A/N: Okay, Jenjoremy, here is your prompt, I hope I did it justice. For everyone else, since she shot it my way in a PM, the prompt was Hurt!Sam, caught in a rock slide, and Dean being forced to decide to stay and triage as best he could, or go and get help.
For the record, I personally think going to get help would have been smarter, but the Dean living in my head told me to screw off, because nothing in hell was going to make him leave his kid brother alone, in the cold, on a mountain, in the dark.
Stubborn Winchesters!
Okay, reviews are love. Tuesday's child updated a little while earlier, so please check it out if you haven't. All The Pretty Monsters is set to update next, and then maybe Prisoner of War if I am still awake at that point.
I am still accepting accepting prompts for this story. I work my prompts in order, oldest first, and after this I have around five or six left. This story will go as long as I have prompts, so keep them coming. Specific is fine, as long as it basically fits canon. No romance, no smut, no bashing. General prompts are okay also, but in all honestly, when I get a more general one I am less sure I am writing the story you want to read. For instance, in this one, Jenjoremy let me know she wanted Dean to have to decide what to do, so I made sure I included his thought process.
Prompts are love, especially when left in a review...
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer : Not my sandbox, kiddos.
How To Fix A Winchester – Chapter Eleven
"The Unfortunate Thing About Storms"
It was a perfect storm, really.
Or perhaps it would be more correct to say, it was a series of perfect storms.
Wendigos usually had a set hunting round.
Wendigos seldom strayed from their set hunting grounds.
Wendigos only even woke up every couple of decades in order to stalk their set hunting grounds in the first place.
So, the fact that a Wendigo stalked a series of hiking trails and campgrounds that just happened to be a few miles away from a girl scout sleep away campsite was unfortunate.
It was even more unfortunate the the Wendigo had awoken the same year that a series of ferocious thunderstorms had washed out several of the trails in it's hunting grounds, and closed even more, forcing the Wendigo to hunt even further afield than normal, meaning that the poor, unsuspecting girls scouts, with their cookies and songs and campfires, who should have been out of the Wendigo's hunting range by at least two miles, were now potential victims, and that the latest storm had also taken out the mountain's only cell phone tower.
So the entire thing was really just very...unfortunate.
But it was alright, because the Winchesters had arrived, and the Winchesters had a plan.
They also had maps, compasses, flare guns and the attitude and know-how to use all of the above.
What they did not have, however, was a weather forecast, which would have warned them that they were about to go hunt a Wendigo in yet another storm.
But that was alright, because the Winchester's were tough cookies.
Rain? No problem.
Wendigo? Up in flames.
Girls Scouts? Safe and clueless, just the way the Winchester's preferred their eight-year olds to be.
Washed out mountain trails forcing them to go off track to get back to the Impala? Bring it on.
Rock slide catching Sam Winchester by surprise, knocking him unconscious, pining his right leg and ankle, and also managing to clip Dean Winchester in the right shoulder, thereby dislocating his dominant arm?
Okay...
So that was a problem.
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"Sam? Sammy? SAM!" Dean said frantically, attempting as best he could to triage his unconscious brother with his left hand.
His right arm hung, useless and screaming bloody murder, and every time Dean accidentally shifted it, black spots danced in front of his eyes.
Sam remained unmoving, however, offering his brother no response, and Dean was stuck. Sam had taken a hard knock to his head, and God only knew when he would wake up.
Dean's eyes searched their surroundings worriedly, but he could see nothing that would offer the brothers any assistance.
With Dean's arm as it was, he not only couldn't free Sam from the rocks, but he couldn't manage the fireman's carry that would allow Dean to get his Sasquatch sized brother down the mountain.
And that was assuming Sam had no internal injuries, wasn't currently bleeding into his brain or his chest, that one of his legs wasn't severed underneath the rocks, and that the sky didn't open up again at any moment, giving them both pneumonia while Dean stared at his useless cell phone wondering what to do.
Fear and panic were clawing their way up Dean's throat, but he pushed them down ruthlessly.
He had to decide what to do.
Stay and hope Sam woke up and was somehow able, from his awkward position, pinned to the ground as he was, to help Dean pop his shoulder back into place?
Even if Sam woke up clear headed enough to understand what needed to be done, who was to say he wouldn't be in too much pain to manage it?
But the other option was just as agonizing...
Go by himself down the mountain, until he either reached a place where his cell phone was able to pick up a signal or he reached the car and drove until he could?
With only one good arm, his balance was off, he couldn't shoot his gun, catch himself if he fell, and honestly, driving wouldn't be impossible, but it would be difficult and painful.
If Dean knocked his shoulder the wrong way while he was driving or even still hiking down, he could pass out, and then both brothers would be in a bad place.
What was more, Sam was already starting to shiver on the cold, sodden ground.
While Dean could see no other blood than what trickled from the cut on his head, where an impressive bruise was already starting to form, the shivering was obvious, and Sam's face was pale, lips nearly colorless.
How could he leave Sam alone, in the cold, as dark was already starting to fall?
What if he woke up and Dean was gone? Would he think that Dean was hurt also, trapped under the rocks?
Or would he think Dean had chosen to leave him behind, too confused by his head wound to understand Dean's reasoning?
The thought of an injured Sam, confused and alone, was more than Dean could bear.
Making his decision, Dean dropped his pack, thanking god that John had taught them to make fire starters that would get even damp wood burning.
He quickly (or, as quickly as he could, one handed) gathered up some wood and started a small fire as close as he dared to where Sam was pinned.
Best case scenario, someone might spot the fire and come investigate, and at the least, perhaps is would help ward off hypothermia, as Sam's lips were now nearly blue.
Next, Dean's arm.
He eyed a nearby tree speculatively. If he braced his shoulder against it just right, maybe he could use it as leverage to force his shoulder back...
The first time he tried, he did actually pass out the a few moments, coming to on the ground, wet now also.
The second time, he stopped when the black spots returned, afraid if he was unconscious too long, the fire would go out, and with it, the Winchesters only source of heat and light.
Breathing deeply, he went back over to check on his brother. Sam's shivering was starting to settle down, which was either good, meaning the fire was doing it's job, or very, very bad.
Because it could also mean Sam was hypothermic, his body no longer able to shiver in attempt to create warmth.
A hand on Sam's head warned Dean that the situation was, in fact, the worst case scenario.
"Sam? Sammy, come on, buddy, you gotta wake up, SAM!" Dean called out urgently, knowing it was now more crucial then ever that Sam wake up and try to move, or at least regain consciousness and tell Dean how bad it was.
The panic was back now, as Dean prayed he hadn't made the wrong decision by not going to get help, but every bone in his body was programmed to protect the helpless man before him, trapped and injured, and Dean would have had an easier time gnawing his own arm off than leaving him behind.
"D'en?" Sam finally mumbled, without opening his eyes.
Dean nearly sagged to the ground in relief. Things were still bad, and they both now probably needed an ER, but at least Sam knew who Dean was, which was a starting place.
Dean had done a hell of a lot more with a hell of a lot less, when it came to his brother.
"Hey, hey there, kiddo..." Dean murmured, kneeling carefully, despite the fact that Sam was in his late twenties now.
Sam would always be his kid.
"Dean." Sam finally repeated, a little more clearly, and this time he cracked open one eye also.
"Head..." He muttered, and Dean nodded, though Sam had already closed his eyes again.
"I know, I know, Sammy. Sam, do you remember where we are? Do you know what happened?" Dean asked, trying to establish how functional Sam's mind was at the moment.
Sam sighed, scrunching his brow. "Mountain. Wendigo." He finally offered.
A pause, and then, tentatively, as if he were guessing, he added "Rocks?"
"Yes, that's right, Sam. That's good. We came after a Wendigo, and we toasted the SOB. But we came down the wrong path, and you got caught in a rock slide."
"You...kay?" Sam mumbled, and Dean shook his head, grinning a little. Sam didn't even seem to realize he was trapped, but he was still checking on Dean.
"My shoulder's out of place, and your legs are pinned. You knocked your noggin, too, that's why your brain feels like oatmeal right now." Dean said softly, stroking the hair out of Sam's face. Sam was talking well enough, but he was still freezing, and now Dean was shivering too.
"Me...put it back?" Sam offered weakly, earning a chuckle from Dean.
"Let's take inventory first, kiddo. What hurts?" Dean asked.
Sam made a bitch face at Dean, and Dean laughed again. "Okay. Okay, sorry, I get it. Everything hurts. What hurts the most?"
Sam closed his eyes, thinking the question through. "Head. Leg hurts, but it's a numb kind of hurt. Think the rocks are cutting off some circulation."
Dean hissed in a breath through his teeth, because that was bad. Not only did Sam not mention the cold, even once, but if they didn't get the rocks off his leg, Sam might loose it.
Okay. Drastic measures.
"Sammy, I know it's gonna be tough lying down, but your going to force my arm into place, so I can get these damn rocks off you, okay buddy? Sam, Sammy, you with me?"
After a moment, Sam opened his eyes again. "Tired, D'en." He mumbled.
Swallowing, Dean resorted to playing dirty. "I know, Sam, but my arm hurts bad, man. It's killing me, I need your help."
Predictably, that got a stronger reaction out of Sam than discussing Sam's own injuries.
"Help...you." He muttered, trying to shift minutely so his back was flatter on the ground.
Once Sam seemed satisfied that he had as much leverage as he was going to get, he held up his arms, helping Dean guide his shoulder into the correct position.
"Gravity..." Sam mumbled, and Dean nodded his understanding, though he was looking forward to the pain of his body weight falling towards his brother, the momentum hopefully helping Sam get the shoulder back into place.
"One...two..." Dean said.
"Three." Sam replied, and Dean let himself fall forward.
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Sam stared up into the sky, shifting his body so that his knee wasn't stretched out quite so far.
"Pain bad again?" Dean asked from the motel doorway, shaking Sam's bottle of pain killers in Sam's direction where he lay on the hood of the Impala, soaking up the weak spring sunlight.
"Nah, just stiff." Sam replied, brushing his hair out of his eyes, fingers coasting along the gauze on his temple Dean had replaced only a few hours ago.
The hospital hadn't wanted either brother to leave as soon as they had, but AMA was the Winchester's standard MO, as insurance wasn't exactly a benefit in their line of work.
"How about your head? Are you warm enough? You need a jacket? What about a blanket?" Dean asked, and Sam sighed even as he smiled a little.
It would take Dean a while to come down from super-brother mode.
Dean had passed out, that night on the mountain, for about an hour and a half, by Sam's guess. Sam had been firmly entrenched in hypothermia by that time, thoughts gone wide and wondering as he passed in and out of consciousness.
Dean had actually passed out on top of Sam, and the heat of his body was probably why Sam was alive right now.
Sam could vaguely remember staring up at the sky that night too, over his brother's shoulder, as the stars had winked and danced in the cool spring air.
By the time Dean had come to, Sam was pretty much insensible, the head wound and cold pushing him beyond even his own rather impressive limits.
Fortunately, with two good arms and a healthy dose of Winchester stubbornness, his brother had made short work of the rocks pinning Sam down.
The doctors had said that it was a miracle, that Sam was a miracle.
Had the rock struck an inch further to the side of his head, he would have almost certainly starting bleeding in his brain, as that was where the bone was the thinnest.
Had Dean not been laying on top of him, he would have froze to death before Dean had awoken.
Had the rocks been even a little heavier, even a little sharper, had one single jagged edge landed differently, not only would Sam have certainly lost his leg, he might have bled out before anything else had had a chance to kill him.
One of the doctors had called it a perfect storm of events.
A cloud must have gone across the sun, because darkness suddenly shaded Sam's eyes. Opening them, he realized it was just Dean standing beside the Impala, looking down at Sam.
In one hand, he held a pair of sunglasses, and in the other, a blanket.
"You're either going to catch a cold or get a sunburn, but I haven't decided which." Dean declared, and Sam tilted his head back and laughed.
Perfect Storm?
Bring it on.