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Dean wasn’t breathing hard as he sprinted forward. Wasn’t sweating either. He could hear swearing and panting behind him, though, and it brought a laugh to his lips.
“What’s wrong?” he called over his shoulder, slowing slightly. The chase wouldn’t be any fun if he actually lost his pursuer, after all. “You out of shape there, Sammy?”
Sam’s unexpected response was a crossbow bolt that came shooting out from the dark and plunged into Dean’s shoulder. He stumbled and then fell as the force of the impact hit him, tumbling over rocks and twigs and finally coming to rest with his cheek against something soft and springy. Patch of grass, probably.
Dean immediately went to lift himself back up, get running again, and couldn’t make his arms work. Rage, hot and smooth as blood, pulsed through him. Bastard had poisoned the bolt. He tried to snarl as Sam skidded to a stop next to him, sending a spray of dust and pebbles into his face, and couldn’t do more than blink.
“Sorry, man,” Sam muttered. He dropped the crossbow on the ground and then, taking hold of the bolt with both hands, pulled it out.
Now Dean’s breath sped, both from pain and from the poison working its way through his system. He’d known that dead man’s blood wouldn’t be pleasant, but this was hell. He was as helpless as a kitten and laid out at the feet of the man who should have been (would be) standing at his side.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam babbled, tucking one hand underneath Dean’s jaw and feeling for a pulse. Like there was anything there to find, the idiot. It took Sam almost a minute to realize what he was doing. Dean felt the realization go through his brother as a shudder in the fingers pressed against his neck and then Sam pulled his hand back. Dean tried to snap at it and managed a loose flop of his head. Fantastic.
Sam’s hands dropped onto Dean’s arms and drew them back behind him. Dean growled as he felt his brother binding his wrists together with practiced knots. Sam didn’t think that rope was going to hold him, did he?
“Sorry about this,” Sam apologized as he jerked the ropes tighter. “It’s just so I can carry you better. I’ll get you back to the car and then I’ll see what I can do about your shoulder.”
“ … kill you … ” Dean groaned.
Sam’s hands twitched at the threat, which was gratifying, but not as gratifying as being able to follow through would be. Sam was right there, and unarmed, and if Dean could just get his body to obey him for a few minutes he could have his brother back again. The needy ache in his teeth was almost worse than the pain in his wounded shoulder.
“We’ll fix this, Dean,” Sam promised. “Jesus, I can’t believe I got you. I can’t—” He made a choking sound. Probably crying all over Dean’s back. Pathetic. “—it’ll be okay. You haven’t—haven’t done anything yet.”
Dean laughed weakly into the earth. That waitress back in Farmington hadn’t been much more than a snack, but he was pretty sure that she was something. Sam finished with his hands and moved away from him a little, obviously trying to get himself under control.
Dean listened to his brother’s shuddering breaths and focused on moving his fingers. If he concentrated, he could make them twitch, which meant he wasn’t completely incapacitated. Dead man’s blood had probably dried on the end of the bolt with all of the running they’d been doing.
“You almost went over a cliff,” Sam said suddenly, his voice shaking. “Jesus, Dean, you could have died.”
“Already … dead …” Dean gasped out. Sam’s wet swallow was easily audible to his ears, and now that Sam had brought it to his attention, Dean could hear a river as well, rushing along somewhere far below. Maybe this game wasn’t over after all. He just needed to get Sam out from between him and his escape route.
“Sammy,” he whispered, trying to sound as pathetic and hurt as he could. “God, Sammy, what’s wrong with me? I’m so—so hungry, I can’t t-think …”
Sure enough, Sam came back over to him, walking around so that he could crouch down and look Dean in the face. “It’s okay, Dean. I’m here. I’m gonna help you.”
“Sammy …”
Sam leaned closer.
“Mine. Make you mine again.”
As Sam’s face went from concerned to puzzled to suspicious, Dean gathered all of his strength. And then rolled his body backwards.
Sam gave a startled yell and reached for him, but Dean was already out of reach. He hissed as he rolled over his injured shoulder and then he was tipping off the edge of the cliff and into space.
Hitting the rock face on the way down hurt like a bitch, and slamming into the water at the bottom was even worse, but he was free. No way Sam would be able to follow him down here.
All Dean had to do was wait for the dead man’s blood to wear off and then get some nourishment. Must be some campers nearby that could donate a few gallons and help him heal.
And then …
Then it was time to step this game up a notch. Pay a little visit to Bobby, maybe.
Despite the pain, Dean laughed into the water as he let the current carry him away.