'Cliffhanger'

Chapter 3

Notes: The threats have been flying in fast and furious … so in order to save my own hynie …here's chapter 3, earlier than the forecasted Thursday - (presses send button and hides under desk) ;0) – Next chapter from Dean's POV again, following that, Sam's POV ... who knows from there … I'll surprise myself!

Thanks guys for your awesome response to this little story, you have made me all kinds of happy (grins happily) - hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.

(Squeeeeels … THE SEASON PREMIERE WAS BRILLIANT … shame about the new Ruby though LOL)

Thanks also go out to my beta's Phoebe and Amarintha, they're my support team, my cheerleaders and my medication administrators LOL ;)

I know this is another shameless plug, but I need to mention that if you haven't been reading PADavis' new SN story OBX (Chapter 3 is already up) … you are seriously missing out! Another spectacular fic from an absolutely amazing author, she's one of my favorites! She has Sammy and Dean spot-on, and the fugly, humor, angst and hurt are outrageous in a brilliant way! Don't miss it!

Warning: Language

John's POV

"… I didn't let go …"

Those last words brushing past Dean's pale lips, whispered on a shallow breath … that knocks me harder than any punch to the gut ever could. I watch in disbelief as his unfocused eyes roll back and he suddenly becomes a dead weight in my arms.

"DEAN?"

God … what have I done … how could I have missed this.

"Dean … please … wake up …"

I shake him gently, my voice breaking, I know he can't hear me but I still need to try ... for my own sanity …

"Please son."

This can't be real … I'm losing them … I'm losing my kids …

I start trembling, the full impact of the situation making me sick … sick and furious at myself. The emotions I rarely allow myself the luxury to feel … they come forward unbidden, nearly knocking my breath away. I haven't felt like this since … since Mary died … completely helpless … that feeling of agonizing loss and heartache. I promised her I'd keep our family safe. Please god, this can't be happening … not again. I watch as a single hot tear splashes onto my boy's still face, he doesn't flinch, and my vision blurs as I gently brush my fingers through his short hair.

"Dean?"

Damp … my hand comes away sticky. I blink, looking at my red stained fingers stupidly … before I carefully test the area at the base of his skull, feeling the large bump, it's bleeding sluggishly, the blood running down onto the back of his black tee, hiding the evidence. He's been bleeding all this time … he's hurt badly, oh god, as badly as Sam … but he's been following my orders … like he always has, always does …

I wipe his blood on my jeans distractedly. How did he even manage to stay conscious this long? God, what have I done? Barking orders at him, expecting him to be fine because he's always fine, stronger then Sammy and I will ever be, and yet still more vulnerable … it didn't even occur to me …

His body shudders violently in my embrace as shivers wrack his helpless body. He's cold … shit he's ice cold. He's been exposed to the elements in this condition for too long … taken off most of his clothing to cover Sam … because I told him to keep Sam warm, told him to keep his brother alive … and he did, without question. Oh son … I didn't even check, I should have checked … damnit, I know better …

What kind of a father does that make me?

Shivers continue to run through his body as I move my hand to rest it on his bare stomach, under his shirt … his skin is cold, colder than my hand … first sign of the onset of hypothermia … shit …

I rub my hand across my heavily stubbled chin … thinking … I need to get him warm. Get both him and Sammy some cover. I look up at the sky again … the weather is getting worse, I need to make a shelter, that storm is going to hit hard. But I need to stabilize him first, then check on Sammy again.

That thought moves me into action. I'm not going to let some stupid rookie mistake take my sons away from me. They're all I have. I push my emotions back, years of training taking over. I need to detach myself, it's a familiar place and I do it with ease, can't be emotional right now, need to look after my boys … I won't let them die …

I carefully support Dean's neck as I shift out from behind him, lowering him down gently to the ground. I listen to the telltale signs of his labored breathing, accompanied by a sick rattling sound as I put my ear near his chest.

Blood starts pooling behind his head almost immediately, but I'm not too worried knowing that head wounds are notorious bleeders. I quickly cover the leaking wound with a compress, holding it steady, waiting for the bleeding to stop, while I reach over to pull the first aid kit closer. It's my own homemade version. I try to keep it well stocked, when I can, with things we usually need on hunts. I made a few purchases before we came on this trip, so I'm pretty sure I'll have what I need, for now.

I need to check for cuts, fractures, breaks, and injuries to his head, neck and spine. The same routine I just performed on Sammy. I can't risk moving them until I know for sure the full extent of their injuries.

I do a quick primary survey, assessing his airway, breathing and heart beat. His symptoms are almost identical to Sam's. Both of them are in a serious condition, shock causing the standard clammy, cold skin, accompanied by a weak and rapid pulse. I know from personal experience that cold and pain will only intensify the effects of shock so I need to work fast.

The wind suddenly shifts and my gaze travels up, to the darkening clouds … seeing the top of the cliff … god … they fell from up there … how are they even alive?

Dean suddenly starts coughing, and I quickly move forward to assist him as he makes a gagging sound. I manage to lift him up just as he vomits. The blood dripping from his lips and staining his teeth nearly makes my heart stop. He's hemorrhaging. I wait for him to catch his breath, but he doesn't regain consciousness. I use a swab to wipe his mouth, my heart pounding in my chest as I lay him down again, carefully lifting his tee, eyes widening at the mottled array of dark bruises snaking around his torso. I begin prodding his chest and stomach, my brow furrowing in worry as I continue to examine him. Distended abdomen, rigid to the touch, internal bleeding… god … he needs to get to a hospital now. I run my fingers through my hair in agitation, knowing that we won't get help, at least not until morning … and only if the storm clears up enough for them to risk it.

I push down the panic threatening to break my concentration … instead letting my trained fingers assess the rest of his injuries before moving to the bones sticking out awkwardly near his shoulder. His shoulder is badly dislocated, the ligaments near the joint have torn, which have allowed the bone to move out of its socket. I would usually just pop it back, done it enough times, but the broken collarbone prevents me from even trying … I don't want to cause any permanent damage. I quickly make the decision to stabilize his broken ribs, dislocated shoulder and broken collarbone with tape, before placing it in a tight sling for extra support. I don't remove his clothing, trying futilely to keep him warm … will probably need to resort to my own body heat to get his core temperature up. I know his injuries are life threatening, and to top it off, it's going to hurt like a mother when he wakes up … I pause for a second, looking at his pale features … if he wakes up … I push that thought away quickly … looking at the 4 single dose morphine auto-injectors worriedly, not sure there will be enough to last the night.

I want to hit something in frustration, suddenly wishing I had been the one to kill that supernatural sonnavabitch, patience has never been one of my virtues. I know with a sick certainty that injuries like these should be treated immediately, the longer we wait, the worse it gets. Internal bleeding can cause death and cardiac arrest, and knowing this doesn't help alleviate any of my dark fears.

I brush those reoccurring thoughts away as I continue working with clinical precision, cleaning the visible wounds with sterile saline, and then cutting the leg of his jeans up and past his swollen knee. I need to stabilize the compound fracture midway up his left leg. His knee doesn't look half as bad as the break, and I splint the joint above and below the fracture with supplies from my kit.

The detachment I feel helps me with the tasks I perform, trying to convince myself that it's just another hunt, just like all the others … lying to myself. I continue methodically, each step becoming another item on the long list of life threatening injuries. Both boys have concussions, I can see it from the unresponsiveness of their pupils when I use the small penlight to test their reactions. I make a mental note to keep a look out for watery blood from their noses or ears.

Finally, once I'm satisfied that both boys are stable for the moment, I quickly start unpacking the camping gear. I start by laying down a space blanket over the cold rocky surface. I'm planning on using one of the two-man tents as our shelter, and I set it up in record time, working around the boys as I position it against the cliff face. I secure it to the rock with a hammer and pitons, fitting it to the limited space on the ledge. Being a Marine for so many years prepared me in more ways than one for situations just like this. I seal off the drafty open spaces between the rock and the tent with ductape, before folding out my own sleeping bag to keep the boys off the cold surface.

Moving over to Sam next, I check him again. I've done everything I can to bandage and splint his badly broken leg and arm … knowing that the possibilities of a broken hip or pelvis are very real, but I can't be sure under all the bruising. I check the area around his pelvis again, no unnatural swelling as I delicately pull down the waist of his jeans to expose the skin. I open his sleeping bag, carefully shifting first his legs and then his lower and upper body, using my strength and weight to hold him steady, until I have him securely cocooned, before I use the bag as a carry litter to pull him carefully into the tent.

A soft groan has me kneeling next to him in an instant.

"Sam?"

He groans again and I put a steadying hand on his chest.

"Sammy? Can you hear me son?"

He slowly moves his head towards the sound of my voice. His right eye is swollen shut, but he manages to blink at me, his vision wavering as he looks at my face. It takes him a few minutes to focus.

"Dhhd?"

Thank god … I sigh with relief, at least he recognizes me, it's a good sign.

"Hey there kiddo … how ya feeling?"

He looks at me in confusion …

"Whr?"

"The mountain … do you remember what happened?"

… another blank stare … okay, I was expecting this … so why is my heart still hammering madly in my chest …

"Do you know what day it is son?"

He squints at me with one eye.

"Nnn … tired …"

Okay, I'll take that as a no.

His brow furrows, trying to concentrate and then he instantly gets agitated … his expression becoming desperate … and I know the reason …

"It's okay … Dean's here, son … you both got hurt … do you remember that?"

"Is … he …"

"He'll be okay, Sammy … you'll both be okay, I promise."

He tries to nod, but gives up as pain makes him frown deeply, before his body goes limp again. I want him to stay awake, but I also know he'll be in agony if he does, so I find myself slightly relieved that he's slipped back into unconsciousness.

The feeling of uselessness makes me want to yell out in frustration … I just want to carry them both out of here … but I can't … so instead I pinch the bridge of my nose in annoyance. Need to focus here. I move outside the tent, back to Dean. The snow is falling heavily now as I secure him into his sleeping bag, again using the bag to pull my unconscious son into the shelter I've created.

I zip the flap closed before angling my way to the back of the tent, pushing my backpack against the cliff wall. It's a tight fit so I leave Sam ensconced next to us, before I unzip the bag, and carefully lift Dean's upper body, climbing in behind him, before wrapping the sleeping bag around us both. His back rests against my chest as I gently pull him closer into my embrace, trying to make him as comfortable as I can while my own back rests against my backpack. I'm shivering already, the temperature outside starting to drop rapidly.

I have a few supplies next to me in the first aid kit. I fumble around with one hand until I find one of the flashlights. Switching it on to illuminate the darkening interior. The wind has started howling outside, flapping the material of the tent with unrelenting fury. I shiver, but more from Dean's cold body against my own then the elements, trying to wrap him closer to my body. Sammy's head is resting next to my thigh, so I can keep an eye on his breathing.

I sigh tiredly. It's going to be a long night.

I don't look at my watch, knowing I'll make myself crazy if I count off the seconds until someone can rescue us. But this quiet time becomes an endless torture as I play out the day's events in my head, criticizing myself in every way possible … damning myself to hell at the same time …

"Fell Dad … I couldn't stop it, I tried … I held on …"

God, he was trying to tell me … and I wasn't listening …

"Dean, get with the program."

I feel sick … all I've ever wanted, everything I've ever done … it's been for my boys, to protect them. At first I only wanted revenge for Mary's death, but when I found out what was out there, what we were up against, I knew I had to train my boys, get them ready for what was to come. I wanted to protect them, and instead here I am, both of them possibly dying … and for what? I haven't protected them, I've only pulled them into a life more dangerous than I ever could have imagined … this isn't the life I wanted for them …

I swallow back the lump in my throat.

… but even if I could go back in time, how could I change things … knowing what's out there …

The minutes tick by, Dean eventually becoming restless in my embrace, and I make small, light circles on his chest with my hand, trying to soothe him.

"It's okay son … I'm here …"

He groans, returning to consciousness quicker than I expected. I gently rock his shivering form in my steady hold, hoping that he will relax, reaching for the auto-injector of morphine I have already laid out at the top of the kit, just in case he doesn't.

He shudders violently, a soft whimpering … the worst sound I've ever heard Dean make … he just doesn't make sounds like that, he's far too stubborn to ever admit he's hurting … so that little sound tells me more than I need to know.

I watch as he slowly opens his eyes, pain etched on his face as he tries to huff through the agony I know he must be in. I pull the cover of the injector off with my teeth, moving carefully, trying to free his uninjured arm so I can get to a vein.

"Dd …"

"Hey son …"

I position his arm, tapping the juncture on the inside of his elbow …

"Dad … can't breathe … hurts …"

I hold my breath for a second, not sure what to do …

"Where, Dean?"

He shifts, trying to move his hand to his left side and groaning loudly.

"… under … ribs."

Shit, I'm not positive, but I think it's his spleen, just from the symptoms he's been showing … I don't know the extent of the damage, but it's serious … bruises, tears and ruptures to the spleen are usually caused by blunt abdominal trauma … falling off a cliff will quickly put you in that category.

I move my hand to his abdomen, testing the area again, Dean is huffing in pain even though I'm trying to be gentle. Localized abdominal pain, tenderness, and swelling accompanied by fractured ribs and shortness of breath … all bad signs. But it's when he starts vomiting again, clinging to my arm desperately as I try to hold him still, blood dripping from his mouth, that I'm convinced.

"… Dad …"

He whimpers again as I carefully let him fall back against my chest, holding him steady, trying to transfer some of my strength to his weakening body.

"I've got you, kiddo … I've got you …"

"… Dad … please …"

God, he's hurting … I adjust my hold and quickly plunge the auto-injector into his arm, waiting for the medication to take effect.

"I'm here son, you're going to be okay …"

"Hrts …"

"I know, I know … but I'll fix this … I promise you!"

I watch relieved as the lines of pain finally start disappearing, his struggled breaths rattle in his chest, gurgling as he tries to inhale. A death rattle. That thought, the consequences … an indication that he's near death … it's something I won't accept.

He watches me, he's face full of trust … he trusts me, but I'm not worthy, I've never been worthy … my eyes brim with unshed tears … I don't know what to do … I've done everything I can …

"It's okay … Dad … doesn't hurt … anymore …"

His voice is a soft sigh, he knows … I can see it … his tired eyes seem to look right through me, they're usually filled with mischief and sparkling with humor, but now they're just dull and lifeless … I can see the life leaving those eyes …

His voice is soft.

"… mm … dying?"

The anger those words invoke makes my voice harsher then I intended.

"You listen to me Dean … you stay with me, you hear … you're not gonna die, I won't let you! There isn't a thing that I won't do to ensure that … do you hear me son … I'll do anything Dean … anything!"

The look he gives me, the quite acceptance and understanding … the love …

… I'm losing him ...

"I'm begging you son … don't give up …"

TBC