A/N
I am so, so sorry this has taken so long. I actually had planned on another scene for this chapter, but it's been so long….
My excuse is life. I had a huge presentation to do for work last Thursday, as part of my company's annual conference. It's 3 hours of training, and I do it all from scratch. This year was particularly intense.
While I was away for the conference, my older sister (BJ, she'll be 72 in less than 2 weeks, and is handicapped and in ill health) fell in our apartment. SIX TIMES. I finally got back home around 11:30 am Friday, and we both lay down for a while, then when we woke up, she was showing all the symptoms of a stroke - weakness down one side, unable to stand without help, incoherent, even hallucinating - I ended up calling an ambulance and she just came home from the hospital today. (She's fine; wasn't a stroke, just complications from a known issue she's had today. Some of the symptoms were new, and we had to be sure.)
In any event, I decided to post what I have of Chapter 23 - it's a full scene, just not a full chapter. (Well, now it's a full chapter, I guess)
Couple things I do want to say: As always answers to comments and my explanations of US culture, etc is at the end.
Thank you for your patience, and encouragement!
Also, know this: I've been writing for about 50 years now, and in all that time, I can count on 1 hand the number of stories I left unfinished. Of stories I have posted to fandoms (this one is number 60 or something like that), there has been exactly one I never finished. Evolution will not be one of the unfinished pieces, however long it make take between chapters. (For one thing, I have several future pieces in my head that will need to get out of my head; for another, I am one of those undisciplined writers who does NOT work the plot out before hand, so I'm as curious to see where this goes as y'all are!)
Anyway. thanks for waiting. enjoy!
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Toiyabe National Forest
18175 NV-160
Las Vegas, NV
November 26, 2003
3:14 am
"I really thought — ow. Dude! — that a Frat Brat ghost in Vegas would be more fun than this," Dean wheezed, closing his eyes against the pain in his back and side as Sammy leaned him slightly forward to look behind him.
"Well, that was the plan," Sammy said quietly, and kept one hand on Dean's shoulder as he gently settled him back against the trunk of the ancient bristlecone pine tree he was currently pinned to.
"What do you think?" Dean pressed and watched as Sam settled back on his heels in front of him, frowning.
"Well, given the 4 inches in front of you," Sam mused, "and the 8 or so inches through you, and the 6 inches or so the damn thing's buried into the tree, that makes the femur about 18 inches. Times 4, that's 72, or about 6 feet, which is a good 5 or 6 inches taller than Pete was. So, I think we probably did salt and burn the right body last night. Whoever owns — owned — that femur, it wasn't Pete."
Dean huffed a laugh. "Well, that's just fascinating, geek boy, but I was more wondering how the hell we're gonna get me unpinned from this fuckin' tree. Because I'm sorry, the leg bone should not be connected to the rib bone. Or the pine, for that matter."
"Yeah," Sam winced, "Sorry. It's in the tree too far, and it's wedged in there too good, for me to be able to just pull it out."
"Then pull me off," Dean suggested, a little desperately.
Sam shook his head. "The head of the femur is still attached, Dean. Pulling you forward would just tear you open more. We're lucky it didn't hit an artery, and I don't think it hit the intestines or organs or anything, but if I just pull you forward and off it…even if I could, man something's going to get ripped open, and I still don't understand how you're not already down a kidney," he admitted..
"Oh, thanks, Sam, that's encouraging."
"I'm sorry!" Sam frowned. "But if I just pull you forward — you'll bleed out before I even got a chance to heal you."
"Great," Dean sighed. "And the salt round you put in the bastard who harpooned me won't keep it away forever. Neither will the salt circle you put around the tree, not for long, not out in the open like this. One decent breeze and we're fucked. More fucked."
"Yeah."
"You know," Dean said slowly, "there's a good saw in the Impala's trunk. You could leave a shotgun with me, go get that, saw the head off the femur, and then pull me off."
"That won't work," Sam said softly.
"It won't be pleasant," Dean admitted with a small shrug, trying not to wince at the pull on his side at the careless movement, "but I can help hold the bone still while you saw, and at least I could end my Moby Dick impression."
"No," Sam shook his head and in the light of the moon, Dean thought there was a slight telltale glisten to his little brother's eyes. "Keeping the bone still…that's not the problem."
"But…"
"It's at least half an hour each way to the Impala and back, and that's at a dead run, which is gonna be next to impossible on sandy ground."
"Yeah, so…." Dean froze as Sam looked away, suddenly refusing to meet his brother's eyes. "You…don't think I have that long. Do you?"
Sam closed his eyes on a sigh and shook his head. "No," he admitted, and opened his eyes, forcing himself to meet his brother's gaze.
"You said it missed the artery."
"It did," Sam nodded. "But there's a ton of smaller blood vessels through the whole area. We both know you don't need to clip an artery to bleed out with enough time. It's already been about 15 minutes."
Dean nodded and tried to take a deep breath and failed, suddenly realizing his chest and stomach were feeling heavy and tight. "You think I have internal bleeding."
"You do," Sammy breathed. "I felt it, when I touched your side."
"Okay. So, I'm guessing we're not catching that show tomorrow night. You make sure to sell those tickets, Sammy, they weren't cheap."
"Dean…"
"How long do you think I have?"
"You're not going to die, Dean," Sam said quietly.
"Well, according to what you said, it doesn't sound like I'm going to live, either," Dean scoffed. "So, how long, Sammy? How long until I bleed out?"
"You're not going to bleed out."
"How long," Dean demanded.
"Half an hour," Sam admitted reluctantly. "Maybe 45 minutes, at the outside. Not more."
"Okay," Dean said and reached out to put a hand lightly on his little brother's arm, giving it a little squeeze. "Then you get out of here, Sammy."
"WHAT?"
"That spook is still out here, and I'm not risking you so you can just stand there watching me bleed to death. That's stupid."
"You're stupid!" Sam snapped. "You can't actually think I'd leave you. And like I said, you are NOT dying, Dean."
"Sam…"
"I will not let you die."
"We just went through this, Sammy. Not enough time for the saw, can't move either me or the fucking femur. There's nothing we can do."
Sam met his brother's eyes with that particularly determined look that Sammy got when he'd decided to not back down from a fight, no matter what. A look that, if Dean were being honest, Sammy had learned from Dean. And Dad, come to that.
"There's nothing you can do," Sam admitted. "And there's nothing I can do this second. But give me five minutes," he smiled grimly and pulled on the chain around his neck, pulling a small all-too-familiar glass vial from around his neck.
"No," Dean shook his head.
"The fuck do you mean NO," Sam scoffed. "YES. I get my telekinesis back and I can pull that damn bone out of you in seconds, and still have time to heal you"
Dean shook his head again and tightened his hold on Sammy's arm.
"Sam…"
"This is what we talked about, Dean," Sam reminded him. "The reason you were willing to help with the binding in the first place was that I had a way to get the power back, and quickly, if there was danger! Remember that?"
"Yeah, I remember," Dean agreed. "You could get it back if you were in danger."
"Oh, for…" Sam stopped himself and stared at the vial in his hand for a moment before looking up at his brother again. He huffed out an angry breath and looked at his slowly dying brother again. "So, I'm worth saving, but you aren't, is that it?"
"Sam…."
"No," Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. Just…no. I am NOT. Losing you. Not today. Not ever," he vowed and tried to pull away, but stopped short of jerking his arm out of Dean's grasp. He wasn't going to cause Dean any more pain, if he could help it, not when this whole fucked up situation was his fault. Sam had, after all, been the one to find the hunt that had gone so quickly, spectacularly bad.
"You can't do this," Dean insisted.
"You can't stop me," Sam pointed out, very reasonably and not sounding like a petulant younger brother at all.
"What about school," Dean demanded.
Sam stopped and looked at his brother askance. "What…about school?" he repeated, wondering if his brother were bleeding out more quickly than he'd thought, and it was affecting his brain.
"If you get your power back, will you go back to school?"
Sam sighed and hung his head. "You know I can't," he shook his head, amazed they were even having this conversation. Surely Dean knew he was more important to Sam than any degree.
"Then, no," Dean said firmly, as if him saying actually settled anything. "I won't be the reason you lose your chance at a normal life, Sammy. I won't. It's too important. And I'm not going to go through the rest of my life with that on my conscience, or with you…resenting me… for stealing your dream!"
Okay, apparently Dean didn't know he was more important. Stupid, stubborn bastard.
"Dammit, Dean," Sam glared, and knelt at his brother's side, so he could slip a hand behind Dean's neck. "I don't give a fuck about…Dean, there is nothing more important to me than you. Nothing. Ever. And, honestly, if you weren't pinned like a butterfly to a tree, I'd kick your ass for even suggesting that I would put school, or a Law degree or any amount of hot dogs, apple pie and picket fences ahead of you!"
"Sam…"
"Look," Sam said and tightened his grip slightly on his brother's nape, making sure he had Dean's full attention, "you don't want me to resent you? Okay, fine. You know how you do that? Don't. Fucking. Die."
"Sammy.."
"No," Sam said and set the shotgun deliberately in Dean's lap before scrambling to his feet, and backing slowly away from his brother — keeping an eye on Dean's feet until he was sure he was out of range, because he totally would not put it past Dean to sweep his legs — then turning towards a formation of large rocks a few yards away.
"Where are you going!" Dean snapped. "We're not done talking about this, Sam!"
"Hell we're not," Sam ground out. "As for where I'm going…if you'll recall, there was a certain concussive force when I bound this shit in the first place. I'm going to the other side of the stones so that I don't accidentally throw something else through you when I break the binding," Sam explained.
"Samuel Winchester!" Dean yelled in a voice that sounded enough like their father to startle them both, "I am not going to let you do this, Sam!"
Sam stopped and turned slowly to face his brother, who was now visibly paling and panting from the exertion of yelling. "What are you gonna do? Bleed on me? That is not only a flesh wound, Dean. And I am not. Losing you," he vowed and headed around the rocks, muttering to himself. "Stupid, stubborn, fucking…Winchester."
"Are you the pot or the kettle in that one, Sammy?!" Dean called after him, frustrated.
"Fuck off, Dean," Sam called back from behind the rocks.
"So gonna kick your ass for this," Dean muttered.
"You can try," Sam promised. "You know, since you're not going to die."
"Kick your ass from beyond the grave!" Dean vowed, and winced when his side and back burned with the effort of yelling. "Son of a…"
Dean's eyes grew wide as a heavy mist began to form in front of him. He snatched up the shotgun Sam had left him, even as he yelled to his brother. "Sam! Incoming!" he warned and took a shot at the ghost, barely catching it, but causing it to pause momentarily.
The ghost appeared to be an American Indian (Native American, Dean, Sam's voice corrected in his head), bare chested, marked with what Dean classified as war paint (yeah, yeah, so he was insensitive, but after a thousand or so Saturday afternoons watching old Westerns, those kinds of things were branded in his brain. Bite me, Captain PC). The eyes were dark holes, but he couldn't decide if the eyes were heavily made up for some kind of camouflage, naturally a very dark color or missing entirely. Whatever the case, they were fixed right on him and Dean raised the gun again as the ghost came closer, raising its right hand by its side, in a gesture that reminded Dean of the kind of Western that made even him cringe, where all Native Americans raised their hands, palm forward, and said "how" for reasons Dean had never understood (meeting a white man for maybe the first time and you say how? What would be the more important question. Who would be better still. And damn the blood loss was kicking in now, wasn't it?)
The ghost's arm began to push forward, and Dean watched in horror as the femur began to push slowly forward, further through him and deeper into the tree,
"Saaaaam!" he yelled as the head of the femur began to move towards his side.
A bright blue light flashed over the top of the stones, and even on the far side of the boulders, Dean could hear the whump of sound, feel a sudden wind push over the rocks at him.
The ghost snarled, and his face changed, the translucent skin peeling off the face to reveal a ghastly skeletal smile.
Dean tried to raise the shotgun again, but it was torn out of his hands by an unseen force and crashed into the tree above his head. He glanced up and saw the stock of the gun embedded in the bark.
"Oh, fuck," he said softly. He was willing to die for Sammy to have his normal life, really he was, but now that the moment presented itself, he was suddenly somewhat less sure.
"Oh, I don't think so, Cochise," a calm, determined voice said softly.
Dean's head snapped up and he looked at his brother, who came around the boulders, and raised his own hand towards the ghost.
Slowly, the grinning skull turned to look at Sam, who opened his hand, palm facing the ground. The spirit flicked its hand in Sam's direction and Dean winced, waiting for the sickening crunch of his brother's spine impacting on the boulders.
Sam kept walking forward, then pulled his hand into a sudden, tight fist.
The spirit imploded into itself in a rush of cold grey light…and was gone.
Dean stared up at his little brother, as Sam returned to him, kneeling in front of Dean with a smile.
"Hang in there, Dean," Sam said softly and reached a hand out towards the bone still trapping Dean.
Dean watched as Sam closed his eyes, then partly closed his hand, as if he were grasping something. A femur, for example.
"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly. "This'll hurt."
"It's already hurting, Sa…."
Dean gasped as a bright hot agony gripped him, and he could feel the bone being pulled forward, out of the tree, then out of him, then flung away as Dean collapsed forward, too weakened by pain and blood loss to keep himself sitting upright, even with the tree behind him.
"It's okay," he heard Sam whisper, and felt his baby brother's arms catch him, and then…
Dean felt nothing more.
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A/N
Explanations:
When Dean says the leg bone is not connected to the rib bone, he is referencing an old spiritual song in the U.S. (and possibly elsewhere), which follows the connections of bones from the toe to the head. The relevant lines regarding the leg are Ankle bone connected to the leg bone; Leg bone connected to the knee bone; Knee bone; connected to the thigh bone; Thigh bone connected to the Hip bone. The femur is, in fact, the Thigh bone, not (according to the song) the Leg bone, but he's still right about not connecting to the rib bone. Actually, in the song, rib bones aren't even mentioned.
Moby Dick is a famous white whale from the book of the same name by Herman Melville, which was harpooned multiple times but still managed to kill people even while harpoons stick out of him (sound familiar?)
Both "What are you going to do? Bleed on me?" and "only a flesh wound" are quotes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, specifically the Black Knight scene, one of the greatest scenes in one of the great movies of all time. I'm fairly convinced that the boys would've had that memorized from a young age.
Cochise was a famous Native American who fought in the Apache Wars in the American West, trying to gain freedom for his people around the same time as the American Civil War.
CorvusVeritatis I'm so glad you're enjoying this! I always had an issue with the way they handled Sam's visions - I mean, I know it's television and you can only take so much figuring out what he saw, but it always seemed way to easy to me. I'm glad psychic!witch!Sam's dreams make sense to you.
Glad that the demon blood talk worked for you. That was something else that never quite sat right with me - sure, no doubt Dean would 100% believe Sam wouldn't go darkside, but this stuff has done something to him. From some comments and the way he's talked about as a 'special kid', it just made me think there was more to it than just maybe being evil, like something at the DNA level changed, maybe. Also, when does Dean NOT worry about something killing his brother? His biggest fear is so obviously Sam dying, how does he NOT think the Demon Blood could kill him?
The more I think about it, the more I feel like this is definitely going to at least Swan Song. I don't necessarily think it'll stop there, but it might well be a sequel story, as opposed to this going on for…ever.
Souless666 Thanks for the kick in the pants. As I explained, it's been a tough month, month or so, but your comment made me decide to post the scene I have, and pull the follow up into a new chapter. Thanks for your patience.