.
A slight smile crossed his lips despite the stabbing pains he was now experiencing, because he knew what the pain meant. He was back home...his home. And the Sam now slowly backing into the wall with the Pathuma hot in pursuit was his Sam. But this was far from a happy reunion, because his wish home had brought him right back into the middle of the original fight. And if things didn't go differently this time, the whole nightmare might happen all over again.
For the life of him, Dean didn't know why he'd chosen this moment to return to. He'd realized, when making the wish, that the only way to guarantee his return home would be to request a specific time and place that he'd already experienced. But why this one time and this one place of all choices, he had no idea. Maybe it was because it was the last link to the other world that he'd had. Maybe because it was the first place that come to mind as he lay dying, the six inch claws of the Pathuma impaled painfully into his heart. But it was probably because Dean felt he had unfinished business to attend to...and Dean wasn't one to let things go.
He remembered this moment; remembered the sequence of events that had taken place before, and knew the same would happen again if he didn't act quickly. Sam was less than two feet from the wall now, any second his back would hit solid rock and the beast would spring.
Dean struggled to his feet, both reveling at and cursing the movement and feeling that had returned to his legs the minute he returned to this world. Sam still held his knife tightly between closed fingers. It wouldn't fall to the ground until the creature attacked, and Dean knew it would be of no use anyway. His eyes scanned the room, knowing the backpack should be nearby, and knowing the necessary weapon was inside. Seeing the pack in the middle of the floor, where Dean remembered it should be, he lunged for it, ignoring the screaming pains encompassing his body and pretending the black spots dancing in front of his eyes were just figments of his imagination.
Both knees buckled as Dean reached the pack, taking him down quickly. The impact jarred him enough that he had to take another few seconds to recover, just enough time for the Pathuma to finally pounce on Sam. Like before, Sam landed on the floor and the creature sank its teeth into Sam's shoulder, eliciting the same agonized scream. But this time, Dean was ready. He drew out the gun from the pack and steadied his aim, praying that his foggy vision wouldn't impede his shots.
The first shot missed, pinging off the wall and sending fragments of rock flying in all directions. But the next shot was dead on, and the creature went down, falling half on top of Sam. Dean could see the thing was still breathing, but he didn't want to risk hitting his brother. Once again climbing painfully to his feet, Dean staggered towards the two, where Sam was already struggling to climb out from under the beast. Dean reached down, offering his hand and using his remaining strength to pull Sam the rest of the way. They both leaned heavily against the wall, it being the only thing holding either of them up.
Dean aimed the weapon at the Pathuma again, and pulled the trigger, emptying every bullet into creature's body, ensuring once and for all that the thing was finally dead. And then he collapsed, pulling Sam with him.
Tears came to Dean's eyes, his first reaction to turn away from his brother so Sam couldn't see his weakness. But for once, Dean realized he didn't care. Everything emotion he'd felt throughout the entire ordeal, starting with watching Sam getting hurt, and then seeing him die, waking up in a strange world and not knowing how or why he was there, it all welled into one giant ball of emotion and erupted from deep within, pouring out of him like molten lava from a volcano. Dean desperately pulled Sam toward him, squeezing him against his chest, refusing to let him go.
"Oh God, I thought I was never going to see you again," Dean sobbed into Sam's hair, not even caring that he was allowing forbidden tears to soak into his brother's long mane. "I thought you were dead."
"Dean, it's OK. I'm fine. I'm here," Sam soothed, confusion in his face and voice. But he accepted the embrace, welcomed it.
They stayed that way for several minutes, two brothers reconnecting with each other after a long absence. But while Sam was open to Dean's allowance of their once in a lifetime chick flick moment, he had no clue as to what prompted it. He'd never seen his brother so worked up over what was seemingly a routine hunting case. As far as injuries went, Sam's were relatively minor. The beast was dead; their job complete; and there was nothing more to worry about. So why was Dean acting as though his life had just flashed before his eyes?
If blood loss hadn't weakened Dean to the point of collapse, he probably never would have released his hold on Sam. But he had two gaping wounds, and the blood had been flowing for several minutes without cease, and a woozy feeling finally overcame Dean. He fell back against the wall, fingers sliding lethargically against Sam's back. Now wasn't the time to be asking about Dean's sudden change in character.
"Dean, you're hurt," Sam exclaimed, pressing his hand firmly against Dean's stomach wound.
"Just a scratch," Dean assured his brother, although the weakness in his voice told a different story. "And you're not exactly unscathed either, little brother."
Sam's eye's traveled to the wound on his shoulder where Dean was currently looking, and shrugged. "If there's one thing I learned from having a spinal cord injury, its to welcome pain. Pain is good."
Dean smiled back, finally understanding what it was that Sam had been going through with his recovery. "You have no idea, Sam," Dean agreed, looking down at his own legs as he welcomed the pain from the wound. "But somehow, we have to get down off this mountain. Can you make it to the backpack? Get the first aid kit?"
Sam nodded, slowly climbing to his still weak feet and teetering across the floor of the mineshaft to where the pack lay. On the way back he retrieved the rest of their fallen gear, collecting the knife and his cane so he wouldn't need to backtrack again for them. Lowering himself back against the wall, Sam eyed Dean with concern. Looking into Dean's eyes, Sam could see his brother's soul. Something had changed. And he couldn't tell if it was for the better or the worse. But Dean was different. He seemed older. Wiser.
"Just do the minimum for now," Dean ordered, noticing Sam was about to prepare the suture kit. "We'll wrap it tight and sew it up later, when we're at a motel."
Pausing, Sam looked up, mouth open and ready to protest. But Dean put a stop to it with one hand held firmly in the air, palm open. "I just want to get out of here," Dean begged, pulling himself back to his feet, most of his weight still leaned against the wall of the mine shaft. He chuckled, a small smile forming on his face as he faced his brother. "Boy, Sam, aren't we a pair. We can both barely walk. This is gonna be fun."
Smiling back, Sam slowly crouched to eye level with Dean's leg wound. With ease of experience, he tightly wrapped the bandage around his brother's leg, at the very least stopping the flow of blood. After doing the same with Dean's abdomen, Dean reciprocated with a tight bandage to Sam's shoulder.
"Think we can make it back down?" Sam asked, failing to hide his apprehension. Their conditions hadn't escaped him any more than they had Dean, but unlike his brother, Sam didn't find it amusing. Rationalizing the situation, Sam had already calculated the chances that both of them could make it safely down the mountain, and it wasn't good. It was all Sam could do to make it up the path, and that was with Dean's help through a lot of it. But Dean was in no condition to walk down without assistance, much less assist Sam. Contrary to Dean's gung ho attitude, the reality of the situation was that they were in a lot of trouble.
Taking a deep breath, Sam slung the re-packed backpack over his shoulder and reached for his cane, gripping it tightly in his left hand while offering the opposite shoulder to Dean. Recalcitrance clouded Dean's mind and he shrugged off Sam's offer for assistance, and pretending not to notice the fact that he swayed unsteadily the minute he pushed off from the wall. But he only made it a few feet before stubbornness gave way to rationality and he laid his arm over Sam's shoulders. "Let's get out of here, little brother," he said, trying to smile, offering a facade to the pain he was in.
Sam nodded, fierce determination on his face, because he was now holding the responsibility to get them out of this god-forsaken place when he could barely get himself in hours before.
It took three times as long to get down the mountain as it had taken to get up. Insisting on stop after stop to recharge their beyond sapped strength, Sam persisted on getting them down the mountain. By the time they made it to the car Sam's already weak legs felt like old rubberbands, and he stumbled over his feet several times just in distance it took to get to the driver's side after leaving Dean in the passenger seat. But as weak as he was, Dean was worse. The bandages, though tight, had not completely stopped the bleeding and Dean was now practically comatose from blood loss. The last hundred or so feet had been all Sam, the only indication that Dean was even still alive being his shallow breaths of warm air hitting Sam's neck.
Sam climbed into the car, wasting precious seconds as he had to wait through the trembling of exhausted limbs before he was able to regain control of his feet and place them on the pedals. Once he was able, Sam floored the gas and tore down the road in search of a motel, wishing Dean would allow for a hospital instead.
The rundown sign of the Roadway Inn barely showed in the pitch black of the night, and Sam had to slam on the brakes, sending the car into a tailspin, before he could pull into the gravel parking lot. Reaching into the back seat, Sam grabbed his cane. He paused, taking barely a second to think, and then grabbed its twin. He was far too exhausted to worry about vanity right now. And at that point his choices pretty much seemed to be use two canes or collapse on the floor in front of the hotel clerk. Any idiot could reason out the right choice.
"Dean, I'll be right back," Sam announced, although he was reasonably certain Dean didn't hear him and would never even know he'd been gone. And he was off, determinedly making his way to the lobby for a room key.
Returning victoriously several minutes later, Sam fell back into the driver's seat and started the car, rounding the corner to their room. It took every remaining ounce of strength he had to pull Dean from the car and get his brother's limp body into the room and on the first bed. Yet he still had to stitch Dean up, and hope it wouldn't be too late.
Sam set to work, pushing his exhausted body to the limit as he prepared a needle and began the tedious task of sewing up the many gashes covering Dean's body. It took almost an hour to clean, stitch, and bandage the wounds, and then Sam set to work on his own wounds, stitching them awkwardly.
He had barely finished his own surgical work before collapsing on the bed beside Dean, utterly exhausted. One would have thought that would be enough to keep him unaware when Dean started mumbling in his unconsciousness. But Sam's eyes shot wide open as Dean began to mutter the coherent, but oddly illogical words. It wasn't so much that Dean was speaking, so much as what he was saying that brought Sam from his slumber, and as he propped himself up on his elbows he eyed Dean nervously. It's just dreams, Sam thought to himself, desperately trying to give his mind comfort. But as Dean continued to mumble, Sam anxiously found himself wondering it what Dean was saying was possible. He sounds so convinced.
Hey guys, so I decided to take this at least another chapter. I want to end it right, and I just don't feel I'm there yet. But I also didn't want to keep you waiting too long. So, I hope you enjoy this, and I'll do my best to post again real soon.