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: So I'm not a doctor, I don't even play one on TV. In other words, any and all medical references in this story are hooey and should be treated as such. But it is so fun to injure Dean.. And sorry, no Purgatory flashbacks this chapter. But the good news is, the next chapter is already written and includes another flashback.

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Chapter 9: Don't Scream

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Rule # 9: Don't scream, even when your guts are hanging out, unless you want that to be just your first scream of many to come.

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Racing forward, Sam crashes to his knees at Dean's back and immediately curses at the amount of blood already running rivets down Dean's jacket and pooling on the ground. "Dean, I'm here, I'm here," he hoarsely comforts, resting his one hand on Dean's arm while reaching out with the other to lift Dean's jacket. At the sight of his brother's wound, his breath catches painfully in his chest.

The Wendigo's talons had dug deep. Deep enough to shred skin, sever muscles and expose a rib bone.

Hurriedly stripping off his coat and his button down shirt, he presses the shirt against the wound, hard, hates that Dean bucks slightly at the increase in his agony, claws his hand in the underbrush, trying to find an anchor. But his brother doesn't utter a sound, not a whimper, not a cry, not a curse, nothing, his lips stay firmly sealed.

And that tears into Sam's soul, that Dean buries it all, his agony, his words, his heart..his soul. Doesn't let him in, doesn't let anyone in. Ripping his gaze from Dean's wound, he scans behind him, looking for his bag that he had dropped, sees it a few yards away, out of his grasp. "Get my bag," he orders, his eyes snapping up to the stunned twosome.

Mac doesn't even spare him a glance, is staring off into the woods. His voice is full of ill-placed wonder as he murmurs, "There's another one…we still have a chance to catch it."

"Get my bag!" Sam shouts, nearly screams, the crescendo of his voice having little over the Wendigo's shriek not five minutes ago.

His tone breaks through to Vicki at last. Obediently, she finds Sam's discarded bag and drags it back to where the two men are, one of which who is now unnaturally quiet. She gets close enough to note how still Dean's lying on the ground, to hear the harshness of his breathing…and to see the blood. So much blood. Hand coming up to her mouth in horror, she stumbles back, "No…I don't…this shouldn't be happening."

Vicki's reaction, it just reinforces what Sam already knows. And he hates the woman for it. Hates it worse when Dean doesn't offer up a cocky comeback to downplay his injury, doesn't attempt to be the ever invincible hero for the benefit of the beautiful woman. 'Or for my benefit.' And that stark omission, it means something terrible, just like the fact that Dean hasn't even called out his friggin' name, hasn't acknowledged that he even knows that he's there does.

One-handedly opening the bag, Sam digs to the bottom until his fingers find the supply of bandages. Using his teeth to rip open the package, he places the bandage over his already saturated shirt and increases his pressure on the wound, desperate to stop the flow of blood. He grits his teeth at Dean's sharp intake of breath, when his brother's body arches forward, as if Dean wants to get away from him. Though he knows it's the pain he's inflicting on Dean that his brother's trying to escape, and not his presence, it still sends grief burrowing down into his soul.

Leaning over his brother's suffering form, he gets his first look at Dean's face and it doesn't do a thing to assuage his panic. Dean's eyes are clamped shut, his skin's so pale it's nearly bloodless and every line in Dean's face speaks of agony. Releasing his grip on Dean's arm, Sam settles his trembling hand upon Dean's sternum and leans down closer to Dean, knows it's as close to a hug as he can offer without hurting Dean worse. "Hey, you're going to be Ok. I mean..you've had way worse than this little scratch," he tries to wise-crack, to make it all seem not so serious, to not let Dean know he's friggin' terrified. But the wobble in his tone probably gives it all away. Because, yeah, Dean has had a worst wound… …when the hounds had shredded him apart and dragged him to Hell.

Dean doesn't say anything to Sam's claim, can't, not when he's sure a scream will erupt out of his mouth instead of words. But Sam's right, he's had worse…course that ended up with him being dead and waking up in Hell. And that time, he had shouted, had screamed. But worse than that, Sam had screamed, had begged, "No! Stop it! Nnnnooo!" And his brother's screams of anguish, they had followed Dean to Hell, ripped at him as deeply as Alistair's knives ever could.

Dean swore to not put Sam through that again.

Though he already has the tang of blood in his mouth, Dean bites down harder on his lip, on the bellow of agony as Sam further increases the pressure to the wound on his back. Fights with everything he has to not die…or at the very least, have the decency to do it quietly. 'Because something's always out there, listening, hoping, hungry. Any sound could alert them to our presence, could bring death, not just, mercifully to me, but to anyone stupid enough to be with me, like Benny, like Cas.'

Seeing blood beginning to stain Dean's lips has Sam fearing the worst, that Dean's bleeding internally, badly. "Dean! Hey, stay with me!" And he slides his hand up to press at Dean's neck to tract his brother's pulse, which is slow but still chugging along. Then his fingers slide up to Dean's mouth, wipe away the blood on his lips, as if he could make the possibility that Dean was dying vanish as easily. Some stupid, out-of-sight-out-of-mind propaganda he wants so hard to believe.

Sam's voice, Sam's touch, it brings Dean back, reminds him that Sam's with him now, that he's not in Purgatory anymore, that he can maybe afford the luxury of screaming. If Sam wasn't there, couldn't hear him, wasn't eviscerated by his big brother's weakness. No, there would be no easy outlet of pain, not in front of Sam, not when it would hurt Sam.

And it's that incentive, his unquenchable need to make things better for Sam, to be the partner Sam deserves, which gives Dean the strength to open his eyes, hiss out, "Two."

At the glorious sound of Dean's voice, no matter how weak, how wracked with pain it is, Sam fights back a sob of relief. Leaning his forehead onto Dean's shoulder, he can't speak. Not right away, has to swallow hard for a few moments, until he can finally raise his head, zero in on Dean's profile. Of course Dean would make his first word about warning him, trying to keep him safe. Gently he soothes, "I know, Dean. I know. Don't try and talk."

But Dean disobeys his command a heartbeat later, murmurs, "Sith."

And if it were anyone else quoting Star Wars' 'Always two, there are,' while gravely injured, it would be a sign of delirium. In Dean, Sam recognizes it for what it is: his brother's way of reassuring him that he's fine, that he shouldn't go all chick flick on him. "Jerk," he chokes back, the insult overflowing with affection, love. "You're scaring the crap out of me and you wanna reference some movie?!"

"One of the best…movies …ever," Dean haltingly defends, his eyes slipping closed because it's too much, the pain, the strength it takes to just talk, to try and prove to Sam something he's not sure isn't a lie. And the sad part is, he's not even sure who the lie's for more: himself or Sam.

Whatever comeback Sam was about to make is lost as the Wendigo shrieks again.

Head snapping up and his hand snatching Dean's dropped flare gun off the ground, Sam scowls as he realizes the gun's shell has already been spent. Using his pickpocket skills to good use, he eases a flare cartridge from Dean's jacket, mercifully without causing Dean further pain. After loading the gun, he scans the woods, is fully prepared to protect his downed brother, any way he has to. But the creature doesn't re-enter the camp, sounds as if it is breaking through the forest in the opposite direction, away from them.

Such a reprieve isn't typical of their luck, which is probably why Sam doesn't relax his guard, stays there, kneeling by his brother, weapon in hand, waiting. He almost shoots Ivan when the ex-soldier jogs back into the camp.

"I tranqed it..the second creature," Ivan announces, his voice both full of pride at his own skill and incredulousness at what he has just done….has just seen. "It didn't drop but it will soon. We just have to follow…" but he breaks off as he realizes a member of their unit is down. Urgently he comes to a crouch by Dean, his eyes take in Dean's pale face before they jump up to Sam. "How bad?"

It's the question Sam hasn't answered, even to himself, doesn't for Ivan either. "I need to get him to a hospital," and that's acknowledgment enough of just how serious the wound is. Because hospitals, they weren't their go-to place for injuries, 'Only unless…' Sam hastily breaks off his own thoughts, his hand settling back on Dean's arm, grounding him to Dean, who worrisomely hasn't spoken again, hasn't offered up his standard, bravado rant of 'I'm fine. No way am I going to a hospital, Sammy.'

"Our cells aren't working out here," Vicki informs from her position ten feet back, wanting to be helpful but refusing to be an intimate spectator again.

"Satellite phone?" Sam ventures. Though he hadn't seen any of the group with one, it's not the time to simply rely on deduction.

"Not on this expedition's budget," Zeke refutes as he steps out from the woods, returns to his comrades instead of listening to Dean's order to stay in the circle of protection that they had set up half a mile away.

The man's declaration dashes the hope Sam didn't even think he was holding onto.

"Ok, there's a ranger's station that's closer than the road. It's still a day and half away but if we leave now, we can do a few miles before night fall," Sam strategizes, hopes it doesn't show on his face how unbearable the thought is that Dean won't get help for nearly two days. And he refuses to even consider, for even a second, the possibility that Dean won't make it that long without help, might not be able to endure the grueling trip to the ranger's station. Because thinking along those lines, calculating those odds….it would only lead to debilitating terror and utter insanity. And Sam knows in his heart, he won't make it back from the heartbreak of losing Dean, not again. That he wouldn't have the willpower to even want to try.

Stalking up to the group huddled around the fallen hunter, Mac harshly repeats the word that had caught his attention, "Leave?! None of us are leaving," clearly speaking for the group he led.

But there's immediate dissension in the ranks, comes from the unlikely source of Ivan. Looking up at Mac, Ivan gravely imparts, "Mac, he's badly hurt."

Flinching at Ivan's description, Sam tightens his grip on Dean's arm while his other hand continues to keep pressure on the wound with a bandage that is no longer dry. Eyes dropping to the wound, Sam wordlessly adds another bandage on top of the soiled one. Thinks it's like some sick version of the princess and the pea because, no matter how many layers he seems to put over the wound, he can still feel the warmth of his brother's escaping blood under his hand. A hand that trembles as he performs the task, makes a mockery of his outward calm.

Mac's response to Ivan's statement is without compassion. "He made the unjustifiably decision to kill the Wendigo, now he has to live with the consequences."

For the first time in years, Sam actually misses his dark powers, wishes he could simply raise a hand…and inflict pain on Mac, all without getting up, without having to leave his brother's side. "Consequences?! He saved your life!" he savagely reminds the professor.

Pointing a finger at Sam like he is a recalcitrant child, Mac scoffs with malice, "My life didn't need saving! And if he hadn't murdered…"

"Murdered?" Sam acidly parrots. "Seriously?!"

Mac apparently takes that as an opportunity to venture into one of his favorite lecture topics. "Yes, needlessly taking a sentient being's life is still called murder, even out here in the wilds. His actions led to…" Mac's eyes mockingly drop to Dean's motionless, broken form.

A haze of rage settles over Sam, has him hurling a snarled curse at Mac. And he is so close to losing control that he knows it should scare him, probably would scare Dean if his brother wasn't too awash in a world of agony to notice his little brother was about to demonstration to the good professor the act of murder. But a moment later, he finds out that he's once again underestimated Dean's awareness of him, of his brother's uncanny instinct to know when he needs him, when only the presence of his big brother will make things right for Sam.

"Sam…" Dean rasps and Sam's world narrows down to just his brother. No one else matters, no one else exists as he leans over Dean again, worriedly takes in his brother's ashen profile.

"I'm here, Dean. I'm right here. Not going anywhere," Sam reassures, giving Dean's arm a squeeze to prove his point. Then he tries to shut out the arguing of Mac and his group, leans closer, barely hears Dean's wheezed order, "Finish… it," and he knows Dean's not giving him his blessing to end Mac.

Above the brothers, Zeke, ever the peacemaker, suggests, "Let's keep things in perceptive. Dean needs medical attention so one of us will help Sam carry him to the ranger's station."

"No! Just…no!" Mac growls, eyes blazing into Zeke's. "We are all here for this one purpose and it's within our grasp. We won't get the chance again, especially with prejudices like theirs…" an accusing finger zeroing in on Sam and Dean. " …thinking that death is the only thing a Wendigo deserves."

Vicki's voice is hesitant when she speaks up. "Mac…it's…it might not be as reachable as you think."

Stunned by her perceived betrayal, Mac turns to Vicki, rails, "You want to give up?! If you don't make this discovery, your career is over. You ready to go back to studying fly species?!" Spinning, he lances Zeke with his domineering gaze. "Everyone told me you were past your prime, couldn't track anymore. But you got us here, right where the thing lives. You want to just let that be an urban legend, what you did, what you can track?! You pack up now, your reputation's gone…and so it your business. And Ivan," he zeroes in on the last member of his group, "don't tell me you've forgotten the debt you owe me. One phone call and you're …right back to where I found you."

Standing up, Ivan snags onto Mac's arm and draws the man away, jerks his head for the other two members of their team to join him. Stopping fifteen yards away from Sam and his downed brother, Ivan drops his voice so only their group can hear his words. "Without help, he'll die. You want that on your conscience."

"I told him not to harm it. My conscience is clear," Mac coolly claims.

Ivan fists his hand in Mac's shirt, hisses, "I'm a soldier," like that says it all, that he doesn't have to point out the principles that go with the oath he took, about saving lives, especially American, human lives.

"Ex- soldier," Mac corrects maliciously.

Lowly, Ivan growls, "I don't leave comrades to die!"

Mac jerks his head back to Dean. "Look at him…he's not going to make it to tomorrow morning…and that's if he wasn't moved. But being jostled through miles of woods?! You want me to tell your probation officer to revoke your probation, Ivan? Are you really willing to get sent back to jail over some guy who's going to be DOA even before you reach the ranger's station?!"

"Mac, it's just a friggin' Big Foot knockoff?!" Ivan snarls through clenched teeth, can't believe his friend is taking this experiment so seriously.

But Mac's deadly earnest in his reply. "No, it's the greatest discovery of our time. And I'm going to be the one to show the world. We …" he amends, eyeing his team, "We are going to be renowned. Now grab your gear and let's track the Wendigo. We need to reach it before nightfall."

"Mac…I can't…" Zeke protests but his words die off when Mac comes to stand toe to toe with him.

"How much did I invest in your business over the years?! What if I file suit against you, want it all back…with interest," Mac menacingly conjectures. "Your son, he joined your business last year right, guaranteed the business loan, put his house up for collateral. Be a shame if he lost it. Put him, his wife and their autistic kid out on the streets."

Zeke blanches at Mac's threat. His financials were on a razor edge already…if Mac did what he threatened?! "You're asking me to let a man die."

"No, we're just letting nature take its course. Alphas rules here." But at Zeke's continued look of objection, Mac compromises, "Ok, look. We'll come back here tomorrow and help Sam get his brother to the ranger's station. Agreed?"

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Watching Ivan herd his group away from the camp for their little tête-à-tête, Sam fears the outcome and knows now's the best chance he's going to get. To Dean, he directs, "Don't move. I'll be right back," and then, before Dean makes any reply, he climbs to his feet and quickly crosses over to Zeke's tent. He pulls the flare gun and the cartridges from the man's pack, only feels a momentary pang of remorse as he also takes Zeke's med kit, water canteen and the maps. But as he pulls the small mojo bag Dean had cunningly stashed in the front pocket of Zeke's bag their first night with the group, he knows the line he's about to cross.

And he crosses it without regret.

Because, when it comes down to saving his brother's life or someone else's, it's not even a choice. Not for him, is simply who he is, what Dean means to him.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading. And love to my so generous reviewers!

And like I mentioned, next chapter's ready to go so I hope to have it posted early this week.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.