Chapter 2.

Dean's Dream:

Shortly before the discovery of the bunker.

Dean's scream reaches Sam's ears where he kneels, knife buried in the werewolf's stomach. The agony in the rough sob following his brother's scream rips Sam's heart to pieces. Angry vengeance has him burying the knife so deep in the wolf's heart that the hilt breaks the skin. The light and life fades from the eyes of their enemy and it goes completely still.

Sam skids to a stop on his knees beside Dean, hand seeking his out and squeezing it tightly. Dean's frantic hold on Sam's hand clues him into just how bad the pain must be. His free hand gently pulls the ripped jean from Dean's skin trying to find the source of the bloody waterfall. He feels the tremors wracking through Dean by the link of their hands. He remembers the pretty ugly sounding hit on the head his brother took, and takes in the amount of blood soaking the snow like a cherry icy.

Out in the cold his brother is very susceptible to shock. Sam knows he needs to get them back to the little rundown cabin that he and Dean had set up camp in for this hunt. All things considered, he isn't prepared for this kind of injury in this kind of weather. It was one werewolf, he and Dean had counted on taking it down and heading out immediately. That had been amateur thinking.

He takes the flannel scarf he has on from around his neck and securely ties it around the wound causing Dean to moan and toss his head to the side where it's resting on Sam's thigh.

"Shhh," he comforts, a hand landing comfortingly for a moment on Dean's heaving chest. "It's okay Dean, I gotcha'." Dean answers him by grunting deep in his throat. Eyes fluttering between open and closed, face scary white. Sam doesn't like it one bit. He feels that excited trembling come to his body caused by the adrenaline. It's unusual behavior for Dean, even severely hurt.

He figure the hit on the head is probably making it worse. He looks for blood on his brother's scalp, running fingers through the soft spikes of dark hair and sighs when his fingers come away smeared with some of the bright liquid. Not much, not an alarming amount, not like his leg. Sam shudders a little looking back to Dean's left leg where it lay limp on the blood soaked snow.

"S'm," Dean mumbles through blue looking lips, "S'mmy?"

"Yeah?" Sam asks, a little distracted by looking down into his brother's white face. His pupils are wide, eyes unfocused on his face, moving around a little absently. Sam sighs, knowing he's definitely dealing with a concussion too. His brother lifts shaking hands to grab at his jacket as if to gain his attention.

"What is it, Dean?" He asks, a hand coming to gently cup the back of his head where he'd found the bloody lump.

"Gotta burn the body," he slurs out.

"What?" Sam asks, his feathers more that a little ruffled. "Your bleeding. Like a lot Dean, and you want me to burn the body?"

Dean lets out a tired sounding chuckle that results in a throaty cough that shifts him, bringing out another telling moan. "I'll be fine, S'mmy, gotta finish the job, do it right."

Sam's seen this before. It's like Dean's default setting for when he's hurt too bad and in too much pain to be 100% present. He distances himself from the pain, the world, reality. Sam's knows sometimes that's the only way to deal, sometimes to be stuck with the real stuff is just too much when your body is betraying you.

"Okay, okay," he says breathlessly, leaning over Dean, whose head still lays in his lap. He opens up their bag which he dropped beside them and grabs the salt and lighter fluid. Without moving him or Dean he tosses the white mineral all over the corpse and then saturates it with lighter fluid.

Dean tries to hold back the groan welling up in his throat as Sam drags him away from the wolf's body. Sam lights up a pack of matches as tosses them over the corpse. The flames whoosh to life and the flames dance in Dean's slightly glazed over eyes. His quick gasped breaths aren't lost on Sam, his heart is filled with foreboding at Dean's reaction to the wound and the head injury.

He's had worse then this, Sam tells himself. He'll be fine, we'll be out of here in a few hours and I can look after him good once we find a warm motel room to get comfortable in so Dean can prop that leg up. He smiles encouragingly at his brother who is looking up at him with big eyes, breaths escaping his mouth, rasping through his chest and into the cold air. Sam sighs, thinking, why did Dean already have to have a cold? Why was life is unfair to his big brother, why did it just seemed to get its kicks from sending Dean hard knocks?

That being said, Sam pulls his brother to a sitting position and leans him against his chest. They had to get up and get going if they were going to make the cabin by nightfall. Dean openly groans, grinding the back of his head against Sam's collarbone, hissing at the pain from the sensitive bump back there.

Sam soothes him with a hand on his chest rubbing to ground him. His fingers dance over the scarf bandage, making sure it's secure. Dean still isn't saying much, not objecting to the manhandling or the fact that Sam is holding him and whispering to him.

"You with me?" Sam asks his silent brother, trying to look into his face over his shoulder. "Stay with me Dean, gotta get back to the cabin."

"Let's get up," he offers next when Dean gives him no answer. "Up we go." He says, grunting as he stands, pulling Dean up from under his arm pits.

Dean gasps at being suddenly vertical, and looks sicker if that was possible. His hand fists in Sam's coat and he stands heavily on his right foot. Keeping weight entirely off the mangled one. The agony screaming through it with just these slight movements makes him want to pass out to escape it. But Sam is there and sounding scared, he figures he should stick around. It's probably somehow entirely unfair to make Sam carry his unconscious ass through the snow.

"Give a man some warning," he grumbles, in a voice more hoarse with pain than he intended. He has no idea how the hell he's supposed to walk at all, let alone through the snow and all the way back to the cabin.

Sam is relieved to hear his brother's voice to say the least. He keeps a firm grip on him since he looks like a good, hard gust of wind would blow him over. His skin nearly matches the snow, and he's scared by the way his brother gets a faraway look in his eyes when he stood straight. He's also alarmed by the amount of blood still seeping from under the scarf bandage especially now that his brother is vertical, sending blood rushing back to his legs and feet again.

"Okay," Sam says, "We need to get back to the cabin." He looks up at the sky and then around, "We don't have all that much daylight left, we need to shag ass."

Dean commands himself to move. Tells his mind to tell his legs to put one after the other. But, oh the pain he knows is awaiting him as soon as he lifts and plants his weight on that mauled leg. He can feel the warm slick of blood dripping down his leg and into his boot where it squelches when he moves his foot. Just the slightest curling of his toes wrap him in agony.

Head bowed staring at the bloody state of his jeans the reality of what's happened really crashes down on him. The wolf had ripped flesh and muscle, could have permanently damaged his leg. He knew what was too much blood loss. Knew what it felt like, knew what it looked like poured out on the ground, sopped into the dirt or the snow, he was practiced in this.

He'd lost a lot of blood, maybe not too much yet, but by the time he got to the cabin it would be. And the more strain he put on it the more blood he would lose. The more blood he would lose the harder it would be for him to stay awake and then he would leave Sammy on his on. He would be liability and slow Sam down in the cold.

Realizing what had in fact happened to him and the thoughts of putting Sam in danger wraps his heart in panic. It constricts even more painfully. Sam behind him, gives him time, holding onto his arms to keep him steady. Dean looks up into the sky to breathe in big breaths of clear, cold air. Snow flakes are floating down to them, Dean can see them casually falling through the bare tree branches and to his face, where they add to the numbness there caused by the cold.

Dean's breaths come out bigger but faster, Sam watches his chest heave worriedly. He pulls Dean to him and rubs his chest firmly. Knows the shock and blood and cold is getting to him. Knows the freezing air he's gulping in too fast is burning his lungs.

"Slow down," he whispers, "Just slow it down." He catches Dean's eyes, wild and sparkling. Fear glinting out to him, the more violent shaking of his brother's hands making more sense to him. "We don't have go anywhere right now," he soothes. "When you're ready, okay?"

"I'm not a freaking baby," Dean gasps out, a hand coming up to grip the wrist of the hand Sam has on his chest.

Sam laughs deep in his chest and Dean feels it rumble through his back and it warms him a little. He lets himself melt further into Sam, his strength and warmth, and breathes some more, waiting for the burn to subside so he can get some air in earnest. Head falling back to lean on his little brother's shoulder he gulps in some more clear mountain air, ignoring the white snow flakes falling catching on his eyelashes and top lip.

"No you're not," Sam comforts, hand rubbing again on his chest. "But you're hurt, Dean." He pauses seemingly waiting for Dean's denial that doesn't come. "We can do this on your time, big brother, I've gotcha."

Dean heaves a sigh and thinks how he could just stay here forever, never have to move that damned leg and just melt into Sammy's heat and strength until there was nothing left but that. But the cold gust of wind that sweeps around them reminds him of their circumstances, the snow falling thickly now and the light quickly fading on them. Just his luck. He knows they have to move, he has to move. If only so Sam isn't stuck out here in the cold and dark because of him.

Behind his usually bigger than life brother, Sam Winchester is scared. This is unlike anything he's ever experienced, unlike anything he and Dean have ever been through together. Usually Dean is loud and obnoxious to cover pain and assuage Sam's fear. Even when it was a severe wound. Laughing at his worry, scoffing at the blood, hurling verbal abuses on their foe.

(Sam can still remember kneeling by his brother, Dean's arm broken in several places, but blood was pouring from the place where bone had pierced through the skin and was shining pale white through the glistening red. Dean had smiled at him and told him to quit being such a girl because he was crying over Dean's white face and mutilated arm.)

He wraps his arms firmer around his brother and begins to slowly rock their weight to the left, to tease Dean's leg and get him used to the uncomfortable pressure. Dean hisses, and his fingers dig into Sam's wrist that he still holds tightly. His breaths gasp loudly in Sam's ear, he can feel the hot, quick puffs of air hitting his neck and cheek.

"We gotta go, Dean." He says softly. He's pretty sure Dean isn't aware of the whimper that escapes his throat and breaks Sam's heart to pieces. "I know it hurts, but there's no help for it."

"No shit S'mmy," Dean hisses unclearly at him as Sam leans more his weight to the left. "Oh god..." He moans, "...Just stan' still, please." He nearly begs.

Sam immediately stills, his heart beating wild in his chest, the fear nearly breaking it apart. Dean never acknowledged pain, never asked for anything nicely, and never, ever begged. He was doing all three, Sam can hear the desperation and tears in his voice. Can nearly hear the pain coursing through his brother's veins with the trembling of his body in his arms.

Dean steels himself, knowing he has to move. Can hear the fear in Sam's voice, can feel the wild beating of his heart behind him. Not to mention the big brother radar is going bonkers, though he guesses that massive hit to the head could have knocked things askew up there. So with teeth grinding and hands fisted, nails driving into his palms, Dean takes his first step out of Sam's supporting embrace.

The right one first and then the left, and then the right.

Sam is unprepared for Dean's movements, he blinks in surprise. He thanks his hunter instincts for interfering before his mind even registers his brother's stiff movements. His arms are back around Dean's chest and holding him up as he starts to go down on the third step. Although his brother has always been extremely stubborn and has a frankly alarmingly high pain threshold, he wasn't expecting that show of strength.

At the same time he's freaking out that Dean didn't make it any farther, and that he's bearing all the weight of his body in his arms. He finds himself leaning Dean so his head rolls back onto his chest where he can see his wide blown eyes and whiter than death face.

"SONUVABITCH!" Dean gasps. But it comes out through clenched teeth in a whispering moan slurred like, "Sonuvabish."

His body goes limp all the strength sapped from his bones and muscles. He wonders why with this one injury he seems unable to lose consciousness. The pain coursing though his entire body...it makes is head spin, fills his vision with red clouds, shoots through his brain with every loud, obnoxious beat if his heart. Falling limply towards the snow he can already see three bright stars in the dark, grayish snow clouds...its beautiful, he thinks detachedly.

Then suddenly something wraps around him and is fighting against the comfortable pull of gravity and jerks him up to stand, leaning against warmth again. Sam. The strangled humph that escapes him at his abruptly halted descent takes all the breath from his lungs, as his head falls against Sam's hard chest bone AGAIN his eyes water and he searches for his brother's face frantically.

Sam is beginning to realize they're in somewhat of a pickle. This was no flesh wound, and no random hit on the head. Dean's body was reacting severely, so severely he had no control over it. He hadn't been able to form a full sentence since it occurred or breathe steadily. Sam hated it when Dean's eyes took on that far away, not quite present, glazed expression, but his eyes hadn't cleared once, not even with the, obviously, mind numbing pain.

"Dean?" He asks, lips moving against his brother's hair. "You with me, big brother?"

Don't ask him why when Dean was hurt he always broke out that soft, questioning voice with a gentle pleading of 'big brother' maybe it was spur Dean on, wake up that nearly invincible being that seemed to be able to go on and on for his little brother. Sam should feel bad taking advantage of the bond, but all he can manage to be is proud.

A soft grunt floats back to him from Dean's parted lips, where breaths are gasping in and out. Sam is frantically searching for another way to get Dean back to the cabin without the torture of walking on his leg, but is drawing a blank other than throwing him up into a fireman's carry. He knows Dean might not even notice, knows the pain is driving him deep into his subconscious. (The way that Dean barely answers him, jumps when he speaks or suddenly shifts his hold on him like he forgot he was there.)

He'd do it a heart beat, but Dean Winchester? Sam would rather not get his head or ass beat in. So he hangs tight and waits for Dean to catch his breath. "You ready?" He almost whispers, and Dean nods.

Sam lifts Dean's left arm and wraps it around his own neck, hanging on to his forearm with his left hand on the other side of his head. He wraps his right arm around Dean's waist and pulls him flush against him, taking as much weight as he can. They go step by step, Dean's breaths rasping in Sam's ear, both sweating buckets even though Dean still shakes against Sam.

Both the boys try not to think of the pain shooting up Dean's leg and crippling most of his brain. Sam watches his brother carefully for signs of faintness or nausea, as Dean sometimes reacts to severe pain with throwing up. His heart is keeping up its frantic beating even as Dean's eyelids lower over his eyes until he's barely peering out. He's letting Sam lead more than he's paying attention to where they're going. Sam knows their time is running out, Dean's time is running out.

The full moon is peering mockingly at them through the snow clouds, stars winking around the grey tendrils. The wind makes a cruel dance around them, slipping into their clothes leaving trails of goosebumps. The snow flakes are coming down thickly, the wind creating obscuring flurries that Sam squints through the see the way. Dean makes no complaint, follows Sam silently. Sam thinks among all his other conflicting thoughts, their freaking luck sucks.

Pretty soon every step on his left leg is driving grunts of pain from Dean's lips that are shut tight in a grim line. Drops of sweat shine on his white face, his fingers dig into Sam's shoulder. His other hand grasps Sam's hand around his waist. Sam grinds his teeth with effort when Dean's left foot starts dragging behind.

Dean stumbles and cries out in agony, Sam pauses, breathing deep, watching as blood drips from his makeshift bandage and stains the white snow. His pants are just off time with Dean's filling the darkening night with the sound of heavy breathing. Sam takes a step forward but is, drug down to one knee as Dean goes down.

His brother falls to his knees in the snow, his free hand going out to clumsily catch himself, only for his arm to give out, so he leans on his elbow, face nearly in the snow. It only adds to the chill and numbness covering his senses. Breathing in the frigid air he feels the snow and wetness seeping into his jeans and the scarf and to the open wounds. It burns. Dean thinks nothing could ever numb the pain he feels at the moment, but the cold is definitely muffling the screaming of his nerves.

He tries to tell Sam, tell him no more. Can't go anymore, can't take that burning fire enveloping every nerve in his body, can't take the feeling of blood running down his leg with every faulting step. Can't, really, really can't move again, please...just let him be still, just let him be in peace, let him sleep. Let the pain go, let the darkness, the ignorance take him.

Please Sam.

"We're almost there, Dean," Sam says in the real world. He smiles shakily into his brother's sweaty white face, his brother's eyes sweep back and forth restlessly under heavy lids that are coasting open and closed and Sam can tell soon, they won't open again.

"You stay with me Dean," he says, voice shaking. "We're almost there, I ain't carrying your ass."

He laughs nervously and tugs Dean up on his knees holding his arm around his neck. Dean moans weakly and his forehead falls against the side of his neck, lips moving silently against his coat. Sam leans down further to listen.

"What's that Dean?" He asks gently. "Can it wait big brother? We're almost there...get you warm and something for the pain, you'll feel better..."

"S'm," his brother is mumbling, seemingly unaware that Sam is even talking. "Can't, s'rry, S'mmy, can't...can't."

Sam grips his brother by the side of the face, his thumb sliding under Dean's jaw to pull his face up to look at him. "No Dean...Dean you stay with me, you hear? We're almost there, no passing out allowed."

The words aren't yet out of his mouth as Dean's weight falls against him, his head limp in Sam's hands, willingly being guided to rest on his chest, his arm going lapse around his neck, the other falling helpless in the snow. Sam freezes, Dean doesn't pass out. He's going to be alright, we're going to be alright, he thinks calmly. Instead his hands press frantically to Dean's neck to find his pulse. Fast, thready, too much blood loss, Sam decides.

His brother is shaking in his arms, lips turning blue. Shock and cold taking over, and now Dean's out Sam has no say, has no way of calling his brother back to him, demanding he stay with him, demanding he be strong enough. Now Sam has to be strong enough, now he has to get Dean back, get him warm, help him. He can do that.

"You bastard." Sam growls to him.

He shifts Dean slowly upwards, onto his shoulders. He is as gentle as he can be, wincing when Dean moans without waking up. Legs and feet now pressed to the front of his body, Sam hangs on to one of Dean's thighs to keep him on his shoulders, the other goes to pulls him close by his other leg, arranging him more comfortably.

His entire palm comes away red and wet, nearly to the point of dripping. He wipes Dean's blood from his skin on his pant leg. He watches in sick fascination as blood drip drops from the tip of Dean's boot and down to the snow.

More than enough blood, he thinks anxiously.

tbc...

PLEASE REVIEW! ;)

thank you