AN: Well, this took a while, mostly since the first version sucked, but also because real life likes to rudely insert itself. I switched POV mid-chapter, which I don't usually do, but I think I had to.
Thanks to Janice for beta above and beyond the call of duty (again).
* * *
Dean had been closer than he should have been to an explosion before. (It was sort of a job hazard of hunting with Caleb.) So Dean was familiar with the change of pressure that pushed on your eyeballs and inner ears and punched into your sternum and how it would knock you out cold if you didn't fight it. He knew he had to force his blood pressure up and strained to do that as he and Sam fell, knowing that it would be fatal to lose consciousness in the water.
The shock of the freezing water and the pain in both arms helped. (And why was his right arm hurting? Had he landed on it too?) He would have been fine except that he inadvertently gasped and filled his nose and mouth with heavily mineral-flavored water. He sat up in the shallow stream to cough and hack. He couldn't even curse when a second, much smaller explosion broke out. Fortunately, it was small enough or maybe far enough away to not be a real threat.
Still hacking, Dean jolted to see Sam, who he'd automatically hauled up with him, sagging back toward the water. Sam wasn't quite out – his eyes were open – but he wasn't really aware either.
"Sammy," Dean coughed out. He shook his brother a little with his good – well, better anyway – arm.
Sam reached up and shoved his sodden hair out of his face. His eyes were sharper and more aware now as he looked back at Dean. "Where are you hurt?" He asked, then his eyes widened and his voice changed to shocked. "Whoa."
Dean followed Sam's gaze as he moved to get them out of the freaking ice bath. The scene was straight out of some film director's dystopian imaginings. Fanning out in a 180 degree arc from the spot where the hydra had been having its fit, trees were in varying degrees of blown over. Some were uprooted or torn in half and closest to the obvious explosion epicenter only stumps were left. What little ground vegetation remained there was blackened and flattened. A few small fires flickered around the devastation. But perhaps the most impressive thing was the reason that there was only a half a circle of impact. The other half had been buried when a big section of the hill had come down, leaving a still-settling pile of dirt mixed with uprooted plants and trees.
Turning his attention back to their immediate situation, he was happy to note that Sam was doing as much work as Dean to get them out of the little creek. His quick recovery was reassuring.
"Just my arm," Dean said, remembering Sam's question. He should have said arms, plural. He started shivering and couldn't stop. "And cold as hell. You?"
"J-just cold," Sam answered, which was a dirty lie, though Dean knew what he was really saying was that he didn't have any new hurts caused by the explosion. He kicked at something sticking out of the ground in front of them. Dean stared at it, realizing that he was looking at a crankshaft.
"I don't think we're driving the Jeep out of here," he joked rather than let himself contemplate just how close a piece of debris that big and heavy had come to them. If they'd jumped later, if they'd been anywhere except under water, if, if, if.
Sam snorted a slightly drunken-sounding laugh. "And I think we found your work-around."
Dean looked around a little better. He was pretty sure one smoking pile nearby was hydra-goo. Whatever other little bits might be left of the monster were either burned or buried. He sputtered his own laugh and the jostling hurt his arm. "Those effing hicks still almost killed us with their stupid dynamite. But it did kind of solve the hydra problem, I guess."
Sam studied the malformed slope. He too was shivering constantly now. "Guess we have to walk. But, uh, how do we get up there?"
"This way." Dean had been thinking about that. Obviously, they couldn't climb over the still-shifting loose dirt, nor was he willing to cross the stream to get around it, just to have to cross back later, since the only reliable way to find their way back was retracing the way they'd come. Dean wasn't about to have them get lost in the woods and die from hypothermia after all they'd just survived. So, they would climb the slope as close to the stream as they could, moving carefully past the disrupted area.
Climbing over uneven, uncertain footing without using your arms at all (since the only way to stabilize the bad arm enough that he didn't feel like he was going to pass out was to hold it with the other arm) was nearly impossible. It might have been literally impossible without Sam's help. Sam had offered to rig him up a sling with one of the shirts he was wearing, but Dean couldn't bend the arm enough to make it feasible. So it was that Dean found himself leaning on Sam for support and balance and realized with a bit of a shock that somehow Sam was suddenly big enough and strong enough to make that possible. When had THAT happened?
"Good news," Dean panted when they were finally at the top of the ridge. "I'm hardly cold anymore." Oddly, his right forearm was feeling hot.
Sam's only answer was a hum, which Dean didn't like at all. "That cut on your arm still bleeding?" he asked, wishing he could finally check out all of Sam's injuries. Sam just made another noncommittal noise. Dean didn't stop walking, the path the Jeep had traveled on their drive out clearly visible even in the dark. "C'mon, Sammy. Use your words. I need to hear you say you're good."
"'M fine," Sam mumbled, not petulant, just exhausted. For once, Dean would have preferred petulant or even angry.
Kid was probably crashing, Dean realized. And who could blame him? Pain, blood loss, exertion, and repeated adrenaline dumps in one night – and it wasn't even dawn yet. Dean felt a little floaty himself and knew there was a very real danger that they wouldn't make it back even though it was less than a mile. But they were moving and they were going to keep moving. Even though he knew they both needed to rest, he also knew that between their injuries and the cold, going into shock was a very real possibility, and they needed to get somewhere warm before stopping.
"I hope that ugly truck has a good heater," Dean said, trying to get Sam talking. Thinking about heat only made him colder, though. He wished they had a safe way to get dry clothes out of the super survival basement. Did they dare stop back at the house they'd been staying in to get their stuff? They better...and they better hope that the cops didn't figure out the source of the explosion too soon. Actually, there were a lot of logistics they had to work out (like where the hell his car was!) while getting out of town pretty damn fast.
Sam hadn't answered, so Dean tried again. "Let's just leave Lance and Dave in the back of the truck when we head into town and go like eighty over the biggest bump we can find. See how much air they can get." Dean gave a long whistle, sliding high to low and making a childish explosion sound at the end.
Sam chuckled, just a little, but it was still a win in Dean's book. "Back up to th' top of th' hill on 12th and slam on the brakes," he suggested. "Who d'ya think would fly farther?"
Dean laughed and it turned into a grunt. His elbow was swelling badly, and he should probably cut the sleeves to relieve the pressure, but he wasn't sure that they'd start again if they stopped walking. Trying to keep the pain out of his voice, he answered, "Well, Nancy Lancy's heavier. Get a lotta good momentum."
"Dave's more ayo – aero – aerodynamic," stuttered Sam, which would have been pretty funny if he wasn't starting to sound stoned, which could be from the cold or blood loss or even plain old shock.
Dean tried to get them to move faster and discovered he didn't seem to have a faster setting. In fact, if anything, Sam was helping him more than he was helping Sam. He needed to do better, get them somewhere safe and warm where they could tend their injuries and call in the cavalry and...and...they were veering off the path. Dean corrected their course. He needed to talk to keep them both awake. Anger could be a good way to ramp up adrenaline, he thought.
"How'd you get out of the zip ties anyway, James Bond?" he asked, going for teasing and missing by a mile.
"Hm. Yeah, you tied me to a Jeep," Sam said as if he'd just remembered. "And went to fight Male-maf—mafelcent – the Sleeping Beauty monster without me. And – and I had to save you!"
That was technically true. "Um –" Dean needed to get keep the conversation going, needed to keep Sam awake. And himself. He tried to catch the thread of that thought and noted, with muted alarm, that he was leaning on Sammy instead of the other way around. But that thought drifted away too.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Sam wasn't going to panic. He really wasn't. Not even when Dean began to lean more and more heavily on him and stopped talking.
Not when they were hardly shivering anymore. Which was NOT a good thing when you hadn't found a source of heat to warm up.
It was kind of ironic, really. Sam scratched and clawed and fought over and over for scraps of independence, for more control over his own life. And now that he had some big, fat decisions that he had to make on his own, he found himself wishing for someone to tell him what to do. In the back of his mind, he knew his priorities: get them (Dean) somewhere both warm and far from the crazies, get word to the Hunter community (whether he called Dad, Bobby, or Caleb, that ought to be a super fun call), and get medical help.
Sam knew they'd have to go to a hospital. Something was wrong with Dean's arm, wrong enough that he couldn't bend it and his sleeve was taut over the swelling. They were both dangerously cold and covered in cuts that had been liberally smeared with mud and sweat before they took a bath in a dirty stream. Even if he had the expertise to handle all of that for Dean himself, Sam was feeling light-headed and sluggish and had to wonder if it was blood loss. He was having trouble concentrating on keeping them moving and his eyes open, but he was doing better than his brother. Dean's legs kept moving, but he was completely on autopilot now, "out on his feet" as the saying goes.
Sam just hoped that he could figure out the right thing to tell the doctors and police, since the Winchesters' condition would immediately warrant a call to the latter.
With a start, Sam realized they were nearly to the open area behind the cabin where they'd been held. His heart sped up in a weird combination of relief and fear. The relief was from the fact that they'd successfully found their way and the knowledge that there was a vehicle they could take back to town. A vehicle meant no more walking and at least some warmth. But there was also an instinctive fear in returning to a place where he'd been terrified and hurt. What if someone was free? They weren't in any shape to fight the older men off yet again.
But the area was silent except for their own breathing. It only made him feel marginally better, and he hustled Dean as fast as he could to the passenger side of the truck. Sure, moving it would free Paul, Mike, and Steve, but they could drive away too fast for those three to do anything about it. Besides, they probably wouldn't even hear the truck move. And Sam didn't see any other vehicles. He briefly worried about where the two men who'd been sent to investigate the library were, but he just didn't have the capacity to think about one more thing.
Dean roused a little when Sam pushed him into the truck as best he could. Dean actually climbed in on his own and grumbled when Sam fastened the seat belt around him. Sam climbed in the other side and grunted as he leaned against the rifle he'd been carrying so long he'd forgotten about it. He wrestled it off and turned the key. Dean frowned, looking slightly more awake. "What are you doing?" he slurred. " I drive."
"I can use both my arms," Sam said and dropped the beater into drive.
It was almost surreal to be on the road and finally away from a place that would undoubtedly star in a few nightmares. To Sam's relief, they soon came to the same road that their little house was on, the one that would take them right to the small downtown. He could only go one direction, but it was away from the mountain, so it had to be correct.
It was probably a good thing that it was still predawn and they didn't meet any traffic, because twice Sam caught himself nodding and once he went over the center line. Things were getting fuzzier all the time. Dean mumbled and jabbered nearly incoherently as if trying to keep them both awake, but they weren't going to last long. But thank the patron saint of lost causes, because they were starting to pass more buildings. In fact, Sam could see the house where they were staying.
His foot slid off the gas pedal and he stared. In the driveway were the Impala and a rusty Chevette. Bobby's Chevette. They were rolling slower and slower and Sam couldn't stop staring. Was it real? Was he just seeing what he wanted to see?
"Hey, tha' looks like Baby," Dean said, so garbled that Sam barely understood him. That decided him. Dean needed help now, and if there was the slightest chance that there were friendlies here, Sam was taking it. He pulled into the yard next to the house and jumped right out...and nearly fell. Sam stumbled to Dean's side and tugged and encouraged his brother to climb out too, and they made their way to the door. Sam opened it and they sort of fell in.
Inside was a sight that warmed Sam's heart right up. The kitchen table was covered with the notes Sam had hidden in the oven, Albert Houghton's books, and some maps of the area. Dad was sitting hunched over the papers and Bobby stood behind him. Each had a mug in one hand, like they'd been having a nice little cup of coffee together. Of course, they were each pointing a gun at Sam and Dean, but that was understandable given the fact that they'd burst in unexpectedly and hadn't exactly been quiet in their approach.
The guns disappeared in a heartbeat, shock on both Hunters' faces. Sam wanted to tell them everything that had happened and ask what they should do, but something he'd forgotten occurred to him just then and he blurted, "There are two bad guys under the tarp in the truck."
At the same time, Dean blurted, "We didn't mean to explode the snake."
Dad and Bobby both rushed at them, talking too fast for Sam to follow. But that didn't seem necessary, since they were calling out instructions to each other. Seemingly in seconds, Sam and Dean were each lying on a couch. (Oddly, from there Sam could see that there were two men he didn't know tied up near the busted window. He'd have to ask about that later.) His pulse was checked and some blankets were laid over him and Dad reassured him that he'd be right back and that he'd need a sit rep then.
Seemingly between one blink and the next, Dave and Lance had been hauled inside and dumped next to the other two (wait, were those the two missing guys? Probably.), the tarp they'd been under had been nailed over the broken window, and a big fire was roaring in the fireplace.
Then Dad was back. Bobby seemed to be helping Dean, so Sam didn't complain, though he did try to keep an eye on his brother. Dad pulled off Sam's wet boots and socks and rubbed his feet briskly, then pulled off his jeans, divesting him of weapons as he found them actually raising one curious eyebrow at the number and variety he came across. It should have been more embarrassing than it was. (In fact, it was really nice to just relax and let someone else do the work.) And the blanket he wrapped around Sam's lower half was soft and warm.
"Sam, I asked you where else you're hurt," Dad said insistently giving Sam a small shake. Apparently he had been drifting. As he pulled off the army jacket, he was looking at the wounds on Sam's hand and wrist grimly, and he'd certainly seen the ones on Sam's face.
"Mm. More shallow cuts on m' chest and I got kicked in th' ribs," Sam reported sleepily.
"Stay awake while I take a look. Then I'll give you some pills and clean all of these up." Dad sounded at once angry and soothing, which was something Dean could do too. It signaled, I'm pissed that you got hurt but you can relax now and I'll take care of you. Then Dad suddenly sucked in a breath as he started to unfasten the bulletproof vest. His fingers stopped moving. "Sammy," he said, low and shocked.
Sam lifted his head and looked at what Dad was staring at. There, stuck in the vest right above where Sam's ribs hurt, was a 9mm bullet. "Huh," he said unconcernedly, trying to think back. "I thought Steve kicked me and I didn't see it, but I guess he shot me."
Dad made a little sound in the back of his throat and started working again. "Tell me everything that happened tonight," he ordered. His voice wasn't loud, but it was like far-off thunder – you'd be a fool to underestimate the danger it warned of. It actually made Sam feel very safe, knowing that that danger would be aimed at the ones who'd hurt him.
Just then, Dean made a sharp sound and Sam went from half-asleep to trying to get up in a split second. Dad held him down gently and Bobby said, "Relax, boy. It's okay. I just had ta get his elbow back in joint and he passed out. He was almost there an'way, which tells me his body needs the rest. I'm gonna give him a morphine shot so he can get it."
Sam sighed and laid back, trusting Bobby and knowing Dad wouldn't ask for his debrief again. He told about the hunt they'd found as succinctly as possible, not looking at Dad's face as he did. He knew he'd have to go into more detail later and try to answer hard questions about why they'd kept all of the information to themselves, but for now that wasn't what Dad really wanted to know.
Sam slowed down and gave more detail once he got to the men cutting the phone line and taking him prisoner. (In the middle, Lance started throwing a fit, which ended with all of the captured men being graced with duct tape over their mouths.) Despite the trauma of the events he was relating and the sting of getting his cuts all cleaned out (and more than sting when Dad thought one didn't look good and really scrubbed at it), Sam had to struggle to stay awake. He was grateful beyond words that Dad and Bobby didn't ask many questions and believed him without question. After all, it was a pretty wild story even before the hydra made its appearance. No, they not only believed every word, the anger and desire to exact retribution was clear on their faces, which got darker the more Sam talked. Maybe they'd be angry enough at the psychos and impressed enough at the defeat of the hydra that they'd let Sam and Dean off the hook. Okay, that wouldn't happen, but it was a nice dream.
By the time Sam got to the hydra, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He'd swallowed the four or five pills Dad had given him, probably pain killers and antibiotics, and the former were just adding to his sleepiness. "Prophesy said iron and blood, so Dean used th' sword we found – it was badass, but I think we left it behind – with my blood on it. Cut the heads off and I burned the necks with a flamethrower. Heh. Bobby, you can let me use yours now cuz I did a good job. But even with the heads all cut off th' hydra didn't die. Then it kept smashing into the hill and the Jeep rolled down and stuff was on fire and there was lotsa dynamite in the back so we jumped in the water. Then, boom. Hydra guts all over."
Sam sighed in relief, having told everything pertinent, he thought. He saw that everyone in the room except Dean, of course, was staring at him. "Boom. Guts," he repeated. "'S awesome. Course, we were cold and had to walk back and take their truck. Glad you're here."
Nobody said anything, so Sam repeated himself once more. "Boom. Guts." For some reason, that seemed really funny and the blank stares of Dad and Bobby and the glares from the tied up men made it funnier.
"I'm...glad you're okay," Dad said, and Sam could hear the strong emotions that tinged the simple words. Dad was never exactly effusive, so this was practically a declaration of love from him. "You boys…did real good. We'll talk about the rest later, but you rest now." He patted the top of Sam's head, which would have felt ridiculously juvenile except for the fact that it was one of the few places that wasn't hurt. Sam felt himself drifting off with "you did real good" bringing a small smile to his face.
"Winchester, I want you to look at this cut," Bobby said softly, bent over Dean. There was something in his tone that poked Sam like a bramble and he struggled but failed to keep get his eyes open again. Was there something more wrong with Dean than a truly massive number of small- to medium-sized injuries?
"What is it?" Dad asked, his shadow moving away from Sam's side. He swore under his breath. "That looks like a magical wound."
Wait, what? They had won. Dean just needed a little time and rest, like Sam did, right? Sam hadn't missed seeing some kind of dangerous problem with his brother, had he? Sam tried harder to get his eyes open but was too far gone to accomplish it. The last sound he heard before going under was the sound of Dave chuckling behind his gag.
* * *
AN: Just for fun, I Googled how much the crankshaft of a Jeep weighs. Mr. Internet says it's around 57 lbs. Will dynamite really ignite like that? I dunno. Maybe it was really old dynamite and extra easy to ignite. Boom. Guts!
Colby's girl: Personally, I am barely coherent in the morning, much less able to think of or use big words! Heck, I can barely read, so I'm impressed at you. So glad you enjoyed the action – I know I'm a broken record, but it's difficult to write action. It's so easy for me to imagine but hard to get the right number of details down to get the picture across without getting bogged down.Long story short: I appreciate your comments!
BruisedBloodyBroken: Thank you! They are such fun to write, maybe especially when they are so young and there isn't so much heavy stuff hanging over their heads.
sylvia37: Maybe it isn't just Sam's blood. Maybe it's the blood of a hero or any human. I thought about that, but decided to leave it up in the air because I don't think even John had any idea at this point (though who knows, I guess). Anyway, I finally did give the boys a break!
Shazza: I don't actually know if it was only Sam's blood...I didn't answer that question in this story. You get a little glimpse about John's and Bobby's reactions to getting an overview here, but there will be more, I promise.
Janice: Cheater logistics! Heh. Sometimes, you just need a workaround and I was being nice to the boys – no hanging around or having to go back to burn that huge thing.
Cerruleannight: I love your username! Thank you so much for your comments. Action is hard to write. And I just really, really wanted to have a story with a hydra in it – I've loved Greek mythology for pretty much my entire life. Sorry for making you wait so long for this installment.
muffinroo: Thank you! So so so much fun to write about a fight against a hydra – with a sword and flamethowers and everything. Heh. Yes, I'm really just a child in an old lady body. Thanks for such nice words.
Kathy: I hope it made you smile to know why all the chapter titles start with "head." It wasn't much of a clue but it amused me. And I'm SO happy that you liked the hydra! It was just one of those little writer's bucket list things, if that makes any sense. And happy that the squashed head wasn't too gross. It just came to me and had to go in there.Yup, the title of the story actually fit for once – so often I don't have more than a general idea of where the story's going to go so the title ends up being only slightly related to the actual finished story. Glad you like the details too. The poor guys face peril after peril in this one, but it should be a great Hunter story by the end of it, like you said! That is, if anyone would believe them.
stedan: Sorry for the sarcasm! Heh. It's my native tongue, you might say. I don't think any of the remaining chapters have quite that much action in them. Thanks for your kind words – LOL at you yelling at the story. I do that on occasion to stories or books I'm reading. (I yell at the TV a lot, but that's almost always for sporting events and occasionally politicians.) *proudly puts on cliffhanger queen crown*
Long Live BRUCAS: Yes! Exactly! It takes Dean a while to learn that, though!
Christine:Yes, yes, yes. Whenever watching the show, we'd often tell the bad guys, "always account for both" which they never did, of course. John can't kick their asses just yet, since they're injured, but I imagine he's not thrilled!
Timelady66: Thank you! I love the word epic. When snowboarding is on TV, I'll probably get to hear it a lot! (Who doesn't love play calls like: epic mctwist to fakey gator wrassler, dude!)
