TEN
Sam gripped his brother's shoulders, practically dragging him. "C'mon, Dean, just a little farther."
The wendigo's claws had ripped through Dean's brachial artery, and he'd already lost too much blood.
"You said that half an hour ago, Sammy. I'm starting to not believe you." Dean flashed his brother a half-hearted smile, then winced with pain.
They'd made a tourniquet out of Sam's belt, but Dean had already lost a lot of blood. Despite the cold, his skin was slick with sweat. He was breathing way too fast, staggering forward in a confused state.
"Well, then we're a half hour closer," Sam told him.
Dean's face was completely drained of color. Even his lips had gone white.
"Pick up the pace, Dean," Sam urged.
His brother stared up at him. "Maybe if you weren't such a friggin' giant, it'd be easier to lean on you."
They hurried as fast as they could, with Dean's hand on Sam's shoulder for support. Bobby walked on his other side, making sure periodically that the tourniquet held. Jason took up the rear, limping and sucking in air between clenched teeth. Sam didn't think this ordeal had done Jason any favors. Poor dude should spend the next few weeks sitting in a bed reading a stack of good books.
The hike through the night seemed to last forever. Each time they went over a rise, Sam was sure it would be the last one, that they'd see city lights below, and each time only the dark forest greeted them.
Dean got worse, leaning more heavily on Sam, who kept his brother upright. Sam pushed down the fear that kept rising up inside him. They were going to make it. Dean would get fixed up.
Bobby met Sam's eyes. "I don't like the looks of this."
Dean glanced blearily at him. "You don't like the looks of what? I look like a friggin' world champion cage fighter right now."
"Well, he's still ornery as hell," Bobby said.
"Yep," Sam answered.
"You do know I'm standing right here, right?" Dean asked. "You don't have to cluck over me like a couple of mother hens."
"Too bad," Bobby said. "You got to pick up the pace, son."
"Fine," Dean said angrily, and did.
Sam thought they should probably fashion a stretcher, but he didn't like the idea of pausing to scrounge up materials.
They struggled over another incline, and to Sam's huge relief, lights twinkled in the distance. "We're out!"
"Thank god," Dean murmured.
Another half-mile and they reached the trailhead and their cars. Sam drove Dean straight to the emergency room in Truckee.
While the doctor stitched Dean up and gave him a transfusion, Bobby and Sam took turns sitting nervously or pacing. They both suggested a doctor have another look at Jason, but the hunter stubbornly refused. "They've already seen me once," he reasoned. "Bones just have to finish healing."
Moments later the doctor appeared. She was a short Chinese-American woman, and spoke to them compassionately. "Mr. Blackwood will be fine. But I want him to spend the night." Sam knew there was about as much chance of that as Dean attending a Backstreet Boys concert and buying the T-shirt. "But he doesn't seem to be very agreeable to that."
"Yeah, he wouldn't be," Sam said apologetically.
Bobby stepped forward. "I'll talk to him."
She nodded. "Great. He's in room 102."
