'Cliffhanger'

Chapter 4

Notes: Thanks to everyone for your fantabulous reviews, comments, fav's and alerts … hope I can still keep you all entertained ;) – Next POV from Sam. Also thanks to my amazing beta's Phoebe and Amarintha, there changes and suggestions are invaluable … (plus they're at my beck and call 24/7 … and then I wake up) – all mistakes are always mine! Still called 'Cliffhanger' … you have been warned ;)

Also, if you haven't got the comic 'Supernatural Rising Son' – you are absolutely missing out, there is so much pre-series amazingness in this collection … and Comic 6 of 6 has a special feature by Eric Kripke … it's friggin' hilarious! I'd have loved to see Jensen and Jared's faces when they saw that master piece ROFL ;) – God, I hope they continue with more comics like this! It's brilliant!

Warning: Language

Dean's POV

I inhale.

Watching Dad, his lips moving … the words a deep, loud hum.

I exhale.

He's scared. Can see it in his eyes. Probably never admit it though.

My chest rattles painfully again and I try to swallow the urge to cough, failing miserably. Instead, I attempt to hack up a lung … shit … it hurts … hanging onto Dad's arm with brutal urgency, as tears start streaming down my face.

By the time I stop, falling helplessly back into Dad's hold for a second time, my heart is hammering wildly in my chest, keeping pace with my short breaths. I feel dizzy, almost faint … well, not faint exactly … cause I don't faint … it's just not a manly thing to do.

Dad is wiping at the corners of my mouth, as I move my gaze down to my little brother, swallowing a few times, tasting more blood. Can see his ashen features, in ghostly contrast to the ever darkening bruises along his face. Dad's hand moves to rest on Sammy's forehead, his thumb trying to smooth the deep lines of pain etched there. He's lying so still next to us, barely breathing. He's hurt real bad, I know it … I want to reach out to him, give him some comfort with a touch, but my arm is wrapped up tightly against my chest.

I'm here dude … I'm here …

Hope this storm ends soon … so that someone can rescue him … rescue us. I don't know how much more of this I can handle.

I groan tiredly, can hear Dad's voice in the background, but I'm not really listening, just drifting in and out, my thoughts wondering, tapping into forgotten memories. Probably a bit delirious, tend to get a bit 'Jimmy Hendrix' on meds. I find myself remembering the first time I ever killed a man. Weird how I feel the same way now, like I felt back then … scared, protective. I killed him … killed a man … not a demon, not a monster … to save Sammy. I was just a kid myself, but he threatened Sam's life. Strange thing is, if I could go back … I'd do it all again … even now … there's nothing I won't do to keep my little brother safe.

Please be okay, Sam … please dude … I know I failed you … but I'll do whatever it takes … just don't leave me … alone …

I let my eyes close … floating … just eternally grateful there's no more pain … must be the morphine … god, I love that stuff.

Warm.

God, it's so nice and warm … don't want to get up just yet …

"Dean …"

Heads a bit stuffy … still really tired … think I'm coming down with something, probably some kinda souped-up flu bug ...

"… please, open your eyes …"

Dad? Ah shit … maybe he'll let me sleep in today, not feeling so great …

"… that's an order son …"

He's slapping my cheek lightly. Crap … so much for that idea … I try to force my heavy eyelids open, squinting. It takes five tries, but eventually I'm looking at his very blurry face through half slits.

"Dd …?"

His eyes are glistening … but he's smiling, even chuckles …

"Hey there … you with me?"

Did I go someplace? I let my eyes move around … bright orange material … tent … wind howling … cold … oh yeah …

I hate camping.

"Feel … funny …"

"It's the meds, kiddo."

Don't I know it. I grin lopsidedly as I watch him … listening to the deep timber of his voice … it's a comforting sound, vibrating in his chest, against my ear.

I relax a bit, breathing slowly… feeling safe as he continues with those gentle, soothing circles on my chest … soothing circles … just like mom used to do, when I was little … when I got sick … the only form of affection I can tolerate when I'm not well ... like I always do for Sammy when he's sick or hurt …

Sammy.

My eyes quickly drift to him again. I know my brother better than anyone … his weird eating habits, his pathetic taste in music, his excuse for a good cuppa joe … and his sleeping habits … that's why I suddenly know …

"Something's … wrong …"

Dad shifts slightly behind me, looking at me worriedly.

"What is it, Dean … you in pain, son?"

I swallow … trying to pull in enough air to talk.

"No … something's wrong … with Sammy …"

"Sam?"

He shifts again, his hand quickly moving to the pulse point in Sam's neck. Dad's shocked intake of breath scares me, and the next few minutes become a blur of activity. He untangles himself, supporting me carefully against his backpack. I shiver, watching as he quickly moves to lean over Sam. He checks Sam's pupils again, times his heartbeats, listens for breaths.

"Shit … he barely has a pulse, he's stopped breathing … come on, son."

My heart nearly stops as I watch Dad grab an Epipen from the kit … injecting it into Sammy's thigh. He starts rescue breaths, forcing air into Sammy's lungs … telling him to wake up between breaths … and I find myself repeating those same words.

"Please Sammy …"

"Come on, son … open those eyes for me!"

Please don't die, Sammy … please …

A few seconds later, Sammy's stunned inhale of breath is accompanied by a round of desperate coughing, but it's the best sound in the world. It takes a few more minutes, and continued prodding from Dad, but eventually he opens his eyes slowly, looking at Dad and then moving his head slightly to look straight at me. I can't help but smile, sighing in relief.

"Dn?"

"Hey … how ya feeling?"

He thinks about it, eyes glazed in uncertainty.

"Sore."

"No … shit."

"you … okay?"

I lean back heavily, tense muscles trying to relax … god … way to give me a heart attack, little brother … I take in a few steadying breaths.

"Yeah … you just about gave me … a friggin coronary … but yeah … I'm good."

I'm lying to him and myself but I don't want to upset Sammy … he's still not with it, severe concussion will do that to you. He watches me for a few minutes … neither of us talking … but eventually the pain meds and injuries win out. Staying awake for short periods of time is all he can seem to manage, before his eyes slip closed again.

Dad fusses around Sammy a bit longer, before he moves over and settles back into the sleeping bag behind me again, supporting my weight. I can feel his fears and concerns, they're the same as mine. Neither of us are sure if Sammy will survive the night. For the next few hours I drift in and out of consciousness. Dad keeps a steady monologue going when either Sam or I are awake, talking about nothing in particular, just trying to keep our minds off our injuries. He doesn't sleep though, moving between Sam and I, sharing his body heat by lying next to Sam and holding him close, or moving back to sit behind me. I can see the man is tired, but he just keeps a wary eye on both of us. He gives Sam another dose of Morphine when he wakes up again, in obvious pain and groaning loudly.

During the short periods that Sammy manages to stay awake, I try to talk to him, hoping to keep him calm, but talking exhausts me. Thankfully Dad takes over and both of us end up listening to stories about Mom, and attempting not to laugh at some of the strange hunts Dad has been on. When I feel the sharp stabs of pain running through my body, I ignore it … I'm good at hiding pain … so when Dad lifts up the last auto-injector of Morphine, I don't hesitate.

"Save it … for Sammy, Dad … he needs it … more …"

He looks at me worriedly, not sure what to do.

"Dean, you haven't had any pain med's for hours son …"

"It's … okay … I'm okay Dad … save it … Sam."

I smile at him, forcing my lips not to tremble as I feel a bone weary ache settle over me. He nods his head, giving Sammy the last dose when he wakes up, gasping in pain a few minutes later. I let my eyes close, thankfully the pull of sleep leaves me with a few minutes of oblivion.

I'm thirsty all the time when I'm awake, but Dad won't give me too much to drink. Instead he offers me small sips of water which I gulp quickly, even though he tells me to take it slow. I'm not sure how long we go through this continual routine … Dad checking Sammy … Dad checking me … but eventually, like a distant rumble of thunder … we finally hear the approach of what we hope is a helicopter.

Dad gets up again, opening the flap of the tent … the snow has stopped but the wind is still strong, and icy cold, leaving a frosty white blanket in its wake. Dad's excited shouts confirm that the rescue team have finally arrived, and I feel relief flooding me …wasn't sure I could handle much more of this hell … I'm really feeling like crap, my body too weak to stay up without support or Dad's help … and Sammy needs a doctor and medical attention immediately.

I watch nervously as one of the rescuers descends on a rope … unhooking his harness, before introducing himself to Dad. He comes in, assessing us both quickly, asking Dad questions, but my attention is on Sammy … his eyes are open … he looks scared and confused at the sudden noise.

"They're here, Sammy … finally … we're gonna be okay."

He smiles at that, too weak and tired to reply … but both of us look over at Dad when he suddenly starts talking really loudly … he's fighting … arguing with the medic.

"I'm sorry sir … we can only medevac one patient. The conditions up here are treacherous … the winds are too strong and the helicopter is drifting slightly. We need to move now … we'll come back, the flight to the hospital will probably take 40 minutes there and back. That should give us plenty of time to fetch you, before the next forecasted snow fall."

"Both my son's need immediate medical attention … you have to take them both … I'll wait here if I have to!"

"I'm sorry, but the initial call said there was only one patient … we could only get the smaller helicopter up here in these conditions … and like I said, we just can't risk it … we can only take one patient, I'm sorry."

Dad looks like he wants to start throwing punches. The medic just looks at us worriedly, the wind picking up as they speak. I know that they're risking their own safety to be up here to get us.

"How do you expect me to choose which of my son's should have medical care first … you tell me that!"

The medic shakes his head, aware of Dad's fears, but he also knows that a decision needs to be made fast. Before I can make the choice for Dad … the medic makes it obvious.

"First rule of triage. Determine the priority. Has either of them stopped breathing?"

Dad looks at us, rubbing his hand through his hair irritably.

"Yes … my youngest … Sam."

"Okay, then we'll take him first."

I can see the war raging inside Dad's head … he doesn't want to make this kind of decision, but he finally nods his head, knowing he has no alternative.

The medic immediately moves into action. Giving Sam an open IV bag of saline with a mixture of drugs, before handing dad a clipboard.

He's shouting above the noise.

"Before we go … you'll need to sign this release form … in case they need to perform surgery."

"Yes … yes … of course."

He then moves over to me, injecting something into my arm … and whatever it is, it's the unbelievably good stuff … god … I'm floating … and the world suddenly looks amazing … I feel great … maybe I can still walk out of here …

"Dean?"

I look at Sammy as they get ready to lift him up, smiling at him loopily. He looks worried.

"It's okay, Sammy … you go … I'll be right behind you, okay?"

"Kay."

I watch as Dad helps carry him outside, securing him into a cage, just before the medic clambers on top and they start pulling them up. My stomach flips … but I'm relieved … at least Sammy is on his way, he'll get help. I can wait … besides, Dad's with me.

He comes inside again, his shoulders hunched as he watches the helicopter moving out of sight over the mountains, before closing the flap again. He moves back behind me, removing his jacket so that his warm body cocoons me. I smile at him … god I love him … and I love the beautiful mountains … and helicopters … I love helicopters.

"… love camping, Dad!"

He snorts at that, holding me closer. For the next few minutes he just talks to me again … just random stuff … I'm still not paying much attention … but I know that he's probably trying to get his mind off the choice he was forced to make … the choice between Sammy or me … a choice I would have made for him, no matter what he decided. I need to tell him, he needs to know that I understand. He made the right decision.

Damn … I hate this … I really hate chick flick moments. Suddenly I'm fighting the urge to cry, damn meds … turning me into a friggin girl … I swallow uncomfortably … guess I don't have a choice …

"Dad … if … I don't …"

"Dean! You just stop right there!"

The anger in those words makes me flinch slightly … but thank god he's stopped me … I was starting to feel a bit socially award.

"I tell you what … I'll make you a promise …"

I look at him nervously … okay … seems I'm not completely out of the 'socially awkward' woods yet …

"If you hold on for me, hold on just a bit longer … and get better, survive this shit …"

Please, Dad … don't say you'll hug me … please …

"… I promise you, son … I'll give you the keys to the Impala."

My breath hitches again.

"Is that a deal, kiddo?"

My heavy eyes are suddenly wide open, looking at Dad in shocked disbelief … shit … maybe I'm hallucinating … god, please don't let me be hallucinating …

"Hell … yeah …"

Dad grins at me, I grin back. I can barely believe what I'm hearing … the keys to the Impala? But Dad loves that car? And he's giving it to me? Oh god …

"Okay then … you just keep fighting, son …"

Fighting … I can do fighting. I nod slowly.

He chuckles, probably the dumbass look on my face right now. Shit … I really hope I'm not dreaming all this.

"I know what you're thinking kiddo, but I'm serious … it's a promise I'll keep."

His voice breaks, but he continues.

"Besides, it's about time you had your own car … and I've had my eye on a new black pickup. So she'll be all yours, son … just promise me you won't stop fighting."

Don't stop fighting … damn … it's worth a try.

"Kay …"

That stupid smile is probably still plastered on my face … hard to tell … I still feel fantastic. Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch … hell, Dad knows how much I love that car … come on body, you can hang in there for a few more hours …

I sigh tiredly, nearly out of breath.

Sides, I really, really love that car … shit … did I say that already … but I can't help myself … I mean, you just gotta love a car that you can turn on … and it returns the favor.

But my burst of enthusiasm becomes harder to maintain ... my promises slipping away as the meds seem to wear off faster. The pain levels increase so much that I have to fight back the shouts as my body cramps up. I grip Dad's hand desperately. Agony shooting through each limb as I gulp in a lungful of air. Dad holds me the whole time, whispering reassurances, knowing he can do nothing for me. The pain eventually becomes so unbearable, I have to fight to stay conscious, my eyes scrunching shut … sharp stabs hitting me in the chest … tearing up my leg and arm … until I can't hold back a scream.

I ride out the waves of agony, shaking violently in Dad's arms.

"Easy … easy …"

Dad is rocking me slowly again, his voice breaking even though he's trying to stay calm and in control.

"They'll be back to fetch us any minute … just hang in there …"

I'm sorry, Dad …

Then realization … Dad probably knew … knew this would happen … that's why he let Sam go first … he knew I couldn't win this battle … he knows I'm dying … oh god …

Please Sammy, be okay!

"Just a few more minutes, and they'll come back for us, okay … they'll fix you up good as new … and you can hit on all the nurses. I'll bet you they're all hot. What do you say? Sound like a plan buddy?"

Dad'll take care of you …

"Deano … you listening to me son?"

I wheeze … feeling strange … something doesn't feel right … I blink in confusion.

"Dean? What is it?"

Can't …

Need … air …

I grab Dad's arm anxiously, but somehow he understands … shifting me slightly, his cool hand moving to my forehead, keeping my head steady, as he careful tilts my neck back over his shoulder. My shoulder grates slightly … Ow! Ow! Sonavabitch! … but he keeps rubbing my chest soothingly … telling me to take slow, even breaths.

I gulp … chest heaving …

There's a strange buzzing noise in my ears, interrupted by Dad's frantic voice. I look at him puzzled … he's yelling at me, I watch his lips move again … trying to concentrate, but it's so hard … and I'm so tired …

"Come on, kiddo … breathe in … out … that's it … slowly …"

He's coaching me, I watch him … he wants me to inhale … and exhale … I try to keep up with his firm orders, jerking awake as he shakes me softly when I stop … when did I forget how to breathe?

I'm dying over here … shit … and Dad said I wasn't … but he was lying … not surprised … our family makes a living off lies.

Dad … he'll take care of things. He looks after this family, he'll take care of Sam. Sure, we don't have the best life … but Dad and Sammy, they're the reason I do the things I do … they're all I have … and I don't want to lose them. Don't want to leave them either.

I look up at him again, my eyes filled with all my unspoken emotions … shit, who am I kidding? I'm fucking scared. I need Sam. I want to hold on, my hand automatically going out to grip Dad's jacket sleeve in fear, needing to feel something solid, my body arching slightly, feeling the pressure of Dad's tight grip on my wrist. A warm tear runs down my cheek.

I don't … want to die … Dad … not now … I want those keys … to the Impala …

"Dean … look at me, look at me, son …"

It feels like I'm moving away from him, slipping … like I'm leaving. I can still see him though, still feel his steady hold. And there's a panic in his eyes again … my mouth moves soundlessly … wanting to talk, knowing I have nothing left to say … just so tired … too tired to breathe …

"Keep your eyes open, son … stay awake, they're coming back for us, just keep your eyes open and everything will be fine …"

It's an order. Okay, Dad … eyes open … not focusing very well, but everything will be fine …

"Dean! Don't you do this to me, kiddo!"

Sinking … it's a nice feeling … my eyelids try to close but I keep focus … just need to keep my eyes open.

"NO DEAN! Breathe damn you!"

His fingers are at the pulse on my neck.

I can hear you, Dad … don't be mad … think maybe I should just rest for a while …

Dad shifts out from behind me in an instant, I watch him moving quickly as he supports my weight and lowers me to the ground. My eyelids close again as I try to keep my gaze on Dad … he said I need to keep my eyes open.

I feel Dad lift my neck carefully, before he tilts my head back. It hurts like a bitch. He pinches my nose … and then he covers his mouth over mine, blowing two quick breaths into my aching lungs.

Ah shit, dude … is that really necessary?

"Dean … breathe son …"

I try to inhale, nothing happens … okay then … guess it is necessary …

My lungs inflate again as dad breathes air into them, and then I feel the air rush out again, past my cold lips. He repeats the process … he's counting ... I find myself trying to count with him.

I don't have the strength to help … so I just let him take over … feeling something dark pulling me down. I lose track of time again … before I notice small movements, new faces, fading in and out of view … I feel sick, wanting to throw up … but I concentrate on the voices instead.

"John? We're back … what's happened?"

"He's not breathing … god, he's not breathing … help him … please …"

"Shit! Okay … move over."

A mask is quickly put over my face, air being forced into my lungs.

"How long's he been like this?"

"Um … I dunno … five, maybe ten minutes …"

More hands, more prodding, more lifting … rolling me slowly onto my side … something under my neck, bracing it … something injected into my arm … suddenly I'm gasping for air … my eyes still staying open.

"Okay, we've got him … he's breathing on his own again … he's not very stable, but we need to get him out of here, help me move him."

He places another mask with warm oxygen, flowing freely, over my mouth. I can only manage small gulps of breath, fighting to keep my eyes open, like Dad told me to, as they pull me out of the tent. I look at the first rays of a new day, watching the bright light filtering through the thick clouds, over the dark mountain tops … it's beautiful …

"Pulse is weak, blood pressure has bottomed out … vitals are deteriorating rapidly!"

Something shakes me roughly, can feel them lift me and secure me into the basket, just like they did with Sammy, tucking me in with layers of warm blankets. I can see the slow rotation of the helicopter blades hovering above us … god … I hope they're not here for me …

"Okay … he's secure … lift him!"

Weightless … elevated up, twisting and swinging as the strong wind current brushes across my exposed skin … more hands, bumping, fastening … strange faces … talking into mikes, shouting … I look at them, not sure what all the fuss is about …

I continue to fight to keep my eyes open, startled as Dad suddenly settles in next to me, grabbing my right hand firmly in his. He's crying now … tears running down his tanned cheeks. But Dad never cries … I hope nothing happened to Sam. I try to squeeze his hand back, a small smile tugging at my lips.

It's okay … I love you Dad … look after Sammy for me …

I try to focus on his face … but this time I can't fight it … my eyes close.

"We're losing him …"

Something jolts in my chest, catching me by surprise … my breath hitches again … my back arching involuntarily … and then, another jolt … before …

"Oh shit! Come on kid!"

… everything stops.

TBC