Alright, so I haven't had an opportunity to replyto any of you in person this time, and I probably won't for this chapter. I've literally got ten minutes of free time to post this and then I've got to head out again, and I figured between getting a reply back or having a new chapter to read you would all want the chapter. So I'm just going to leave a generalized THANK YOU to all of you who took the time to read and review this last chapter. There's no better reward for a fledgling author than to hear how much her work affects people - whether good or bad. I'm so appreciative for all of your support throughout this story. I think there will only be one chapter after this one, so we're very near the end. However, I will pose this question for the lot of you...would you be interested in a sequal at some time? I absolutely have to return to 'Stroke of Bad Luck' after this one, but I'd be open to following Dean's journey with his prosthesis if there is enough interest out there. Let me know what you think. And on with the story...
The unnatural sound of the dying spirit hawks scream sent shivers down Dean's spine as he turned to see where the sound had come from. Bobby still held his smoking gun, arms straight and tense, as though he wasn't sure if the thing might reappear if he eased his stance. In that minute, Dean knew the spirit was losing momentum. It had channeled just about every predator that walked the forest, exhausting his possibilities. And if it hadn't been clear before, the hunters were now certain that the spirit couldn't return to a form once that form had been killed. At this point, that didn't leave it many options.
Dean let out a breath of relief, glad to have another form taken care of. The hawk had been downright scary the way it managed to swoop in undetected. He and Sam had both fallen victim to its mighty talons without any warning, and he was not eager to come face to face with it again. Sammy…
With that out of the way, Dean amped up his pace, scrambling up the tree with no regard to his own situation. He ignored the few times his new foot slipped from the knots on the trunk, fervently reminding himself that Sam, too, had slipped. Although it was definitely more of a necessity to watch the foot, and he focused vigilant eyes on where he placed the foot and how he placed it, knowing he couldn't risk plummeting from the tree himself.
"Sammy! Sammy, I'm coming!" Dean shouted to his brother, hoping to elicit some kind of a response from the younger Winchester. But Sam remained motionless and unresponsive on the tree branch he'd landed on. Dean didn't know whether to be frightened or glad for that fact, knowing that either option was dangerous. An unresponsive Sam threatened of head trauma or impending death, two things Dean didn't want to consider at the moment. But if Sam were awake and disoriented, he might end up rolling right off the limb he lay on.
It occurred to Dean that, if Sam was still alive, hitting several tree limbs on the way down may very well have saved his life by decreasing the speed to which he was falling. Freefalling the last twenty some feet would almost certainly have killed him.
Dean found it therapeutic to talk to Sam on his way up, despite the fact that Sam wasn't answering. Just having a purpose, considering that Sam might be able to hear him, was enough to keep him talking to his baby brother. "Just hang on there, Sammy, I'm coming for ya!" Dean shouted as he scaled another few feet of trunk, clinging tightly to the broken remainder of a branch that had once stuck out from there.
"Don't give up on me now, I'll be there in just a second. I promise. I'll be there soon. I'm almost there." He continued his play-by-play all the way up to where the limbs became prominent, and then focused his attention on hefting himself onto the bottom limb before continuing his one-sided conversation.
From where he stood, Dean could now make out Sam's features perfectly, and he couldn't help the intake of breath that formed at the sight. Sam's exposed face and arms were mottled in quickly developing bruises, trumped only by the smattering of blood that flowed through several deep cuts and gashes. His eyes were closed, clenched tightly in pain despite his unconscious oblivion, and the one arm he'd used to drop the pouch minutes earlier now gripped tightly to his chest. Dean diagnosed broken ribs without even lifting the shirt, unwilling to see what would very likely be a Picasso of bruises covering his torso and remaining body.
Sam's left arm and both legs dangled limply in the air, the wrist on his arm bent at an odd angle and swollen already to twice its size. The baggy jeans he wore hid any visible injuries to his legs, and Dean didn't want to risk rolling him off the limb to inspect them for damage. First, he had to wake Sam up.
He climbed the rest of the way, seating himself on the same branch Sam currently lay sprawled out on, and balanced himself. It was near impossible finding a position that wouldn't aggravate any of Sam's extensive injuries while still allowing him access to his little brother's face, but Dean somehow managed.
"Hey. Sammy, hey hey," Dean called out softly, patting his brother's cheek to rouse him. He had to repeat the pattern several times before Sam's eyes began to flutter, blinking over and over again as the young hunter tried to bring Dean's face into focus.
"Dean! How's it coming?" Bobby screamed up the tree, choosing that moment to call up and check on Dean's progress and as he looked up, Sam's eyes fluttered shut again, unable to latch onto what they sought.
"He's just coming to," Dean called back, noticing Sam's wince as the volume of his voice aggravated what was certain to be one hell of a killer headache.
"Hey, man. Hey, I'm sorry. No more yelling," Dean soothed in a much softer voice, patting Sam on the cheek once more to get his attention.
Sam forced his eyes open again, bringing them back into focus and this time locking them onto Dean's worried gaze. "Did I get it?" Sam asked in an almost inaudible whisper, swallowing convulsively against the desert that had suddenly chosen to take up residence in his mouth.
Dean had to laugh. "You fall out of a tree and all you can think about is whether or not you got the pouch?"
"Kinda…important," Sam replied, the words forced.
"Yeah, little brother, you got it. Bobby's taking care of burning it as we speak." Dean looked back down to the ground and watched as Bobby collected the scattered equipment. Salt had spilled everywhere, causing the older hunter to have to pick it up with his bare hands. But instead of shoving it back into the container, he'd waited until he had the pouch secure in as un-burnable a spot possible, on the top of a large, flat boulder several feet away, and was now carrying handfuls of a salt and debris mixture and dumping it on top of the leather bag. Dean only hoped enough lighter fluid remained to douse the damn thing and give it a proper cremation. "We've got to focus on you now," Dean continued, already assessing the situation and determining it to be really and truly FUBAR. "Somehow we have to get you down this tree, and I don't have any rope."
Sam looked dazedly at Dean, a hint of a lazy smile playing across his pained features. The action did nothing to alleviate Dean's concerns as he realized Sam wouldn't be much help in the brainstorming. "You'll keep me safe," Sam confirmed through slurred words. "You always do."
Nodding his confirmation, Dean patted Sam on the shoulder and issued his own nervous smile back. "You know it, little brother. Just give me a second to think."
He pushed himself into a sit, straddling the thick limb as he weighed his options carefully. One thing was for certain; he would be waiting until Bobby had burned the stupid pouch and all evidence of the spirit was gone before he tried to move Sam. With any luck, Bobby could figure out a way to rig up some rope or something to get Sam down with. Hell, maybe even some sort of a trampoline type rescue mat. That would be cool.
Except just as Dean started thinking everything would work out from here on out, that it was a downhill slide to the finish, the entire floor dropped out from under him. Trying to alternate his attention between keeping Sam alert and watching for Bobby to finish, Dean caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye. He immediately reached for his gun, sliding it from his waistband and fitting it into the palm of his hand before spinning in the direction of the shadow he'd seen. He couldn't possibly imagine what more the spirit could have in store for them, couldn't think of another beast it could possibly channel. That left it only one option, and as his eyes scanned the perimeter for the predator he finally realized what was to come. A small cluster of feathers tipped Dean off to the spirit in its human form - the form of the hunter it had been created to avenge - just as he watched an arrow go slicing through the air.
"Bobbeeee!"
Dean fired a shot. Two. Three. Each one barely missing the elusive spirit. The Algonquin Indian was quick, lithe, obviously familiar with evading capture while still pulling off his own attack. In an instant, the spirit was gone and Dean turned his attention back to the welfare of his companions. Sam was fine for the time being, out of the crossfire at least. But Bobby was now on the ground, writhing around in agony and cursing up a storm as he fought with the ancient arrow that had pierced his upper thigh.
"Wha's goin on, Dean?" Sam mumbled groggily from the tree limb, trying to roll himself enough to see what the commotion was all about.
"Don't move, Sam." Reaching out a hand, Dean set it on Sam's chest and pressed firmly enough to let the injured hunter know his purpose was to stay put. Internally, Dean felt like he was moving his mind. This spirit had caused more bloodshed than anything else they had encountered. Twice he'd come after it, and both times it had gotten the best of him and his entourage. He'd literally invested a part of himself into this damn thing, and there was no way in hell he was going home a failure again. This was it; him or the spirit.
But somehow he had to get Sam down from the tree, too. Dean knew he needed to be on the ground to face off with his foe, but there was no way he was leaving Sam alone in the tree. He looked back at his brother, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath.
"Sam, how are your legs? Do you think they can support you?"
He watched as Sam slowly processed the question and even more slowly began to move his legs, struggling to lift them and bend them as he explored their capabilities. An eternity passed before Sam finally nodded his head, uncertainty clear in his expression, although it was faintly masked by his determination to please Dean.
"I– I think so."
Dean nodded, thinking quickly as he reached out to help Sam sit up. His brother swayed dangerously as he came to a vertical position, and it was all Dean could do to keep them both safely on the limb. When they were steady again, Dean knew he had to come up with a plan. Fast.
Suddenly his eyes fell to the belt Sam had managed to hold onto in his fall. He'd looped it through a couple of his own belt loops when he'd gotten to a point that he no longer needed it. The leather belt was going to save Sam.
"Okay, buddy, this is what we're gonna do," Dean began, carefully sliding around behind Sam as he spoke. "I'm going to secure this belt through my own belt loops and up under your armpits. You're going to have to help me, Sam. You've got to do some of your own climbing. But I'll do most of it. Don't worry, Sam. I'm not gonna let you fall."
The plan was not a sound one, and the holes in that logic were so huge you could drive a mac truck through them. What was to say his belt loops would hold Sam's weight. For that matter, what was to say he could hold Sam's weight and still climb down a tree at the same time. He'd struggled as it was climbing up the tree, what with his shoulder and his leg. And then there was the issue of Sam being strong enough to do any of his own climbing. If he fell, if he collapsed, they could both die. But it was the only plan Dean could come up with. And they were running out of time.
Sam turned trust filled eyes on his brother, nodding in agreement of the plan. "Let's do this. I'm good."
That was it. Things were in motion, and there was no backing out now.
"We're coming down, Bobby! We'll be there in a sec," Dean hollered, realizing he really hadn't even checked on the older hunter after the arrow had pierced his thigh. "You doing alright down there?"
"Peachy!" came the forced reply, just as the unmistakable sound of wood splintering resounded through the air. Bobby had just broken the shaft in half, resigned to pull the thing out of his leg. "Just get your asses down here and get rid of this damn spirit!"
Dean had to laugh at Bobby's growled out response, knowing by that, that the injury was more of an irritation to the stubborn hunter than it was an actual hindrance. Satisfied that Bobby could take care of himself for a few minutes more, Dean turned all his attention back to Sam and the climb before him.
With Sam strapped to his front like some oversized infant in a freaked out Baby Bjorn, Dean inched the two of them forward as he retrieved his own belt from his hip and tossed it around the trunk of the tree. Sam did his best to help, hands gripping lethargically to knots and branches as his feet scrambled to make purchase on the side of tree, but there was no doubt Dean controlled the mission.
He focused, mind, body, and soul, on the descent down the tree. Every foot plant was purposeful, backed by a few additional seconds to ensure stability. Every inched lowered was considered with mind-numbing intensity, the belt sliding slowly down the trunk of the tree as Dean gripped tightly to either end. At his waist, he could feel the belt loops tearing, feel his jeans pulling down, threatening to break free from a waist that had slimmed down over the past few months, and he knew the only thing keeping Sam securely with him was the minimal bit of effort Sam was exerting.
"You doing alright there, Sammy?" Dean finally asked, breaking his concentration long enough to check up on little brother when he felt him start to go lax.
Sam perked up, immediately stepping up his effort, and nodded his head. He couldn't let Dean down, and the little bit of lucidity still active in his mind reminded him that one little stumble on his part could bring the duo down. With another ten feet still left to go, it was still too dangerous a drop.
"We're almost there," reassured Dean, his soothing words snaking into Sam's mind. "Just a little longer. You can do it."
They went back to the dismount, once again eliminating all external sound or distraction from their minds. Getting down safely was just too important, and Dean could only hope that Bobby was well enough to keep the spirit occupied long enough to get them to the ground in one place.
Dean's feet hit the ground seconds before he realized they had made it, his mind was just so overwrought with the tension of this hunt and helping Sam and Bobby. He'd come out here alone, with the intention of going after the spirit by himself, yet he'd barely made it, his mind throwing him into a depressing torment of can I or can't I logic. And somewhere along the line Sam and Bobby had found him and all of a sudden he found himself frontman on a mission that was near impossible. His tired, battered body was suddenly being forced to extend beyond limits even Dean didn't think possible. The epiphany of learning he'd somehow managed the inconceivable, getting both himself and Sam off the side of the monster tree, overcame him with the speed of a raging river and he sagged against the trunk of the tree, taking Sam with him.
They sat there for close to a minute, Dean panting raggedly while a nearly unconscious Sam lay limply against his chest, until Bobby's yell broke into his reverie.
"You plan to take a nap or get up and give me a hand?"
Dean blinked, focusing on the image of the haggard hunter somehow managing to stave off the floating spirit with the butt of his gun. They'd come to an unspoken agreement, although how or why, Bobby still wasn't certain of. But somehow it had been decided that the image of the warrior's spirit was not moving, nor was it firing a second arrow from the reloaded bow, providing Bobby didn't go for the trigger of the gun. Bobby was standing, but clearly favoring his right leg as blood flowed freely from the un-bandaged wound on his thigh. The two broken halves of the very tangible phantom arrow lay several feet away, tossed aside when the older hunter had ripped them from his leg.
After quickly ensuring that Sam was secure against the base of the tree, Dean scrambled to his feet. He retrieved the gun from his waistband, ready to shoot as soon as he was able to discover what the inane game man and spirit were playing. The spirit's eyes wavered, darting back and forth between Dean and Bobby, clearly trying to determine who was the greater threat.
"How far did you get with the pouch?" Dean asked, gaze never leaving the spirit as the three maintained their standoff.
"Got the salt on it and the lighter fluid before the damn thing decided to play cupid. Gotta tell ya, man, love hurts."
Dean forced a laugh at the poor joke, grateful for Bobby's attempt at lightening the mood despite the extreme situation they all found themselves in. The only comfort he could find was that they were still far from the severity of the last time they were here. Yet that was far from comforting.
"You got matches?"
Bobby shook his head. "Not on me, no. They're scattered on the ground over to my left. You?"
"In my pack. We've got to get over there. Get that pouch lit up. It's the only way this thing'll stay gone."
"I'm not moving very fast," Bobby lamented. "I'll stay here and hold Sitting Bull's attention. Can you get the burn done?"
No. I'm not moving any better than you, man. Hello - lost a limb here. Yet Dean nodded, internally convincing himself that he could do this. He had to do this. "I'll get it done."
He moved tediously slow, inching his way across the ground as Bobby circled with the spirit, hoping to guide its roving eyes off of what Dean intended to do. At first, the diversionary tactics seemed to be working and Dean found himself with match in hand just beyond an arms length from the boulder Bobby had arranged for the fire. But just as he went to strike the match the warrior's spirit turned on Dean, drawing back the string on his bow and letting loose with his arrow.
"Dean, look out!" Bobby screamed, causing Dean to duck just in time to miss being hit by the projectile. He could hear the arrow whoosh by his head as it sliced through the air with lightening speed.
"Keep it away from me," Dean screamed as Bobby began discharging his weapon at the specter. "I'm almost there."
He army crawled back to the boulder, glancing over his shoulder in time to see Bobby drop the clip from his gun and reload. The spirit was no where to be seen, and that did little to alleviate Dean's anxiety. "Fuck." Taking a second to ensure Sam, at least, was out of harms way, he began climbing back to his feet, using the rock to lever himself up quicker.
The warrior reappeared in his line of sight just as he struck the match, and another arrow flew at him before he had time to react. The lit match jumped from his fingers, somehow managing to find purchase on the doused pouch and setting the thing on fire just as the arrow crossed his path, grazing his already torn shoulder. He barely noticed as he raised his gun and fired.
The heat from the ignited pouch was enough to slow the spirit down and Dean's iron bullet hit its target. The warrior spirit threw its head back as the bullet tore through its mighty chest, letting out an anguished cry as the iron weakened its form. The fire started there, working its way outwards in a perfect circle until the entire spirit was ablaze with the bright orange and yellow flames. From within the blaze, the hunters could see the ferocity of the warriors eyes as he began to chant in his native tongue, the image of the bright flame reflected in his eyes. And then as quickly as the fire began, it extinguished, the spirit vanishing with it. Nothing remained of either the pouch or the spirit, and instinctually Dean knew they were finally done.
It only took a second for Dean to recover from the elation of having vanquished the spirit before he remembered Sam lying prone against the trunk of the tree they'd just descended. Turning back, Dean could see his little brother slumped painfully to one side, head hanging limply on his chest. His eyes were closed tight and his breathing was ragged, pulling in sharp spurts as he tried not to antagonize his injured body.
"Sammy, man, we got it. It's gone. How ya doin?" Dean asked urgently, crouching beside his injured brother and helping him to sit up straight, easing the pressure in his chest.
Blinking owlishly, Sam looked up at Dean and tried to focus. "I'm good," he hissed trough clenched teeth.
Dean snorted, sarcasm oozing into his voice. "Suuuuure you are. I can see that." Be began fussing over Sam, it suddenly occurring to him that he hadn't yet had an opportunity to thoroughly check his brother over. He had a vague idea where Sam was hurt, but didn't have any conclusive evidence. Twenty five feet up in the air balancing on a tree limb hardly offered the best situation for triage.
"Sammy, I've got to check you over," Dean announced apologetically.
Sam nodded, gritting his teeth in preparation of the pain he knew was about to come. Bobby appeared at his side, inconspicuously offering his hand for Sam to grip and he did so, not really caring if Dean noticed or not.
"I'll be as gentle as possible," Dean assured.
He started at the top and worked his way down, jumping back quickly at Sam's every hiss and moan, and finally faced the other two hunters with a grim face once he'd calculated everything. Sam had at least two broken ribs and a third was likely, his left wrist was broken and swelling fast, and he had a bump the size of an ostrich egg on the back of his head that made the young hunter's vision blur and jump. Bruises and sprains and gashes littered his body to a point that pale skin was nowhere to be seen. Dean didn't think either of the legs were broken, but severely bruised and sprained enough to make the very idea of walking out of there a daunting task. Yet he knew it had to be done. There was no way they were leaving anyone behind. And as far as they had come so far, Dean honestly believed the trek out of the woods was doable. It would just take determination and a little bit of Winchester style cajoling.
Patching Sam and Bobby up quickly with their limited supply of first aid equipment Dean talked them through his plan, never once questioning his own abilities. For the first time since he'd woken after their first traumatic experience in the woods, he'd completely forgotten about his own situation. The prosthetic was no longer an issue. The one and only thing on his mind right now was their father's dying words. Take care of your brother, Dean. Take care of Sammy.