Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: The flashback in this chapter is earlier in time than the previous few, mark a time before Dean and Benny met up with Cas and their bond's just finding its roots. Ah and gore ahead….

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Chapter 8: Blood You Lose

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Rule #8: The first drop of blood you lose lessens your chances of survival by eighty percent.

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Suddenly Dean wonders if the Wendigo's not the lesser evil lurking in the woods with him. Beside him, Sam puts away Ruby's knife, draws his gun and sights it on the crazy trio and thunders, "Don't move!"

But Mac disobeys Sam's command, instead stands up from his crouched position where he seemed to be arranging the latest organ just right, like he was a home interior decorator…for Charlie Manson. "Hold on. It's not what you think."

"What I think is you're a bunch of psycho killers who have more in common with the Wendigo than I thought," Sam growls, finger pressing on the trigger, not feeling all that squeamish about taking down evil, even if it was presently coming in human form.

But the threesome didn't cower under his threat…but chuckled.

It's Vicki who shares the joke. "This is all harvested from cadavers from Mac's college. Cadavers of bodies donated for medical and scientific resea…"

"You're luring the thing here," Dean interjects with revulsion as he steps into their little shop of horror, does a circle, takes in the scene of carnage they've staged…but he's seen it too many times for real. Had a hand in it more times than he would ever confess to Sam. His eyes flicker to Zeke, to the container the man holds, a container that has a tear of red liquid streaking down the outside.

Blood.

It's what he had smelled even before he had reached the camp's perimeter, was a smell he knew better than any other. Didn't think he could ever smell it or look at it again and not think of Purgatory.

Because blood, it was the currency of Purgatory. Was the hottest commodity to be had. Those that didn't crave it to satisfy their appetite, bartered it away, or simply spilled it for a show of dominance. But for Dean, it had come to mean something else: the difference between life and death.

SNSNSNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~SNSNSNSNSNSN

Before Dean could recover from the blow and regain his feet, arms encircled him, slimy arms whose flesh peeled off without much provocation. Then rancid breath blew into his face as the shapeshifter spoke, his face, which, in Purgatory, he couldn't conceal with another human's flesh, was misshapen, pock marked and covered in open sores. Dean nearly gagged when that grotesque assortment of flesh pressed into his hair. "Ooohhh, human," the shapeshifter sniffed Dean. "Quite the delicacy."

Another unfamiliar, gravely, less than human voice spoke behind Dean and his captor. "You carve him up and we'll divide his carcass."

"Nope. I caught him, I eat him," his captor denied his fellow shapeshifter, his one hand coming up to caress Dean's neck, like a butcher would a chicken's…right before he beheaded him.

"Hate to be a tease and all but I'm turning down both dinner invites," Dean snarked, his hand blindly searching the ground for his lost knife, hoping to find it in time to shove it into the gut of the puke-inducing thing holding him before the dinner bell rang.

Without warning, something plowed into Dean and the shapeshifter, sent Dean crashing to the ground, right on top of his misplaced knife. Intent on taking out his would-be eater, he grabbed the knife and rolled to his feet, only to find that Benny was robbing him of that pleasure. But the vampire had left himself open to the second creature's attack, howled in agony as the shapeshifter dug its claws deep into Benny's side. But the shifter didn't get the chance to finish off the vampire, not with Dean's knife in his throat. Ruthlessly reclaiming his knife, Dean turned to find Benny staggering to keep his feet, radiating agony and blood dripping heavily from his side.

"You stupid jerk! Why'd you butt in?! I had it handled," Dean reproached, putting away his knife and frantically crossing the small distance to the wounded vampire.

Wheezing, Benny cynically disputed, "Handled?! So I guess you've just been shining me all along, would really enjoy being made a meal of."

"Sit down," Dean groused, hands latching onto Benny's arm, intending to enforce his order.

But Benny had other ideas, shook his head and panted, "We can't stay here," his eyes nervously scanning the woods around them.

"Yeah and you aren't going to get far," Dean pointed out, lifting Benny's coat and scowling at the blood and the tear in the vampire's shirt…and torso.

When the vampire's good intentions to start walking turned into a stumble, Dean tightened his hold on Benny's arm, steadied him, wasn't prepared for his companion's next hoarse word to be "Blood."

To his credit, Dean's first thought wasn't, 'run for your life'. He had come to know Benny better than to fear him. But the vampire had his limits. 'And I'm pushing them,' Dean realized as he touched his forehead where the first shifter had caught him with a well swung branch, didn't have to look at his fingers to know the liquid coating them was blood. And even he knew that it wasn't polite to do show and tell when you had no plans to deliver on the goods.

"Crap, sorry. Didn't know I was bleeding. I'll wipe it off…" Starting to put his oath into practice, Dean released Benny's arm, was going to step away to remove the traces of the blood, his blood that apparently was too enticing to the vampire in his wounded state. He was surprised when Benny's hand shot out to clasp his arm and halt his departure. Was even more taken back that his companion's pained eyes were alighting on him, not with barely held back restraint, but with amusement.

"Not your blood, stupid. Their's," Benny corrected, jerking his chin toward the dead creatures, their hideously distorted faces not improved by death. "I'll heal up quicker once I've feed."

Though Dean could barely stomach looking at the shifter's true forms and the thought of touching them wasn't ever gonna be high on his list of enjoyable tasks, he didn't harbor a moment of indecision about getting Benny what he needed. "Fine, take a load off while I rustle up your grub," he ordered as he reinstated his grip on Benny, manhandled the vampire to the ground and settled him back to lean against a tree.

Giving Benny a reassuring pat on his leg, he crossed over to the shifters. He bled one, than the other, gathering their blood in a branch with a grove. Returning to his companion's side, Dean sank to his knees, was willing to hold the makeshift bowl to Benny's lips. But Benny took the limb from him, gave a hoarse, "Thanks. I got it from here…."

Relieved, Dean stood up, turned so his back was to Benny. He wouldn't put it past his companion to have figured out that he wasn't keen to watch him feed but Benny couldn't know that it had nothing to do with squeamishness. Instead it had everything to do with Dean's brother. Of memories Dean liked to keep buried down deep. Never liked remembering what it felt like to watch Sam feed on blood that first time, to remember being afraid…of Sam, when his little brother turned to face him, blood dripping down his lips, onto his chin.

Some memories even Purgatory couldn't top in horror factor.

Back still to Benny, Dean asked, "Need more?" even as he prayed the answer was no.

"That'll do for now," Benny replied, wiped the blood from his lips. Watching Dean's back, he saw the marginally easing of the man's spine. It was repugnant to the human, his drinking blood. He knew that. But Dean hadn't protested, had gotten him the blood, had even been willing to help him get it down…had done it to save his miserable life.

Sensing some uncharted emotion pouring off his companion, Dean tentatively turned around, was glad to see Benny wasn't still guzzling blood. In fact, there was no trace he had ever. And he was right, the vampire was giving him his most tenacious of contemplative looks. "What?" he prodded with good humor instead of irritation.

Without explanation, Benny imparted, "West about 200 miles then south 'round the lake. It'll be on a hill."

"What will?"

"Light," Benny announced with a bittersweet smile. "The way out. Case something happens to me…now you know where to go." Because this had been too close, he could have died and Dean…Dean would have been stuck here. And that, somewhere along the forty miles they had traveled together, had become an unacceptable outcome for Benny.

But Dean wasn't crowing over the imparted intel, was instead looking at Benny with concern and uncertainty. "Why tell me?"

"Cause you didn't know where it was," Benny stated the obvious, was easier than speaking the truth. But he should have known by then that Dean wouldn't let his question go unanswered.

"You just gave away your leverage, numbskull. What's stopping me from leaving your butt here…or wasting you?" and there was righteous anger in Dean's tone.

Benny smiled smugly, looked up to his companion…no, his friend's vexed features. "Only the goodness of your heart."

The idea was ludicrous enough to get a snort from Dean. "Goodness of my heart?" he lowly scoffed. "I don't have any of that left, buddy."

"Yeah, and I say you're full of crap," Benny refuted, eyes staring up at Dean, daring him to try and prove him wrong.

Whatever Dean might have said to condemn himself was lost as a howl rent the air. It ended all philosophical discussions. "Alright, time to move out," Dean announced.

"Thought I used up my usefulness," Benny taunted with a twinkle of mischief when Dean slid his arm behind his back and levered the wounded vampire to his feet.

Supporting the still weak vampire against his side, Dean started to maneuver both of them forward into a sloppy version of a jog. "Unless you're looking for better companionship with things that consider howling a form of male bonding, stop talking and start running," he jeered but there was warmth in his tone that he hadn't allowed to seep through before. Because, what Benny had given to him, it wasn't just the coordinates to the way out. It was trust. Benny trusted him, had surrendered his only leverage to gain his own freedom over to Dean. And that gesture, it moved them into new territory. Made them a team now. Partners.

But Benny put a different label on what Dean had come to mean to him. "I'm with you, brother."

And Dean didn't dispute it. Months ago, he had given up his selfish desire to have Sam at his side, had accepted that it wasn't to be. No, it was Benny who had his back, who saved his life, who, surprisingly, found value in him now. That didn't mean that, even as he and Benny had miraculously managed to stay one step ahead of everything that wanted to rip out their throats, he still didn't pray that Sam was Ok, that his brother knew somehow that he was doing everything in his power to get back to him.

But the stark truth was, he couldn't survive alone, would have been dead a few times over already had it not been for Benny. That in Purgatory, brotherhood wasn't about having the same blood pumping through your veins, was instead about the blood you willingly shed to keep each other alive.

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Sam's dilemma isn't much of one: either continue to threat to shoot three people who are undeniably crazy, but not murderers…or snap his brother back to the here and now. Tucking the gun into the back of his waist band, he turns to Dean, goes for the hands on approach because calling his brother's name for the last minute has gotten him nowhere, except maybe making Mac and his group think he and Dean are the unhinged ones.

With one hand sliding behind Dean's neck and the other taking a healthy hold on Dean's forearm, Sam steps into his brother's personal space, hates that Dean doesn't bulk at either physical intrusion. "Dean, hey, I need you to snap out of it," he entreats, the tremble in his voice telegraphing his fear. "You're not going to zone out, let me stuck facing off with a Wendigo and four mad scientists, right?" he tries for lightness but the laugh that emanates from him, its closer to a sob. Because he can't do this, can't watch Dean skip out on him when he's standing right there, can't bury the fear that Dean might not come back to him one of these times, might not choose to come back to him.

But he does this time, blinks and comes back to him, is suddenly not only coherent but driven.

"We gotta get out of here," Dean tersely announces, knows that the Wendigo won't pass up the buffet Mac and his group have lain out, any more than the Purgatory residents would. Grabbing Sam's arm, he begins to march Sam out of the camp, away from the carnage, from the overpowering smell of blood, from the monster who's coming even now, might be there already, just biding his time.

Sam doesn't bulk at Dean's decision, doesn't suggest that they can use the 'trap' to their advantage, can tell by the tight, almost frantic grip his brother has on his arm that Dean's reacting to more than just honed hunter instincts. That Dean's scared. 'And still his primary thought is to keep me with him, to keep me safe.' That revelation strikes him in the heart…like it has every single time he makes it. 'Well the feeling's mutual, Dean,' he wants to shout to Dean, to get it through his brother's head. Reaching out, he grabs Dean's jacket, latches onto Dean as strongly as Dean's latched onto him. They are in this together and if Dean wants to run, he'll go with him.

Slowing his and Sammy's pace, Dean shouts over his shoulder to the threesome still in the camp, "That thing shows up now, he will go right forthe fresh meat." At their matching looks of confusion, he explains with contempt, "You!" but they still aren't getting it. "Run! Now!" he commands.

Zeke takes his advice to heart, drops the container of blood and comes to the Winchesters. Vicki's choice isn't so clear as she swivels her look between the departing Winchesters and Mac. But when Mac reaches his hand out to her, she goes to him and together they leave the camp…but not to join the Winchesters. Instead they slip to the opposite side of the camp and hunker down, wait for the focus of their experiment to enter their trap.

Seeing the decision Mac and Vicki make, Dean curses but turns away, is still determined to pull Sam away from ground zero. The hairs on the back of his neck telling him there isn't much time, he tugs Sam into a jog. Behind them, Zeke's trying to keep up. "Where's Ivan?" Dean demands.

And Sam thinks, that's his brother for him. Dean's worried about a guy who put a gun to his head a couple of hours ago.

"Higher ground for his shot," Zeke replies, fear starting to get the best of him because the two seemingly fearless men in front of him deciding to run for their lives? It wasn't a good sign.

"To kill it?" Sam incredulously asks because he's knows how Wendigos react to getting shot. They get pissed and then someone gets their neck broken.

"To tranquilize it."

Both brothers curse at that ill-advised plan.

But it's Dean who brings his headlong pace to a stop, brings their little entourage to a halt. Sam, his hands still fisted in Dean's jacket, leans in close, asks, "What is it?"

Dean looks back the way they came and shakes his head. "Can't."

Eyes tracking Dean's every facial tick, Sam gently prods, "Can't what, Dean?"

Uneasily, Dean rubs a hand down his mouth. "They'll die, Sammy. We leave them and they'll die." And it's pathetic, that his first instinct had been to run, to leave behind people…not monsters, not hunters, just people who had no way of defending themselves. He had just thought about his survival, Sam's survival. He had let the laws of Purgatory dictate his actions: that only the fastest, the strongest, only the most vicious could last, were worthy of survival.

Any gentleness vanishes from Sam's tone as he replies to Dean's dark prediction, "They brought this down on their own heads, Dean! They want the thing to come to them. And, after their stunt, it'll be in a frenzy and it would be hard enough to hit with a friggin' flare gun when it's standing still. No way we get a shot now, we both know that."

But Dean's shaking his head, "But Sam…."

Knowing the code his brother lives by, that Dean wouldn't just turn his back on someone in danger, Sam cooks up a compromise. "We'll set up a new camp here," he plans, hands going wide to indicate the clearing they have stopped in. "Put wards up, Anasazi symbols, then we'll go get Mac and the others, bring them back here."

"Sam there isn't time…" Dean protests, voice rising with his tension.

"It won't do anybody any good if we don't have someplace safe to go to, Dean! No, we set this up then we go back for them, lead them back here and we just hold our position until morning. After that, we go hunt the thing down and then we go home." And Sam didn't want to dwell on the fact that their "home", namely the Impala, was parked too many miles away to make in a day's journey, even if they walked all night. That even with their best case scenario, Dean was sentenced to a few more days of camping.

After a few moments, his plan gets his brother's reluctant approval and soon he, Dean and even Zeke are busy making the clearing a Wendigo free zone. Only later will Sam realize there was one flaw with his plan: in order for a place of safe haven to work…you had to be alive to reach it.

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It doesn't break branches when it comes, makes no sound, is suddenly just there, in the middle of the camp, the only indication that it didn't magically appear the rustling of the leaves as it streaked by them. With unsteady hands, Vicki raises the camera, can't believe she's about to get proof of what the world deems a myth. Feels like a National Geography photographer, getting ready to unobtrusively snap pics of a predator eating its prey.

But the Wendigo's gaze doesn't drop to the offerings they have nicely placed on the ground, spares no attention to the remnants of dead bodies. Instead, the creature looks at the woods surrounding the camp…and unerringly pins her and Mac with his red gaze, like he knew they were there the entire time, counted on it. Fear grips her, and she jumps as Mac's hand clamps over her mouth, stifles the scream that's aching to rip out of her.

Then between one blink and the next, the Wendigo is simply gone, the carnage on the ground rejected.

Disgustedly, Mac curses under his breath and abandons his camouflaged location to come to a stand.

He never senses the predator at his back until the Wendigo shrieks, towers over his 6' 1" frame. Spinning around only to lose his footing and fall back to land beside Vicki on the ground, Mac puts his hand over Vicki's mouth before she can scream and mutely looks up at the centuries old creature whose existence has never been documented. A creature that, contrary to Dean and Sam's predictions, isn't attacking them, is simply trying to communicate to them. Taking up the gauntlet, Mac uses his calmest tone, "We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help you, bring you back to …"

Whatever Mac would have said next is lost as the Wendigo seems to self-combust as red fire emanates from his chest and spreads outward. Then the creature's practically melting from the inside out right before his eyes. Mere seconds later, the burning form collapses to the ground, burns a few moments more than is reduced to a pile of black ash.

When he can finally find his voice, Mac thunders, "What have you done?!" eyes blazing up to his 'rescuer'.

Lowering the flare gun, Dean barks, "I just saved your worthless life, that's what."

"It wasn't hurting us!" Mac hurls back, gaining his feet and menacingly stepping toward Dean, unconsciously crunching the ash of the Wendigo under his feet in the process.

Which amuses Dean greatly. Pointedly looking down at the ash under Mac's hiking boot, he brazenly drawls, "Dude, you know you're stepping on your toasted BFF there."

Enraged, Mac takes a swing at Dean but Dean easily dodges back, lands a blow to Mac's ribs that drive the man to his knees, to land into Wendigo ash.

Sam is about to come to Dean's side, to be the peacemaker when Dean's head snaps left at the same time Sam's own instincts flare in warning.

But it's too late.

Something streaks through the insignificant three yards that separate the brothers, something faster than the human eye can follow.

And Sam's about to shout out a warning that there are two Wendigos…. but his breath catches in his throat because there's a jagged tear in Dean's jacket that wasn't there a second ago and blood is beginning to slip through the hole in the material to drip down his brother's back. "Dean?!" he fearfully calls out but Dean's already falling and Sam knows he's not close enough to catch him.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading. So loved the awesome reviews on last chapter…kinda proud of myself that I shocked you with that gory cliffhanger!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W