Absolution: 'Supernatural'

By Kokoda2007 © 2008

Sam looked around the small clearing, feeling overshadowed by the tall trees rising towards the night sky on all sides. He bit back a shiver as the damp smell of earth and decay seemed to seep into his very bones, oppressive and unwelcoming, taunting him to flee.

His dad’s voice droned on beside him, detailing the hunt plan, and Sam felt a wave of hurt wash over him as the finer details hit home.

“Pay attention Sam,” John growled at his youngest son, his patience wearing thin as Sam stared off into space.

Sam reined in his emotions and turned dejected eyes to his father. “I’m listening dad.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” John snapped, feeling his anger rise as he cast trained eyes over Sam’s slumped shoulders and sullen posture.

“Dad, maybe Sam should come with us.” Dean interjected, seeing the tension between his dad and brother starting to sizzle.

“Decision’s final. Sam will stay here; hold the fort ‘til we get back.”

“But Dad,” Sam protested, not quite believing his dad’s words. He’d helped on the research for this hunt, been involved every step of the way, and now he was being left behind? Left to wait in this dank clearing, for who knows how long, until his dad and brother returned. It wasn’t fair.

“I’ve made my decision Sam.” John spat out between clenched teeth.

“But Dad.” Sam raised his eyes to his father, needing to make a final desperate plea as he felt the foreboding chill in the evening air wash over his skin.

“Damn it Sam,” John cut his son off, “don’t make me repeat myself again. This isn’t the time or place for you to throw one of your little teenage tantrums. Until you can show me that you can follow a simple order without second guessing everything I say, you’re no good to me on a hunt.”

Sam kicked at the dirt and twigs at his feet, biting back any further reply as a lump of misery lodged in his throat. He looked at Dean, hoping that maybe his brother would intervene on his behalf, but Dean just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

He watched silently as his only family raised their packs back onto their shoulders and prepared to leave.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Dean promised with a gentle nudge.

“Yeah,” Sam gave a small smile in return, the light never quite reaching his eyes.

“Look alive Sam,” John tossed over his shoulder as he moved away, following Dean across the clearing and into the forest, until his whole body was swallowed up by the dense vegetation.

Sam listened to the retreating footsteps, suddenly feeling very alone. 

-o-

Tiny drops of blood splattered on the cold ground, adding to the widening pool of red at Sam’s side.

One minute everything had been quiet, not even the sound of a twig snapping or the rustle of leaves interrupting the silence. The next minute the beast was bearing down on him, stealthy and agile, like it’d magically appeared out of thin air. His lone hunting knife, clasped clumsily in his hand, was all that stood between him and death, of that, there was no doubt in his mind. As his body met the unyielding force he let his body travel with the momentum, concentrating on thrusting his blade into the beast with all his strength.

Sam clutched his arm a little tighter across his middle, his hand biting into the torn flesh at his side as he applied pressure, trying to stem the crimson flow. He gasped as the action sent a shaft of blinding pain through his abdomen, forcing him to relax his hold a little as his vision darkened. He needed to stay awake.

The lifeless body of his attacker lay just a few feet away, huge and ugly, its putrid fur matted with blood. His hunting knife was still protruding from the side of its neck, the polished wood handle slick with blood. He’d dragged himself a short distance away to rest against the closest tree, watching as the last vestiges of life quietly ebbed from the beast’s body, until the limbs no longer twitched and the last fetid breath was exhaled. Only then could he finally let his guard down.

Time seemed to slow as the forest pressed in around him now, almost unnaturally quiet, just his heartbeat echoing loudly in his chest. Too loudly. His eyelids felt heavy, his body sluggish, and it was getting a little harder to breathe as the pain in his side escalated. Sinking into the dark nothingness beckoned him, but he knew he couldn’t afford the luxury of rest. He needed to finish the job. He needed to find his dad and Dean.

Using the tree against his back for support, he rose unsteadily to his feet, fighting against the vertigo threatening to take him back down. He took a few steps over to the body of the creature and dropped to his knees at its side. With a sure stroke, he pulled his knife from its neck, swallowing down the nausea that accompanied the sickening sound the blade made as it yanked free. He wiped the bloody blade on his jeans before sliding it back into the sheath at his waist. It was instinctive to retrieve the weapon, something that had been drummed into him from an early age by his father. Never leave yourself open to attack …being properly armed can mean the difference between life and death …never leave your weapons… At least he managed to get the last lesson right.

Concern crept over him as he thought about his brother and dad, wondering where they were, if they were okay. True fear wrapped around his heart at the thought that maybe the beast had torn through them before coming for him. As if on cue, he felt his cell vibrate in his pocket, startling him with its abruptness. His fingers trembled as he dug into his pocket and clumsily pulled it out.

“Dean?”

“You expecting somebody else to be calling you at two in the morning Sam?”

“Ah…”

“Any action over where you are? ‘Cause I’m telling you, there’s nothing moving here, I mean NOTHING. And I’m freezing my ass off… I reckon we call it a night.”

“I found it Dean.”

“What?”

“Actually, it found me.” Sam clutched the gaping wound in his side tightly as he rose to his feet again. A moan escaped his lips and he tried to pull the phone back a little so that Dean wouldn’t hear the distressed sound.

“We’re heading over your way now. Sam, you hurt?”

Standing had been a mistake. He heard his brother’s voice through the phone as if from a distance but couldn’t make out the words. His vision swum alarmingly and he reached out for something, anything for support. His hand met empty air and he stumbled forwards, dropping the cell onto the ground below as pain lanced through his stomach. He swayed precariously for a moment before losing the battle to stay conscious and crashing to the unforgiving ground below. His body lay lax on the damp earth, not hearing the incessant voice emanating from the phone lying discarded by his side. 

-o-  

“Goddamn it Sam, answer me.” Dean growled into the silent phone as he locked eyes with his father.

In defeat, he ended the call before quickly dialing his brother again. ‘Pick up, pick up’ he recited in his head as he waited for his brother to answer.

“Dad?”

“Grab the gear Dean.” John had heard enough of the one sided conversation to grasp the urgency of the situation.

Dean hefted his pack onto his shoulder as he dialed his brother again. He held the phone to his ear as he started to run through the forest, silently demanding an answer from his brother. He went straight through to voicemail.

Pocketing his phone, he picked up his pace as he headed towards his brother’s position. On this rare occasion, he was thankful for the full moon that broke through the darkness, making the task a little easier.

They should have all stayed together. They were stronger together. They could watch each other’s backs. God knows it had made sense at the time, to leave Sam in the clearing, to not be slowed down by his incessant questions and not to have to deal with the fallout when his dad became exasperated. But expedience shouldn’t have won out over safety. Not with Sam.

As a sense of foreboding washed over him - he regretted their hasty decision.

He shifted the bag slung over his shoulder as he traipsed a fallen tree, barely pausing in his frantic pace. His Dad remained at his side, silent but for his ragged breathing and pounding feet. Neither had any intention of slowing. Not until they found Sam. 

-o-

A large talon like claw protruded from the end of the jagged wound in Sam’s side, its poison already pumping through his bloodstream. Dean dropped to his knees, his hands ghosting over the injury on his brother’s side.

“Come on Sam, don’t do this, you need to wake up. I need you to wake up.”

John dropped down on the other side of his youngest son and placed a warm hand on his forehead.

“Son, can you hear me?” He asked; his voice low and desperate as he waited for an answer.

John ran sure hands over his son’s body, trying to curb his panic as Sam remained quiet and unresponsive.

“God, there’s too much blood; we have to stop the bleeding.” John pressed down on Sam’s side, being careful not to move the protruding talon. “I need something… Dean, give me your shirt, I need something to use as a bandage.”

Dean ripped the shirt from his back and passed it to his father.

“Now hold him steady, there’s no other way, I’m gonna have to pull the claw out before we can move him. God only knows how much poison’s already in his system.” John wrapped one hand around the claw and braced his other on Sam’s chest as he waited for Dean to get into position.

“Ready?” John asked, looking at his eldest.

Dean nodded in reply as his hands kept a firm grip on his brother’s arms, just below the shoulders. Sam remained still, but Dean felt himself stiffen in readiness as he waited for his father to extract the claw.

In one sure swift movement John pulled the claw from his son’s side, flinging the grotesque object to the ground with distaste. Immediately he grabbed Dean’s shirt and pressed the wadded fabric firmly over the wound in an attempt to stem the freely flowing blood.

A low guttural moan escaped Sam’s mouth as John used two hands to press down over the wound.

“Shhh Sammy, it’s gonna be okay.” Dean stroked the hair out of his brother’s eyes and tried to offer reassurance.

“Hurts,” Sam mumbled, his eyes still closed and his voice weak.

“Dean!” John snapped. “Dispose of the body, we gotta get moving.” John started to fashion a bandage out of the shirt and worked to secure it over the wound.

It took only minutes for Dean to douse the carcass with accelerant and salt before a lighted match ignited the pile with a satisfying whoosh. He didn’t spare the time to watch any further.

“Grab the gear Dean, we gotta move. Now!” John hoisted Sam into his arms, straining under the weight of his youngest. “You’re getting too goddamn heavy for this son.” John muttered as he adjusted Sam to distribute the weight more evenly.

With his son secure in his arms, John set off at a steady pace towards where they’d left the car. Dean followed a step behind, his eyes never straying far from his brother’s limp frame lying slack in their father’s arms. 

 
-o-

The trip back to the motel room would stay imprinted on Dean’s memory forever. He sat in the back seat, cradling his shivering brother, trying to cushion him from each pothole and bump they hit in their hurried rush to reach the safety of their room. Time seemed to slow as the car ate up the miles, the return trip that much longer than the initial journey.

With each subsequent mile Sam’s breaths seemed to become more labored; his pulse a little weaker. Dean willed his father to drive faster, subconsciously pushing his own foot down on the car floor against an imagined accelerator in a bid to shorten their trip.

When the motel came into view, the car barely slowed, pulling off the road with a screech before coming to an abrupt stop in front of their room.

They maneuvered Sam into the room and placed him carefully on to one of the unmade beds. 

-o- 

Small tremors ran through Sam’s body as he floated in the space between unconsciousness and awareness. He wanted nothing more than to drift back in to oblivion, but the pain kept jolting him back.

He let out a low moan and arched his back as an intense spasm racked through his body.

“Dean?” He thrashed his head from side to side seeking some form of relief from the pain, some measure of comfort to make it more bearable.

“Yeah, I’m here Sam, just hold on okay.”

“God Dean, it hurts, it hurts so bad.” Sam writhed on the bed.

Dean looked at his father for guidance.

John took a deep breath, hating that what he was about to do would bring his youngest even more pain.

“Hold him still Dean, this needs cleaning and I gotta stitch him up before he loses any more blood.” John stood up and moved to retrieve the first aid kit and a few towels that had seen better days.

Dean perched on the bed beside his brother, keeping a firm hold on his trembling frame as he tried to sooth away some of Sam’s pain with gentle words, knowing what was to come. His hold tightened as their Dad returned with the first aid supplies and pulled out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and sterile gauze pads.

John leant over Sam and looked into his eyes before he spoke his next words. “I need you to be strong now son, this is gonna hurt like a bitch but I’ve gotta clean it and put in a couple of stitches. Okay?”

A small tear escaped Sam’s eye as he gave a nod of understanding. His body tensed in preparation.

Sam cried out as the first drop of diluted peroxide fell on his skin, the liquid bubbling red as it mixed with the blood oozing from his wound. His breath hitched as his Dad continued to pour on the liquid, wiping away the excess with the towel he clutched in his other hand. Sam tried to raise his arm to push his dad away, but Dean was faster, pinning his arm back down onto the bed.

Tears flowed freely from his eyes as his father continued to clean out the punctured skin and he clenched his teeth tightly together to stop anything more than the smallest whimpers of pain to escape. By the time the ministrations were complete his mind had retreated to a foggy area and he wanted nothing more than to retreat the rest of the way into the darkness. 

-o-

Dean let his hold relax as he felt the tension leave his brother’s body. He watched as his father finished drying off the neatly sutured wound before applying a bandage over the inflamed skin.

Sam looked frail and pale on the bed, but the fact that he was no longer bleeding brought Dean a small measure of relief. “All finished Sammy.” Dean rubbed the red marks on his brother’s arms left by his firm hold.

“You did good son.” John spoke gently to Sam as he tossed to the floor the bloody gauze and towels from the bed.

“Dean, give me a hand to make him comfortable.” John started removing one of Sam’s boots and Dean followed suite to remove the other. Together they worked to pull off Sam’s blood soaked jeans and shirt before resting him back on the bed and covering him with a blanket. 

-o- 

Sam knew what was happening but made no effort to help. His limbs felt laden down, heavy and uncooperative, his mind fuzzy and distant. Light and sound were pulsing in and out and he struggled to make sense of what was happening.

He hated the felling of disorientation and he struggled to keep his eyes open in a hope that it would disappear.

“Here you go son, I need you to swallow these pills and take a few sips of water. Think you can do that for me?” John tilted Sam’s head up as he pushed the two pills between his lips.

“Mmmm.” Sam felt the two pills on his tongue just before the cool glass of water was raised to his lips. He took a small sip, trying not to gag as he swallowed.

“Few more sips Sam.” John kept the glass tilted against his son’s mouth, determined to get his son to drink at least a little before he passed out again.

When most of the water just seemed to run down his son’s chin John removed the glass and rested Sam’s head back down on the pillow.

Sam’s eyes slipped closed as his body surrendered to exhaustion. 

-o-

Neither Dean nor John moved far from Sam’s bedside. They monitored each minute rise in his temperature, the flush on his skin and the tremors in his limbs. They’d be no sleep for them tonight.

Dean pulled the thermometer away from Sam’s ear. “It’s still rising,” he stated the obvious, having gone through this routine only ten minutes earlier and ten minutes before that.

“Give it time. His body has to flush the poison out of his system.” John told his eldest even as he tried to keep his own worry hidden.

“No Dad, there’s gotta be something we can do.” Dean didn’t try and hide his rising panic as Sam’s body shook with another intense tremor.

John shook his head. “Try ‘n keep him still …don’t want him ripping out those stitches.”

“Maybe we should take him to the hospital.”

“Nothing they can do, you know that.”

“This shouldn’t have happened Dad. Sammy shouldn’t have gotten hurt. What the hell were we thinking, leaving him out there alone, unprotected?”

“You think I haven’t thought the same thing son. You think I haven’t gone over it all in my head, questioned my decisions, berated myself for what went down?”

“I know Dad, but Sammy trusted us. Trusted us to keep him safe, to have his back, and look what happened.”

“We couldn’t have known Dean.”

“Yeah, but we should’ve tried harder, we fucked up Dad, big time, and now Sam… Sam he’s….”

“He’s gonna pull through Dean. He’s strong, a fighter, just give him a little time, you wait and see.”

“You better be right Dad, ‘cause if you’re not, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I can’t lose him Dad, I can’t... not gonna happen.” Dean held on tightly to his brother’s hand as pent up emotion from the night’s events caught up with him.

John went through the routine of wringing out the damp cloth from Sam's fevered forehead and cooling it in the bowl of cold water before replacing it, at the same time sending up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. 

-o-

It took twelve hours for the fever to break. Fourteen until Sam opened his eyes again.

“Dean?” Sam mumbled as he tried to focus.

Dean felt instant relief on hearing the single word pass his brother’s lips. “Right here Sammy,” he reassured, trailing his fingers through Sam’s damp hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

John watched the interaction between his sons, some of the tension leaving his body as he finally allowed himself to believe that Sam would pull through this ordeal.

He leant back in his chair and let his tired eyes slipped closed for a minute. This time, instead of praying for his son’s health, he prayed for absolution.
 

Finis…

 

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