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.
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Chapter 13: Crying out for Help
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Rule # 13: Crying out for help is only a good plan if you're in a world where heroes exist.
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Sam's voice echoes in the forest, "Not like Dad, Mr. Marine, would ever admit it but he hated camping as much as you did. That time you were sidelined with that burn and I went with Bobby and Dad on that hunt for that were-cat, Dad griped the whole time, worse even then you usually do," Sam gives a forced chuckle, looks down to his brother's face pressed into his shoulder and wishes Dean would be up to grousing at the insult. But Dean's non-responsive, lies compliantly in his arms, is still, except for the tremors.
Sam doesn't need a doctor to know shock has set in, that Dean might still be fighting but his body's failing him. It's the reason he made Dean give up his comfy position lying on the ground to embarrassingly being held by his brother, to stave off the cold, to keep him warm, to let Dean know that he's not alone, that he's not allowed to go. Sam would totally not classify it as cuddling but Dean would, the macho jerk would be fighting him every step of the way. If he were awake, if he could manage to even open his eyes, if he weren't so delirious right now that he didn't even know where he is, let alone who is holding him captive in their arms like he needs to be protected.
'But you do need to be protected. You've protected me my whole life…so it's Ok for me to return the favor, Dean,' he thinks, wishes he could tell Dean that and his brother would accept that turn around was fair game. But the words now would be lost on Dean, just like his story probably is but he can't bear the silence anymore, had hummed all the Metallica songs he knew, which, at one point, had slipped over into the theme song for the Smurfs without his say so. And the fact that Dean didn't bust him on that, was worse than Dean not interrupting his story right now to defend himself.
Shifting a little so his back isn't pressed into the knot in the tree he is leaning against, Sam keeps his arms around Dean, makes sure he doesn't jostle Dean too much in the process. Dean doesn't mind, though, is listless weight in his arms, is a broken, vulnerable, seemingly ethereal figure. Rubbing his hand up and down Dean's spine, careful to not get near his brother's wound, Sam continues his story, "So we're tracking the were-cat and Bobby and Dad, they're arguing over whether it'll be a cougar or a bobcat, and Dad walks right into this friggin' gigantic spider web, I mean, the Lord of the Rings web had nothing over this thing." Unexpectedly, Sam's laughing for real. "And Dad…he's dancing around like a mad man, hands scrubbing through his hair, all over his body, is freaking out thinking that there might be a huge spider on him." When Sam's laughter settles down, he shakes his head fondly at the memories. "When he finally stops his freakout, Bobby rolls his eyes and drolly says to Dad, "If you're done doing your Travolta impersonation, can we go?"
Giving a last peal of laughter, Sam says, "You should have seen it. Totally priceless." Turning his head to the right, he rests his chin on Dean's sweat matted hair. "But it wasn't just camping Dad hated that time…it was about leaving you behind when you were hurt. He kept complaining about how the hunt was taking too long and I thought it was typical Dad being Dad, until I heard him talking with Bobby. He told Bobby that he shouldn't have left you alone, that he should bail on the hunt and go back to you. And he probably would have too…if the were-cat didn't choose that moment to attack us. Dad took it down with cold precision, thing was barely dead before he was packing up his things, ordering me to keep up as he headed back to the car…was intent on making it back to you in double-time. Dean, man…he was worried about you, always cared about you…even if he was jack at showing it."
At that Sam gives a snort of derision. "Guess I'm just like him, huh? Instead of saying, 'Dean I'm so glad you're back but I'm friggin' terrified of losing you again and would rather walk away from you than go through that again' I just threaten to leave you every chance I got…hoping you'd send me away because I wasn't strong enough to walk away, not from you. Not again. And then you did it, you sent me back to Amelia's and I…." Swallowing, Sam lifts his chin from Dean and lets his head drop back to thunk against the tree. "Even if her husband wasn't there, things couldn't go back the way they were between us. I had you back and…that changed everything for me." His voice cracks on the next words, "And if you go again…nothing is going to be OK, Dean. So you can't, alright. I'm making it a friggin' mandate, you can't go. "
But even Sam knows that Dean is just a man, is a hero, yes, but one without super powers to deflect bullets…or Wendigo claws, who doesn't possess a super human immune system to shake off blood loss and repair damages to his all too human body. That he needs help, now, not in a few hours, not miles away. Now!
Tilting his head up to see the ceiling of trees that nearly block out the night sky, Sam shouts out the name of the one person who can do the impossible, has done the impossible before, for Dean. "Cas!" When the angel doesn't miraculously show up, Sam's next call is practically a scream. "Cas! Cas! Dean needs your help!" Asks because, no matter how conflicted his feelings toward Cas are at the moment, he knows that the angel is Dean's best shot at survival, that he can't save Dean on his own, that Dean…he won't make the journey to the ranger's station. "He's…" and though the word gets stuck in his throat, he knows he has to say it, has to admit it if there is any small chance Cas will hear, that Cas will come. "Cas, he's dying." And even as the declaration leaves his mouth, he curses Cas because the angel should friggin' be there already, be kneeling by Dean, whisking his dying brother away to a hospital, into someone's care that can actually do something to save him.
Giving an enraged shout toward the heavens, Sam deflates, drops his head down to rest on the crown of his dying brother's head. Closing his eyes, he draws in a raggedy breath, feels his brother's labored intake and outtake of air, knows Dean's not given up, not yet. 'And neither can I,' he resolves as he raises his eyes again to the heaves but his next words, they lack strength, only embody the desperate pleadings of a soul on the brink of being lost, "Cas…please. I know something's off with you but ….I don't believe you would abandon him." And Sam chokes back a sob. 'No, that's my MO, I abandon Dean, I turn my back on Dean.' Aloud he entreats to the angel who Dean considers a friend, a brother. "But you don't Cas, even when you were….more insane than sane…you agreed to go with Dean, willingly risked your life to help him kill Dick. And I…I don't know all that happened in Purgatory, why you left him but….you didn't stay gone, couldn't walk away from him. Any more than I can."
Dropping his eyes to scan his surroundings, looking for a trench coat wearing angel among the trees, Sam bitterly curses. Cas hasn't come, won't be coming. There will be no extraordinary save this time.
Holding tighter to Dean, he dips his head down, murmurs by Dean's ear, "Screw him, right? We got this. All that we've been through, the odds we've beaten," Sam tries for lightness, hopefulness, "stupid Wendigo, well, two stupid Wendigos aren't going to ruin our record. Right? I mean, we have a reputation to uphold. So just…keep being your stubborn, macho self, Dean, Ok. Just keeping being you and we'll make it out of this." Because, no matter what, they were in this together, they were a "we", always, even when one of them had been running for his life in Purgatory, because, like Ash had said, he and Dean, they were soulmates. Their lives were bound together, and when one was lost, it meant something worse than death for the other.
And Sam had no desire for a repeat performance, would never forget the way it felt to be in a world where his brother no longer lived. Pulling Dean closer, he repeats, "We'll make it out of this, I promise," and hates that, even as the words leave his mouth, they feel like lies.
SNSNSN ~ Purgatory~ SNSNSN
"You're lying to him," Benny lowly drawled, eyes darting to the angel at his side.
With no outward reaction to the vampire's accusation, Cas monotoned back, "I don't know what you're talking about," even as his eyes flew to Dean ahead, hoped the man didn't overhear whatever Benny said next.
Reaching out a hand, Benny stopped Cas' progress, drew them both to a stop. "Subtlety ain't your thing, Cas. You've been saying it for days."
"Saying what?" Cas returned, still had hope that Benny didn't actually know what he was lying about.
Stepping closer to Cas, Benny quietly growled, "That you don't think you can make it through the portal. But that isn't what you mean, is it?" a pointed challenge in the question. When Cas opened his mouth to make another denial, Benny cut him off. "You're not going to even try to go with him, are you?!" angry at the betrayal the angel was contemplating.
Instead of answering, Cas lobbed back his own allegation, "At least I'm preparing Dean for that possibility, what about you and your claim to not take human lives once he gets you free of here. Tell me that's not a lie."
"I don't eat people!" Benny hissed back. "I gave that up before I ever got sent here. And if you haven't noticed, I've not craved Dean's blood, not once."
Cas eyes almost held sympathy as he warned, "It will be different when you are resurrected."
"I would never hurt Dean!" Benny fervently vowed, couldn't believe the angel doubted that, after everything.
And something in Cas ached at Benny's loyal declaration, understood it but knew the pitfalls so well. "I didn't think I would hurt him either."
"I'm not you!" Benny heatedly refuted.
Eyes blazing, Cas latched onto Benny's jacket. "You don't have to attack Dean to hurt him. If you're over-estimating your control, if you kill a human, Dean will bear that blood on his hands, will feel the guilt of that murder as if he took the life himself. Because he let you out, because he trusted you."
The stark truth of Cas' words stole Benny's breath away, cut his retort off at the knees. For the first time, he understood the risk Dean was taking, not in trusting him in Purgatory, but by trusting him to not surrender to his thirst back in the world. "No…I…"
But Cas' head jerked up and he shouted, "Dean!" in warning a moment before then something rained down from overhead like meteorites and imploded with the ground all around them…before morphing from black goo to black clad Leviathans. Even though all four Leviathans immediately charged for him, Cas wasn't troubled, was instead thanking God that they weren't going for Dean. That he was still their target, that they didn't understand that the human behind them had dealt the killing blow to their leader.
A killing blow Dean treats the two Leviathans closest to him to before they could even take three steps in Cas' direction. Benny, always a quick learner, followed Dean's lead and removed the third Leviathan's head from her shoulders. Cas blocked a blow then delivered a punch and kick of his own to the fourth Leviathan. Benny grabbed the Leviathan from behind, nearly let go when the humanoid head turned into something with more teeth than any creature he had seen before, even in Purgatory. But still he refused to relinquish his grip on the monster, trustingly held the monster captive as Dean took his head. Letting the headless corpse drop from his arms, Benny stumbled back a step, looked at the black goo the creatures bled instead of blood, the head with the razor sharp teeth he knew that more than a few vampires would be jealous of.
"I take it these guys were Leviathans," Benny guessed, eyes going to Cas for confirmation.
"Yes," Cas replied but there was a grim demand in his eyes, a demand for Benny to recognize that his fear for Dean hadn't been unfounded, that his choice to stay away from his friend hadn't been about want, had been about necessity. That sometimes you needed to disappoint someone, seemingly betray them, if you cared about them, if you truly wanted to save them.
Benny's gaze fell into shadow as he looked to Dean, made sure his friend was in one piece.
Brushing off the black splatter of goo from his sleeve, Dean quipped, "Seriously, they rock the whole black suit thing here? Shoulda guessed Dick's dress code would be monkey suits. Think they know Dick's dead, that they don't have to dress up in Armani anymore? Can throw on a pair of bluejeans?"
"I don't know," Cas replied to Dean's question about Dick's death.
"Would it make a difference if they knew their leader was dead?" Benny asked, had been clued in on most of the Leviathan's make-snacks-of-the-world's-population scheme.
But Cas' eyes didn't go to Benny, went instead to Dean. "Yes. They would want to kill Dean more than they would want to kill me for banishing them back to Purgatory," he gravely predicted, revealed his fear all along, that the Leviathans that came for him…would suddenly find Dean a more satisfying object for their rage instead.
And it was finally making sense to Benny, how Cas, who seemed as loyal to Dean as the day was long, could have abandoned Dean to face off with Purgatory's worst all on his own. 'Because he was afraid that Purgatory's real worst would come after him…and find Dean instead. Dean, who had killed their leader. And someone like that, who had killed not only their leader but their chances to be free, they might decide he didn't deserve death, might deserve eternal torment instead.'
Sparing a glance to Benny, Cas saw the dawning of comprehension in the vampire's eyes that soon merged into a look of gratitude. And Cas thought Benny just might know how hard it had been for him to hear Dean's prayers, to know Dean needed him, and not to come to his friend's side.
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At first, Sam doesn't recognize the sound that ends the quiet of the early dawn morning, fears that the Wendigo's coming, is noisily lumbering through the forest toward them. Scooping the flare gun off the ground, he swings it from one side of the forest to the other while his other arm still secures Dean against him. But nothing is breaking through the forest and the sound, it's from overhead.
Helicopter.
It's too good to be true but Sam doesn't care. Just like he doesn't care if the flare he shoots into the sky starts the whole forest on fire, not if it gets the helicopter pilot's attention, not if he gets Dean out of here and to a hospital. And he's torn between sliding Dean to the ground and trying to wave frantically to the helicopter and holding onto Dean, of not abandoning the connection that he believes has kept Dean breathing, alive, all through the torturously long night.
In the end, he doesn't have to make the decision.
He brings the flare gun up to bear on a red haired woman in her late thirties who is sporting a orange jacket embossed with a search and rescue emblem. Limply dropping his hand, he stammers, "My brother…he's hurt."
The woman gives him a reassuring smile as she drops to her knees beside the two men, her gloved hand already reaching for Dean, taking his pulse. "We know. We got your distress signal, just had to wait for light to follow your GPS coordinates."
Suddenly Sam feels like he's the one who's delirious. "Wait, distress signal…GPS…"
But then a brown haired man, whose tan indicates he calls the outdoors his home, scrambles to Dean's side, asks of his female partner, "How's he doing?"
"His pulse is thready." She checks Dean's eyes before she reports, "Eyes dilated, not responsive to light."
When she gives a look to her partner, Sam interprets it as if she spoke aloud, bleakly knows he's still in real jeopardy of losing Dean.
The way the male paramedic reacts next confirms it. When he grabs Sam's arm, Sam nearly flinches away, has never really welcomed anyone's touch when he's freaked out, less it was Dean's touch.
"Listen, you have to let us take a look at your brother, alright? You've taken care of him this long, now it's our turn," the man says with surprising gentleness, like he can see the last thing Sam wants to do is relinquish his brother to someone else's care.
It's bittersweet, getting what he was nearly screaming for all night…and now not wanting them to take Dean away from him. 'You have to let him go, you have to let them help him, you can't save him yourself.' And with a exhale of breath that's a muted cry of acceptance, he lifts his arms from their possessive grip on Dean, allows the two paramedics to pull Dean away from him and lie him on the ground on his stomach as if they know his back's where he's wounded.
The woman paramedic pulls away the bandages even as the male paramedics radios up to the helicopter pilot, confirms that they will need their patient medevac'd out to the nearest trauma unit.
Numbly, Sam thinks, 'But Dean hates flying.' Eyes transfixed on his brother, he doesn't know he's lost some time, not until the medics are carefully rolling Dean over, lifting him onto a stretcher and securing him at head, waist and legs with the belts. Sam's stomach drops to his feet, remembers being strapped onto a gurney himself…after the Impala accident, being helpless to go to his Dad, to Dean, to see for himself that his family wasn't dead. Remembers barely choking back a scream as the first helicopter took off with Dean, without him, leaving him behind to ride in an ambulance, to maybe get to the hospital too late…to even say goodbye to Dean.
Diving forward, Sam almost throws himself onto Dean's chest, has his hand fisted so hard in Dean's jacket that it's white. But he tears his gaze from his brother's pale face, looks up to the male medic and pleads, "I have to go with him."
Chagrin contorts the medic's features even as he denies, "I'm sorry. The helicopter can take only those needing medical attention. It will give the medics on board more room to work on your brother and will lessen the weight of the copter, helps get him to the hospital faster."
Sam knows it's logical, is even a good thing in the long run, but it doesn't make it any less acceptable. Looking down to Dean, he slips his hand to the side of Dean's neck and gives a gentle squeeze as he runs his thumb across Dean's pale cheek. "Please, please," and he's not sure if his pleads are for Dean right then or for the medics, but then his eyes come up again to the lance into the medic's brown eyes. "I have to go with him. I can't…I can't leave him, I just can't. Please." Because they have to realize, what they are asking of him, its not possible.
He nearly startles when the female medic touches his arm, and he's afraid she'll try to pull him away from Dean. But instead her touch is gentle, slides down his jacket sleeve. "You're hurt too, aren't you?" she asks and it's a strange enough statement to cause Sam to look over his shoulder at her.
Nodding to Sam's arm, the medic continues, "Your arm, it's cut," as if Sam didn't detect the injury before. And she thinks maybe he hasn't when he looks down at his own arm in wonder. And whatever emotion crosses over his features at the sight of the blood staining his sleeve, at the slice in the jacket, at the wound to his arm, it's not what she expects to see. Is relief and the look he bestows on his injured brother is nearly one of affectionate gratitude.
"Yeah, the bear got me there," Sam says, his voice firmer that it has been.
Rising her eyes to her partner, Pam isn't surprised to see relief in Keith's eyes because the man's a bigger softie than she is. "Alright, then you're getting medevac'd out of here with your brother," she announces, watches the man give an audible swallow before nodding his head, forcing himself to withdraw his touch from his brother.
But as they lift the gurney, Sam's right there by his brother's side, has a hand coiled around his brother's forearm even as they head for the small clearing where the helicopter's line dangles, waiting for their patient. Correction: patients.
A few minutes later, when the helicopter has its two passengers stowed away and the two medics watch as it cuts through the air toward the county's closest trauma unit, Keith says, though it's not really a question, "He wasn't going to let us separate him from his brother, was he."
Abandoning her visual tracking of the helicopter, Pam faces her partner and answers with a solemn certainty, "No, he wasn't."
"Helicopter's for life-threatening injuries. Cut on the kid's arm only needed stitched up," Keith points out, but not with a hint of accusation.
Pam's lips press together a moment before she speaks, "You and I …we know the difference between physical trauma and emotional trauma, know that …"
But Keith finishes for her. "One kills but so does the other. It just takes a lot longer," he bitterly concludes, has seen the ravages of grief, of guilt in too many survivors' faces over the years. It doesn't take any deductive reasoning to know the tall guy will not handle his brother's death well, but, if he lost a second of the time he might still have left with him, he would never forgive himself for that.
Forcing a smile onto his lips, he brags to Pam, "I knew us partnering up was kismet," is his way of telling her he backs her decision, is wholly glad they weren't going to be the ones that stole that time away from the brothers.
Pam gives him a look like she sees right through his macho posturing, knows that he was ten seconds away from smearing some of the wounded man's blood on the kid's coat so he could pretend an injury and hop the bird with his brother. But she doesn't blow his cover, instead he does that himself by uttering, "I know things didn't look good for him, but I think he's gonna pull through." And he picks up his pack and starts the long journey back to the ranger's station, wishes for a moment that the 'copter could have provided round trip service. And his wish is all about laziness, hates to hike back to the ranger station then wait for a bird to pick them up, is so NOT about wanting to stay with the two brothers, to see that things turn out ok with them.
Coming to pace Keith, Pam can't help but gently ask, "Is that your professional opinion?" because she knows as well as Keith does that the wounded man's vitals were not encouraging.
Shaking his head, Keith counters, "Nope. Gut instincts. We've both seen people with injuries that shouldn't be life-threatening, slip away, give up. But not this guy, he's a fighter, sustained an injury that could have meant death within a few minutes and he hung on for hours. Hung on because his brother was with him, because his brother wasn't about to give up on him, wouldn't let him quit."
Pam knocks her shoulder into Keith's. "Makes you want to call your own brother, does it?" she teases.
"Not even a little," Keith grumbles back, isn't about to offer Sandy an olive branch again. "Pam, I keep telling you, all brotherhoods aren't alike." Pointing to the sky where the helicopter disappeared from their sight, he explains, "What those two brothers have, it's not your garden variety connection, doesn't just happen, sometimes doesn't happen at all. I know that from first-hand experience. "
"You don't know, maybe they were fighting like cats and dogs all their lives, maybe this adversity brought this closeness out of them," Pam taunts. "Happens sometimes…doesn't mean it will last. Remember that couple that went on a last camping trip before they told their kids they were getting a divorce, they got stranded, were all lovely-dovey when we found them and were throwing punches by the time we got them back to the ranger's station."
"Nope, not happening with those guys," Keith insists.
"And you know this how?" Pam challenges.
Keith stops walking and turns to Pam. "Because I saw his eyes, Ok. It wasn't like he feared what it would be like if he lost his brother, it was like he knew what it would be like. And I…" Keith rubs a hand down his face, "I've never seen that look before, ever."
Then he starts walking again, causes Pam to hustle to gain his side before he finishes, "So yeah, the wounded guy will make it because his brother won't accept anything less from him."
Because yes, he had seen death steal away the strongest and the bravest of souls, but he had also seen the opposite, had seen love do the impossible, defy even the most certain of deaths. And Pam doesn't need to know that he silently sends up a prayer for the two brothers, hopes that love wins the day again.
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TBC
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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful reviews!
Have a great day!
Cheryl W.
