SUMMARY: A vengeful spirit's attack leaves Dean hypothermic and fighting for life, while a concussed Sam, lost and alone, battles to get back to his brother. Story takes place mid-to-late Season 2, but before the events of All Hell Breaks Loose.
DISCLAIMER: Nope. Don't own Supernatural. Still playing in Kripke's sandbox. Will happily vacate premises when strike is over and Kripke & Co. are allowed to play here again.
A/N: Heather, even under the weather, you're awesome! Your advice really lit the creative fires for this chapter. Thanks. As always, thanks to chronic tweaking, any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
BRIDGING TWO SOLITUDES
CHAPTER 11
"Are you humming Metallica?"
Inside the helicopter, they all wore headsets so they could hear each other over the deafening thudding of the rotor blades. Dean's humming was being transmitted clearly to everyone on board.
Dean frowned in response to Doc's question. "It calms me down."
Doc smiled. "Calm is good." She quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "But 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'?'"
Dean ignored the question and continued humming, keeping his eyes glued to the monitor in front of him.
The search for Sam began in the southwest quadrant of the state park, the area Bobby's research showed Patrick Corrigan's body had been found in, and followed a classic grid pattern.
Dean was at the controls of one of the cameras mounted on the underside of the helicopter's fuselage, Bobby the other. Doc scanned the monitors displaying the images the cameras tracked and used a pair of binoculars to scan the ground below through the open side door of the helicopter.
Doc also kept a worried eye on Dean. For the most part, his fear for Sam's safety was overriding his fear of flying, until the chopper banked sharply or dropped suddenly to closer check out an image picked up by the cameras. Then she'd see him tense, close his eyes and swallow as he waged an internal battle to maintain control. Twice already she'd forced an oxygen mask on him to ease his breathing; his weak objections telling her all she needed to know about his current state of mind.
Just prior to take off, she'd also taken him aside after withdrawing a syringe from her medical bag. "If you're determined to do this, I can freeze your hip to make it easier for you to move around." Her frown deepened in concern. "Don't kid yourself, you'll pay for it later when the freezing wears off but, for now at least……"
"Just do it," Dean growled, undoing his jeans so she could jab the needle into his hip. The numbness allowed him to sit in the cramped chopper seats and concentrate on operating the cameras but Doc still caught the occasional wince and sharp intake of breath if he moved too quickly the wrong way.
The search had been under way now for more than three hours. There had been a couple of false alarms. Dean's heart had begun racing the first time he'd seen movement on the thermal imaging camera but it had turned out to be a deer. Dean knew Sam would give him no end of grief about that mistake when he heard about it, and, given Bobby's face when they discovered 'Sam' was actually Bambi's mom, he had no doubt Sam would hear about it.
But, hell, Sam could give him grief six ways from Sunday about anything he damn well pleased as long as they got him back safe.
A few moments earlier, Joe had said they had about another hour before they'd have to turn back for refueling. Dean wanted to keep going as long as possible; his gut telling him they were close. Sam was close. That instinct proved solid when Bobby's voice suddenly crackled over the headsets. "I think I've got something; there's movement to the west, at 11 o'clock."
Dean's eyes darted from the images his own camera was displaying to the monitors showing what Bobby had found. Joe banked the chopper to the left and dropped altitude, zeroing in on the co-ordinates Bobby had given him.
Dean stared at the monitor. "What, Bobby? What do you see?"
"Wait for it." Bobby's voice was calm. "There's a stand of evergreens blocking our view right now. Wait 'til Joe circles round then look to the right of the screen."
Dean's eyes were glued to the monitor. His heart rate increased and every drop of moisture in his mouth suddenly evaporated. The chopper moved slightly to the left - and then Dean saw him. Branches obscured his view of Sam's face but there was no mistaking those long legs. A broad grin broke out across his face but disappeared almost immediately when he realized Sam was struggling.
"What the hell's goin' on? Looks like something's got him pinned." Dean glanced up a Bobby, his breathing rate increasing noticeably. "Can you see what it is?"
Bobby shook his head as he zoomed in the camera, his eyes never leaving the monitor. "Uh-uh. I can't get a good angle." Whatever was holding Sam, wasn't showing up on the cameras.
Joe's voice crackled over the headsets. "Switch to thermal imaging."
"What?"
"Use thermal imaging. It'll pick up heat signatures, even through the trees."
Dean glared in the direction of the cockpit. "I don't give a damn what the cameras show. My brother's in trouble. Get me on the ground. Now."
Joe's voice was calm, in direct contrast to Dean's worried anger.
"Son, I can land this bird on a dime. What I can't do is land it in the treetops. I'm gonna move off to that clearing to the south and we'll lower you down there."
"Do it quick, Joe." There was an urgency in Bobby's voice that belied his calm manner. "Sam's definitely not alone down there. And whatever's with him, it isn't friendly."
Dean's eyes widened as he looked from Bobby to the monitor displaying the image he had captured in freeze-frame from the thermal imaging camera. Sam showed up as the familiar orange-red heat signature. What worried Bobby was the blue-green image right beside Sam, an image that illustrated a sudden, drastic drop in temperature, something that Bobby and Dean both knew meant only one thing: the presence of a spirit.
xxxXXXxxx
The spirit of Paddy Corrigan was strong, easily pinning Sam against the tree. The younger Winchester's feet were barely touching the ground, intensifying the pressure on his throat. His vision swam in and out of focus as he fought to draw in air. He heard the spirit's voice calling to Mary but it sounded like a tape playing at the wrong speed. Sam tried to cry out, warn Mary not to listen, but the spirit tightened his grip on Sam's throat, making it impossible to speak.
He was aware of the spirit laughing at him, leaning in close as he began counting. Why the hell was he counting? Sam had been having a hard time thinking clearly before the spirit grabbed him and the lack of oxygen now made it next to impossible.
"Three…..four….."
The spirit leaned in closer and even in his semi-lucid state, Sam gagged at the sour whiskey smell that enveloped him. He coughed weakly, gasping for air.
Realizing his captive was about to pass out, the spirit loosened his grip. Suddenly able to breathe, Sam sucked in air greedily which set off a new spate of coughing as soon as the cold air hit his lungs.
The spirit smiled, using his free hand to pat Sam's cheek mockingly. "It's a shame, boy. I don't think that little hussy cares for you as much as you thought she did. Looks like she's quite happy to sit back and watch you die. Let's test that theory, huh?"
With his left hand still holding Sam by the throat, the spirit's right hand curled into a fist which he drove suddenly into Sam's stomach. Corrigan laughed cruelly as Sam coughed and sputtered. He tightened his grip on Sam's throat once again.
"Five….six……"
He turned away from Sam, yelling over his shoulder and into the forest where Mary had run off. Sam's vision wavered; he could see the spirit's mouth moving but couldn't hear his words, his voice disappearing inside a loud thud-thud-thud that suddenly filled the air. The spirit seemed oblivious to the noise but it was all Sam could focus on. It took a moment for the familiar sound to register in his fuzzy brain but when recognition hit, he struggled to smile. It was a helicopter. He'd been found.
If he could, he would have laughed at the irony. He was about to die at the hands of a spirit just as the cavalry appeared on the horizon.
The spirit sensed Sam's struggling increase as he strained to see the helicopter, which was obscured by the nearby stand of evergreen trees. Corrigan turned to face him, tightening the pressure on Sam's throat. Lack of oxygen caused Sam's vision to grey at the edges. Fighting to stay conscious he scanned the trees, searching for any sign of the helicopter that sounded like it was right above him.
If the spirit who held him was aware of the approaching chopper, he made no sign. His grip on Sam's neck tightened even more.
"Seven….. Eight……"
Sam saw the spirit's lips move but the beating of the helicopter's rotors drowned out all other sounds. Sam felt himself slipping, catching only a brief glimpse of the red chopper through the trees just before his greying vision turned black.
"Let him go. He means nothing to you."
Corrigan maintained his hold on the unconscious Sam as he turned and glared at Mary's spirit, who reappeared suddenly about 10 feet from the two men.
The glare morphed slowly into an evil smile. "You're right, he means nothin' to me – but obviously he means somethin' to you. That's three times now I've caught you alone with him. How improper."
Mary's eyes glittered angrily. "It's me you want. Let him go."
Corrigan's hand slid from Sam's throat and fisted in Sam's sweatshirt, keeping him pinned against the tree. With his free hand, he motioned to Mary. "Get over here."
Mary's jaw clenched. "Let him go first."
Corrigan slammed Sam into the tree angrily. "Don't you get all uppity with me, missy. If you don't want me to snap you new beau like a twig, haul your little fanny over here - now."
Mary's glare softened as she looked at Sam. His head was hanging forward, his arms limply at his sides. Only Corrigan's fisted grip was keeping him upright. Her expression hardened as she turned again to her tormentor.
"Why?"
Corrigan scowled at the unexpected question. "Why, what?"
"All this time, why do you still chase me?"
Corrigan's face twisted into a warped smile. "I'm just fulfilling a promise – to that snot-nosed brother of yours."
"My brother?" Mary's intent was simply to divert Corrigan's attention from Sam while she figured out a way to help him, but discovering her brother was somehow connected to this vile man was a startling revelation. "How could you know my brother?"
Corrigan used his free hand to pull up his dark leather coat and heavy flannel shirt, revealing a gaping wound in his lower back. "Who'dya think I have to thank for this? Little bastard stuck me when I wouldn't show'em where we dumped you."
Mary's eyes glistened as she thought about her two protective older brothers. For one of them to have stabbed this man, they must have out of their minds with worry. Her gaze hardened as she met Corrigan's cruel eyes. "If that is what killed you, my only regret is that the knife was not in my hand."
Corrigan laughed. "Aren't you the feisty little whore? His mouth hardened into a sneer. "I warned him, if he left me out here to die, I would make you pay. I would track you down and make you suffer if it was the last thing I did."
Mary recoiled at the venom in Corrigan's words. He had made a promise in life and fulfilled it in death.
Corrigan saw Mary's gaze move to Sam. His hold on Sam's shirt tightened. "I don't know who this whelp is, but unless you wanna watch him die, get over here." His eyes narrowed as his cruel smile returned. "Where was I? Nine…..Te….."
A blast cut off Corrigan's countdown. Mary's eyes widened as Corrigan dissipated with a bellow and Sam crumpled to the ground, landing face down at the base of the tree. Her gaze snapped to the left, toward the origin of the blast. Standing there was an older man, a still smoking shotgun in his hands. He was breathing hard, moving slowly toward Sam but his eyes were fixed on Mary.
She stayed frozen in place, watching as he crossed to Sam's side.
"Sam?" The man's voice was gruff but worried. He crouched beside Sam, eyes still glued on Mary, shotgun at the ready, as he reached down and touched Sam's neck. The man then reached inside his jacket, withdrew a small black box and spoke into it. "I'm with Sam. He's breathing but he's gonna need your help, Doc. And be careful. We've got company."
The man's eyes never left Mary as he tucked the black box back inside his jacket.
Mary was puzzled by the man's actions but he seemed no threat to Sam. In fact, he seemed to care about him. And the blast from his shotgun had made her tormentor vanish. The problem was he wasn't gone; she could still feel his presence. Perhaps she could lure him away while this man helped Sam.
Mary glanced at Sam, who lay, unmoving, where he had fallen. As she lifted her gaze she met the eyes of the man beside him. She smiled sadly, and faded from sight.
Bobby watched her disappear and then turned his full attention to Sam.
There had been the predictable argument in the helicopter over who would rappel down first, with Dean adamant it would be him. Only when Bobby had stated the obvious, that they needed to get to Sam ASAP and Dean's hip injury and breathing problems meant he was in no shape to run, had he relented. Bobby had taken off at a sprint, shotgun in hand, the moment his feet touched the ground and he'd unhooked the harness.
He saw Sam before he cleared the trees and, for the first time, caught sight of the spirit holding him in place. He pushed himself to run faster when he realized Sam was no longer struggling. Bobby cut to the right, approaching the spirit at an angle to give him a clear shot without hitting Sam. He raised the shotgun as he ran, experience countering his rapid breathing and keeping his aim steady. He fired and, while the spirit disappeared when hit with the blast of rock salt shot, Bobby knew it would be back.
Once Bobby had rappelled down and Artie had winched up the cable, Dean had moved in to go next. Doc placed a hand on his chest and shook her head.
"Is there anything I can say, other than this is a really, really bad idea, that will stop you from doing this. You heard Bobby's radio call. Sam's breathing. Please. Stay here. Let me go down, then Bobby and I will bring him out."
Dean's jaw clenched. "I'm not sitting this one out, Doc. Not 'til I see for myself Sam's safe."
Doc's steely gaze met Dean's. "Fine, but I'm going down first." Doc cut off Dean's interruption before he even started. "Trust me. You'll want me on the ground when you get there."
Doc took off her headset and fastened on the harness. She grabbed her medical bag, blew out a deep breath to steady her nerves and stepped from the helicopter, allowing the winch to lower her down.
Dean kept his thoughts on Sam. He didn't want to dwell on how crappy he felt. He didn't want to think about what he was about to do. He was trying to ignore completely where he currently was. He focused on his brother. Sam was right there, just beyond the trees, and he needed to get to him.
With Doc safely on the ground, Artie handed the rappelling harness to Dean, who fastened it on as instructed, deliberately ignoring his shaking hands. He looked out the open door of the helicopter and to the ground beneath. He felt his mouth dry out and his heart beat faster and faster, those all-too-familiar invisible bands tightening around his chest making his congested lungs work harder and harder.
His breathing was shallow and rapid as he turned around, his back to the open doorway. His vision swam and he realized his hands had a death grip on the sides of the doorway. "It's no time to be a pansy-ass," he admonished himself silently. "Just do it."
With one final exhale, he closed his eyes and stepped backward into nothing.
His stomach lurched and his heart rate ramped up again when he bounced in the air as the line pulled taut. Pain exploded across his chest and his vision whited out behind his closed lids. He heard a cry of pain and it took a moment to register it was his own voice.
He had no recollection of the descent, only his feet touching the ground and crumpling beneath him. He was aware of Doc's arm around him as he slumped against her. The sound of his own labored breathing echoed in his ears, despite the overwhelming thudding of the helicopter overhead. He felt an oxygen mask suddenly pressed against his face and the sharp jab of a needle in his arm.
He peeled his eyes open. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against Doc, his head on her shoulder. The noise of the helicopter faded into the distance as Doc waved it off and Joe swung the chopper round to check out Sam and Bobby.
Dean curled an arm protectively around his chest. "Sonavabitch, Doc. What the hell was that?"
There was no mistaking the worry in Doc's voice "That was too much, too soon." She felt Dean tense, his arm tightening around his chest as he fought to push back the latest wave of crushing pain. "Breathe through it, breathe through it….that's it. It'll take a couple of minutes for the morphine to take hold, then you'll start to feel better."
He grimaced against the pain. "Sam…."
"Bobby's with Sam. You heard him on the radio. Sam's breathing. As soon as I know you're okay, I'll go take care of your brother."
Dean's breathing gradually slowed and deepened and the pain in his chest turned from blindingly sharp to a dull ache. Slowly, Doc sat him up, hesitated for a moment until she was sure he was steady, then moved round to face him.
Dean rubbed his chest, grimacing. "What the hell, Doc?"
Doc shook her head, sliding her hands under Dean's shirt to check out his ribcage. "Two days ago they were pounding on your chest, trying to keep you alive. The fact they didn't break any ribs in the process, was a miracle in itself. If there were any hairline fractures, that little trip down from the helicopter likely made them worse. Hence the reason you're in a world of hurt right now." She unzipped a pocket on her jacket and pulled out a stethoscope, sliding it under his shirt to listen to Dean's heart and his lungs. When she was finished, her worried gaze met his and she shook her head.
Dean pulled the mask from his face. "What?"
"You have some angel watching over you." She smiled giving his shoulder a squeeze. Your heart's beating a little fast but that's not surprising given what you've just been through. You feel dizzy, light-headed?"
Dean shook his head. "Nah, it was just the pain in my chest. Felt like that angel you mentioned was stomping on it. It's better now."
Doc quirked an eyebrow. "I want to get over to Sam but if…."
Dean cut her off by handing the oxygen mask to Doc. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."
Dean pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, accepting Doc's help without protest.
Dean wanted to run, get to Sam as quickly as possible, but his body just laughed at that idea. He focused on simply walking in a straight line. He also didn't object when Doc shifted the bag of medical supplies she was carrying to her left shoulder and slid her right arm around his waist, offering support. Dean couldn't afford pride right now. He put his arm across Doc's shoulders and kept moving.
Dean's chest tightened again as they cleared the trees and he caught sight of Sam. His brother was lying face down on the ground beside Bobby. "Sammy?"
"He's breathing, Dean." Bobby's voice tried to be reassuring but couldn't quite cover his worry.
Dean grimaced as he dropped to the ground beside Sam, ignoring the pull of his injured hip and placing his hand on Sam's neck. The faint beat of a pulse beneath his fingers was only slightly comforting. The side of Sam's face that wasn't pressed into the ground was a mass of bruises, his eye swollen shut. Where the skin wasn't bruised it looked flushed. Dean touched the back of his fingers to Sam's forehead and it felt warm, way too warm considering Sam had been lost outside in the middle of March for almost three days.
"Sammy?" Dean rested his hand worriedly on the shoulder of his way-too-still brother. "Time to wake up, bro. We're gonna take you home." His chest tightened further when Sam didn't move. He glanced up at Doc who was already listening to Sam's lungs with her stethoscope. "We've gotta help him. Where the hell do we start?"
After listening to Sam's heart, Doc pulled the stethoscope from her ears and began checking his bruised neck before pulling a penlight from her pocket, gently opening his mouth and shining it down Sam's throat. "We start by making sure he's breathing and keeps breathing." Her eyes met Dean's. "So far, so good. There's a little swelling in his throat, likely from whatever caused these." She pointed to the bruises that mottled the skin on either side of Sam's throat. "But, so far, his airway is clear."
Doc continued her examination of Sam, her deft fingers gently probing the bruising around his eye and down the side of his face. Running her hands over his head, she frowned as found a large welt just behind his ear. She glanced up at Bobby. "Was he like this when you found him?"
Bobby shook his head. "He was pinned against the tree but went down as soon as I dropped the spirit holding him there."
Doc's gently pried open Sam's eyes and used the penlight to check for pupil reaction. Dean watched Doc work then glanced at Bobby. "What the hell was it, Bobby? What did this to him?"
Bobby's voice was steady. "I'd put money down it was the spirit of Patrick Corrigan. Got a good look at the ugly bastard before I shot him full of rock salt."
"The bank robber?" The surprise in Dean's eyes morphed quickly into anger. "Dude's lucky he's dead but there's nothing I'd like better than to kill him all over again."
Dean turned back to Sam, glancing up at Doc. "So? How's he doing?"
Doc kept working. "Like I said, he's breathing. His heart rate and respiration are a little too fast for my liking but likely because he's dehydrated."
Dean's hand was resting on Sam's. "That's why he's so warm, huh?"
Doc nodded.
John Winchester had explained the dangers of dehydration to his boys when they were still young. "Imagine the Impala's engine running without any fluids," he'd said. "It'll keep going, trying to do its job, but it'll overheat and, eventually, break down. Your body's just like an engine. Always make sure you've got water with you, especially when you head into remote places."
Dean rolled his eyes at the memory. Great advice but kidnappings by nasty spirits were a little hard to plan for.
Doc offered Dean a tight smile before turning her attention back to Sam. "Get the oxygen out of the bag, Dean, and put the mask on Sam. That'll help. Then once we get him turned over, I'll get an IV started."
Dean grabbed the oxygen but frowned as Doc reached in the bag and pulled out a neck brace. "What's that for?"
Doc caught the look of alarm that flashed across Dean's face. "Because of this bruising across his back, I'm gonna put a C-collar on him to keep his neck stable until we can get him properly x-rayed." She smiled reassuringly. "I don't think we're dealing with any serious spinal injuries. It just pays to be cautious, okay?"
Dean nodded as settled the oxygen mask on Sam's face.
Doc reached into the supply bag and pulled out a space blanket, using her teeth to rip open the plastic packaging. She unfolded the blanket and laid it on the ground beside Sam before glancing up at Bobby. "Give us a hand here to roll him over. Dean, hold his head steady. On three, roll him toward me. Ready? One, two, three."
Despite their efforts to be careful, none missed Sam's groan of pain as they moved him onto the blanket.
"Sammy?" Dean's eyes jumped from Sam to Doc and back to Sam, but his brother showed no signs of regaining consciousness.
Doc glanced at Bobby before sliding her hands under Sam's shirt, checking his ribs and abdomen for any further injuries. "Would be a good idea to call your pilot friend up there, Bobby. Tell him to send down the litter and a backboard. Sam's not walking out of here under his own steam."
Bobby nodded, pulling the radio from inside his vest to make the call. After a brief conversation, he motioned to the clearing they'd rappelled down to. "Joe's gonna lower the litter over there. I'll be right back."
Doc nodded, then turned back to Sam. Catching the fear that flashed in Dean's eyes when she'd noted Sam wasn't walking himself out, Doc offered another tight smile. "Like I said, Dean. I'm just being cautious. Sam's been out here a long time and, by the looks of it, he's been through a lot."
Dean nodded, then frowned at Doc's puzzled expression. "What?"
As Doc had cut open the sleeve of Sam's hoodie to start the IV, she noticed a gold chain trailing from Sam's hand. Gently, she peeled back his fingers to reveal the necklace he had locked in his grasp. She held it up for Dean to see. "You ever see that before?"
Dean took the locket and turned it over in his hand, shaking his head. "Never."
He shoved it in his pocket and returned his attention to Doc's examination of Sam.
She next removed the rudimentary splint Sam had applied to his right leg, cut open his jeans from the cuff to mid-thigh and surveyed the extent of the injury to his knee."
Dean swallowed as he took in the mass of bruising that encircled Sam's badly swollen knee. "You can fix it, right?"
Doc nodded. "With time." She took an inflatable cast from the supply bag and slid the C-shaped plastic outer shell under Sam's leg and pulled the inflatable sock it contained over his foot and up above his knee. She handed the pump to Dean. "Inflate the cast. It'll keep the knee stable until we get him a proper brace at the hospital."
Dean was about to nod when the spirit of a young woman materialized suddenly behind Doc. He reacted on instinct, dropping the pump Doc had just handed him and reaching under his shirt for the gun stashed in the waistband of his jeans. Doc's eyes widened in shock as Dean pulled out the gun and pointed it toward her. She scrambled out of the way when she realized he was aiming over her shoulder.
Dean had a clear shot but hesitated. It was the girl whose image had flashed through his head when they were back at the hospital talking about Mary Graham. Was this Mary?
He frowned, puzzled, when he saw fear flash across the spirit's face. Mary glanced at Sam then turned back to Dean. Raising her arm, she pointed behind him. "He's here."
The hairs prickling on the back of Dean's neck left him no doubt somebody, or something, was behind him. Dean threw himself sideways with a groan and rolled so he was facing the direction in which the spirit had pointed. Shakily, he raised the gun and squeezed the trigger three times just as the angry spirit of Patrick Corrigan appeared, arm raised as if to club Dean across the head. Dean's bullets found their mark and the spirit dissipated in almost the same instant he had appeared.
Dean crumpled against the tree behind him, breathing heavily. His hand still held his gun but his arm fell limply to his side.
Doc frowned worriedly. "Dean?"
He blinked at Doc dazedly. "S'okay, Doc….jus…just gimme a sec….." Dean squeezed his eyes closed and blew out a breath. That last burst of activity had apparently used up what little energy he had left.
Bobby came running toward them, dragging the rescue litter behind him. "I heard the shots. Corrigan?"
Dean nodded at Bobby, fighting to reclaim his breath.. "Bastard disappeared before…..before I could empty my clip into him." He turned in the opposite direction. There was no sign of the female spirit. He looked at Bobby incredulously. "The girl….Mary, I think….. she warned me he was coming."
Bobby placed the litter near Sam and pulled out the backboard it contained. "She was here before too…..when I first got here." He looked down at Sam. "You know salt bullets are only going to hold off Corrigan for so long. I say we get out of here; take care of the living and worry about the dead later."
"No.…….help….her."
Dean, Doc and Bobby all froze when they realized it was Sam speaking. His weak voice was barely audible, muffled further by the oxygen mask. Dean dragged himself to Sam's side and grabbed his hand. "Sammy?"
Sam's eyes blinked dazedly up at Dean, his eyes widening when recognition set in. "Dean? That….really… you?"
Dean grinned. "The one and only, Sam." He shook his head. "Hate to say it, but you look like crap, dude."
Sam squeezed Dean's hand weakly. "You….okay?"
Dean pushed aside the exhaustion that threatened to fell him and flashed his brother a patented Dean Winchester smile. "Never better, now I know you're in one piece – more or less anyway. "We're gonna get you outta here. You'll be back in civilization, safe and sound, before you know it."
Sam smiled tiredly, his eyes drooping closed. Dean began to gently pull his hand from his brother's, only to have Sam clamp down on it with surprising strength. "No. Can't….go yet."
Dean frowned. "Like hell we can't, Sam. You need a hospital like yesterday. We're outta here. Now."
Seeing Sam getting agitated, Doc moved in. "Hey, handsome. How 'bout you just relax and listen to your brother, okay?"
Sam's brow wrinkled at the familiar voice. "Doc?"
She smiled down at him. "Yeah. And Bobby's here too."
Sam smiled weakly, as Bobby moved into his line of sight. "Hey Sam." Bobby turned to Doc. "Look, we really need to get going. Corrigan's likely to show up again and Joe's running out of gas up there. If Sam's ready to move, let's get him loaded up and get the hell outta here."
"No."
Dean sighed. Sam's voice was barely audible but he knew that stubborn tone all too well. They were in for a fight."
He clamped his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Sam, I hate to tell you this dude but, the shape you're in now, you couldn't beat up a Teletubbie, so you're not gonna win a fight with me. Now chill and don't give me any more crap." He turned to Doc. "You said he needs to be on that backboard?"
Doc nodded. "Yeah. I don't want him jostled around." She smiled down at Sam. "We're gonna have to strap you in for the ride home, Sam. I can't say it's gonna be pleasant but I need to keep you as still as possible until we can properly check out your injuries, okay? Try and relax. Everything's gonna be fine."
"Dean….please."
Dean groaned. Even barely conscious, Sam could give him a look that cut through every line of defence he could build up. "Damn it, Sam." He leaned in so his face was inches from Sam's. "Whatever it is, I'll take care of it. Whatever you want – just as soon as we know you're okay. So quit being a pain in the ass and let us take care of you."
Sam was fading and Dean knew he'd won – a reprieve, at least, if not the battle. He helped Doc roll Sam onto his side as Bobby slid the backboard in place, then roll him back. He looked on as Doc fastened the straps around Sam's head, chest, waist and legs.
He tried to push himself up, to help Doc and Bobby lift Sam into the litter, but his body suddenly refused to co-operate. He frowned and tried again, only to collapse against the tree at his back. "Sonovabitch….."
Doc saw him struggling. "Dean?"
His eyes were drooping shut as he turned to face her. "I'm, uh….I'm outta gas, Doc. You got somethin' in you bag of tricks to keep me goin' a bit longer?"
"Uh-uh. No more chemical help. Your body's saying 'enough' – it's time you listened." Doc walked over and crouched beside Dean. She placed her fingers on his neck to check his pulse, shaking her head. "The morphine I gave you earlier should have felled you before now. The only thing that's kept you going this long is adrenaline."
Bobby looked from Sam to Dean, shaking his head worriedly. "Doc, we've really gotta go."
Doc nodded, then quirked an eyebrow as her eyes met Dean's. "You wanna try standing. See if you can make it to the chopper?"
Dean grabbed the tree behind him and tried to pull himself up, failing miserably. He offered Doc a sleepy smile. "Take care of Sammy. Then, if Bobby can give me a hand, I should be good to go….."
Doc gave his hand a squeeze. "You got it." She turned to Bobby. "Let's get out of here."
On the count of three Bobby and Doc lifted Sam into the litter. Bobby used the radio to call the chopper back to the clearing then nodded at Dean. "I'll be right back. Keep your eyes peeled." He turned to face Doc who was putting the carrying strap of the litter over her shoulders. "You sure you can handle this Doc? He's a big boy."
Doc returned his quirked eyebrow. "Like I have a choice? I can handle it. Let's go."
With a collective grunt they picked up Sam and walked off slowly through the trees toward the helicopter.
Dean watched them go, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. His body suddenly felt like Jell-O and his head like it would fall off his shoulders if he moved too fast. But they'd found Sam and, as beat to hell as his little brother was right now, Dean knew he would be okay.
He closed his eyes and frowned when he thought about the helicopter ride he still had to suffer through to get home. "You so owe me, Sammy," he muttered. He nodded, smiling. "I know. When you're better, we're going to the circus. One with clowns. Lots and lots of clowns……"
His smile widened as a shadow passed over him. "That was quick, Bobby. I……" He peeled his eyes open and his smile disappeared instantly. It wasn't Bobby. Looming over him was the very pissed-off spirit of Patrick Corrigan.
To Be Continued……
A/N: Hey, always watch your step at the end of my chapters. That pesky ol' cliff is never far away. I'll happily admit I played a little fast and loose with thermal imaging technology in this chapter. I did the research but, unfortunately, available information doesn't delve much into its ghost-hunting applications. Please forgive this creative licence. But, hey, if Dean can turn a walkman into an EMF reader, why wouldn't this work? Just sayin'. Thanks again for reading and all your comments. They're yummy – even the name-calling ones! Please, send more.