Hello all. This is my first try at Losers fanfiction. I've read everything on this site that appeals to me, and I know there are some greater writers. Hope I measure up! I may post this to an awesome live journal site I found, if people like it.

Also, this is unbeta-ed. OTS, if you read this and roll your eyes excessively, let me know. I was just anxious to get this up... Anyone else too...

This is movie verse mostly. I have read the comics. (The only American comics I have ever read lol). I may use Jensen-isms or facts from the comics, but you should be safe from comic spoilers.

Also, part of the inspiration for this story came from a remark I read in a review where someone said that they enjoyed reading Jensen as an unreliable narrator. Keep that in mind before your jump to conclusions...


DEATHMARCH

Rating T: Cause I don't think its intense enough for R.

Characters: Everyone, mostly. Jensen-centric


Jensen could barely make out the smoke in the distance. It made a harsh black pillar set against the frozen wasteland. It was unforgettable. It was the only thing that mattered now. Get there. ASAP, kid!

That phrase rang in his mind over and over again. It was funny though. It did not seem like something he would dream up. It was too brusque, too quick. He was never brusque and quick. Apparently, he in contrast liked to always drag things out. Make it last. That's what she said. Jensen always assumed that it was better to explain every detail in a plan. Expounding on everything was important.

Missing facts could lead to bigger problems. Big problems. Terrible problems. One missed little thing. A butterfly flaps its wings. One missing tire valve.

That last, little stray thought crossed his mind. Maybe they did. But right now that did not matter. He had places to be. Places better than this, places to go. He had to go. People could be coming. Max's people. Shouldn't be, but when had reason ever gotten in line with reality.

But he still could not remember why he had to go there, toward the smoke. Who told him that? No one could. He was alone. Jensen knew that with every fibre of his being. He felt it. The only link was up ahead. Towards it. Get there. "ASAP, kid!" The order reverberated is his head.

Jensen squinted, trying to figure out the distance between the fire and himself. The frozen tundra stretched before him like a badly panned scenery shot. Three hills, coulees really, hid the source of the flame from him. Jensen wished he could see it. A glimpse of his destination would have been all he had needed right now, to know where he was going.

He felt frozen, stiff. There were cramps in his back, and up his arm. His clothing was frozen through, adhering to his skin in odd places. The frozen cloth did little to insulate the skin there. The jacket pulled at him, and it burned. His jacket had bunched oddly against his left side underneath his armpit, and against the inside of his arm. He kept the limb tuck around his chest, it was easier that way. Nothing below his neck really hurt, he was just numb.

Jensen didn't think about the pain in his head. Nothing was wrong with it. It could not be. He had to concentrate, to focus. His legs felt fine though. It was a small comfort, one that rang strange cutting edge. He tripped again. The ground rushed up to meet him. His hands wrapped in tatters of a white scarf were saved from the abrasive surface of the rocks. His knees were not.

"Blood. That's my blood, my blood." He said it in his head, relief flooding through him. He thought. But he winced at the volume of his voice. "Too loud again." He lay against the ground.

"Got to go for a smoke, column." He laughed. "Shush." He pushed up with his arms. One did not push as well. Blood dripped into his eye again. It splashed against the rocks. The red liquid rolled slowly down the gray shale. It froze before it hit the dirt. He watched with the same concentration one would a chopper accident. The Chopper Accident.

"Stop. The colonel said to get up." He said it himself again, remembering to be quiet. He pulled himself from the ground and was wavering on his feet. He staggered to the side. No one was there to help him. No one could be there to help him.

Flashes of memories filled his mind. "Stop, stop it..." His brain summoned up everything with the supercomputer-like precision.

Clay, don't call me colonel, was on the ground outside of the wreckage. He was still. The wind whipped at the suit he was wearing. Clay did not try to button it up. The wind was cold. He was as pristine as he ever was. Military discipline and officer's training resided still in the man, even as he lay there. But there was no mistaking the impossible angle his head was at. His eyes were open, staring at the sky. A smiling grimace was on his pale lips.

Jensen remembered staring at the man, eye to eye, even as Jensen lay there, uncomprehending. The wind whipped under his own coat. He shivered and pulled it tight. He rolled to his stomach. A thick pained grunt escaped from his lips. Stoic soldier crap be damned. He remembered shouting Clay's name. Touching his shoulder.

A crunch came in the snow from in front of him. A distinctive metal click reverberated. He pulled up his gun and fired three times. A fourth shot sounded as the body punched into the snow. He looked up briefly in shock. The warmed gun weighed heavily in his left hand. A nameless soldier lay on the ground gagging on his own blood. Jensen's gun went off a fourth time. The gagging stopped.

He thought of Cougar next. Cougar and Pooch. Back there somewhere. He turned slowly. Jensen was startled to find he had made it to his knees. A vehicle was overturned. One shredded tire was still spinning.

Jensen saw fresh blood dripping down the finger's of his outstretched hand.

The next thing he saw was Cougar as he came to a stop beside the jeep. The man was curled up, hanging from his seat belt. The snow underneath him was unmistakably crimson. The man hung there stiff and still.

Jensen got up from his hands and knees wiping vomit from his mouth. He had his back the truck now. He refused to face the sight behind him again. Not until he found Pooch.

The taste of acid in his mouth almost convinced him to go back again. There was a sound in the snow behind him. He heard a small chuckle. Jensen's hand closed around a rifle lying next to him. He whirled and pushed the barrel into the gut of a black clad man. A louder gunshot filled the clearing. A high pitched whine sound from in front of him, pinging off the overturned vehicle and Jensen dove out of the way. A small line of flesh was ripped from his back. A scream ripped from his throat.

He fought his way to his feet. Pooch. Pooch was lying on the snow, underneath the driver's side of the Jeep. A dark stain complemented the front of his white jacket. No. No.

Not them all. They weren't all there. Clay said there was a rendezvous. Clay had said there was a rendezvous. The pickup. Meet there. Everyone. North. North... Be a signal fire. There was not supposed to be any resistance. A mistaken assumption. I made the call. I got the intel. I was wrong.

He picked himself up, one more time. In his daydream, his flashback he thought. But in this dream, Pooch opened his eyes.

"They were all de-, gone." The words felt empty. He closed his mouth and patted himself down. Three things he wore were not his own. A handgun was tucked into his belt, at the back. Never put one in the front he had learned. Safety or no, it was the best way to shoot your balls off. The handgun had a gruff, commanding weight to it. It seemed heavy. A heavy sniper rifle was slung over his back. It bounced along with every step, seemingly to prod him forward. The Pooch was tucked in his coat, its head peaking up over the zipper of the jacket. The bobble head was likely paying more attention to the path than he was.

Jensen trudged his way up the steep bank, up was easier than down. Up took strength, concentration and coordination. Up meant he had to think about where he was going. It kept part of his mind busy. Only part of it because it was, well, his mind. But there was a part of him that was not thinking about what he had seen. The whole memory was blanketed in a fog.

Shock, he realized. He stored that fact along with so many others. Hypothermia sets in when the core body temperature drops below what homeostasis can compensate for. That sentence ended in preposition being used as part of an adverbial clause. The human body has between 4.7 and 5L of blood, Taggart et al. Losing fifteen percent of your blood causes stage one hypovolemic shock. Shock...

Certain events stood out of the shock, in the cold, things coloured forever in red.

Jensen shivered again, and wiped his hand over his clammy skin. He stood at the top of the rise. Jensen squinted. He thought he could see and orange light. He blinked his eyes. No glasses. He could not remember when he lost them. Only that he did not have them.

He tried to yell. Fires did not start themselves. A slight croaked erupted from his throat. A wave of dizziness fell over him. The landscape flashed around him.

Jensen missed the flashlight bounce over his previous location as he fell down the hill.

He did not lose consciousness as he thought he would. He slid rather unglamorously down on his back. His feet hit the bottom. He started to get up. His vision tunnelled dangerously, so he stayed down. Shock, low blood pressure. Dizziness, the brain's way making the body lie the fuck down so the upstairs bits can get some fucking oxygen too.

He took a couple deep breathes. "I will not faint." That became his mental mantra for the next few minutes.

Jensen risked sitting up. He was rewarded with only the light persistent feeling of wooziness he was growing accustomed to dealing with. Deal with it. Get there. He swallowed softly.

He found his knees. They seemed to belong to a newborn foal with cerebral dysplasia, but they were there. Jensen stood. Good, now he could get going. The next rise looked like an imposing wall. Fuck. He stumbled forward. Why did he even have to There? If he lay back down, he'd feel better. He knew he would.

Jensen jerked as a quiet part of his head kicked him it to motion. Something important depended on him getting There. I just can't remember what. The smoke seemed to beckon him onward.

He stepped carefully, ensuring that his footing was sound. It was becoming more difficult with every revolution of the world around him. Every time he looked down the world seemed to change focus, as if he were look through the two different focal lengths on his glasses. Short and farsighted.

"Go up." He said softly. The air's thinner as you go up. The percentages of gases remain constant, but the partial pressures decrease. Boyles law. His breath had long been coming in gasps. I am so out of shape. Too much time in front of a computer. Jensen gave a small thin smile at that.

A flare of light danced across his pupils. His vision whitened out. Jensen grimaced, and thought he had the good sense to fall forward, and not backward down the hill.

He was sliding again. Down the wrong side. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Something grabbed his arm. His left arm. A bolt of clarity struck as pain kicked in. He ripped his arm away from it, and grabbed the pistol, Clay's pistol with his right. He levelled at the moving black blur.

The blur stopped coming towards him. It paused three feet away. "You really want to do that?" The voice was too smooth. His foggy eyes picked up a glint of light reflecting of a gun.

"I know what you're thinking punk. You're thinking did he fire six shoots or only five." Jensen giggled slightly. He had always wanted to use that line. He had never got to before. Either Cougar or the rest of team had shot the guy, or stunned him. They would not now.

"-sen, put that down. I know your blind, but come on." The voice. The voice faded in and out of his head. He blinked and pondered it. It seemed familiar. The analytical powers of his brain pulled that together. It was not deep. It was trying to lull him into doing something. His contrary nature reared up.

"Down. You don't need a gun up. It's me, Aisha." Recognition flickered slowly through his mind. Aisha was there. Was that good? Was she looking for the fire too? He took a deep breath. Something in his chest clicked. A stab of agony hit him.

Aisha. Aisha had a gun on him. Again. "Not putting it down. I like my dick. I need my dick."

A soft laugh erupted. Followed by a step forward. "I am not going to shoot you, if you don't shoot me." Jensen tried to steady his arm. He could not lift it up. The best angle shot he could make was at her upper thigh.

"You shot me. You shot me." Jensen's breath hitched. "You shot me. That's why I can't get up."

"Yeah, I shot you..." Her voice trailed off. Jensen thought that it probably did for real, and it was not just him on the verge of passing out. The raise in the pitch of her too calm voice intrigued him. The upwards inflection seemed to mean something more to her than it did to him. "Why can't you get up?"

"You shot me." He answered honestly. She had just admitted to it. A flash of pain erupted through his outstretched hand. "Bitch." He pulled it back to himself. The gun was gone again. "Get there, ASAP kid."

"Jensen, get where? The rendezvous? Who you calling kid?"

He began to push himself up. Two hands pushed him back to the ground. "Stay still dipshit." Aisha hissed at him. "Let me look." She touched his hair. "Why Clay sent you out here to meet me like this? God, am I the only one left with a –". She cut off as Jensen grabbed her arm.

"Clay's dead." He swore at her and heaved. Despite her better health, her weight was not a match for the Special forces trained bulk, with the downhill advantage, for her. She was flung past him, as Jensen used her momentum to push himself up.

She seemed to recover slower than he thought she would. Jensen made it five steps up the hill before he tripped right before she tackled him. The pair of them went down in a tangle with her ending up on top. Figures. She sat across his hips and pinned his two arms above his head. He was face down in the snow, still. He went limp and let his face press into the snow. Every breath was a new wave of agony, and his back had a line of fire across it.

He heard a faint wheeze. And another. They were coming faster. It was in time with the pain in his chest.

She ripped him over face up. She grabbed his face. "Is. Clay. Dead?" He did not answer her. He looked up at her face. It was a blur. Without his glasses, his eyesight was nothing to be proud of, even at this close range. So he closed them.

She slapped him. The world sparked and fizzled out.


The ground was moving. Jensen lay there limp, boneless. He stared up at the dark sky. The faint edges of lights were stars, he supposed. It was a quiet night. But a constant low sound from behind his head interrupted his reverie. And sharp inhale and exhale of breath was puffing along. It was soon punctuated by a female voice.

"Why aren't I leaving you there?"

Jensen wondered at who she was talking to as no one seemed to answer her. More feeling was started to come back to his body. His knees stung, his lower back was on fire, the left side of his chest ached, but his shoulders felt oddly wrenched. Jensen felt like he was hanging from them.

Jensen's head remained a cloudy mess.

"Tried to send Clay to come back and haul your ass, but nooo..."

Aisha. Aisha was the one behind him. Aisha was pulling him.

Jensen tried to call out to her. He was not sure what he wanted. Her to stop, her to be gentler, her to explain what was going on... He settled for a simple "Hey", but it came out, "Hemph".

She kept going, not breaking her stride. Jensen felt her hands tightly gripping his forearms. Her finger's bit deeply into his flesh in a way he was sure was going to leave bruises. He listened more, and her breath coming in deep deliberate huffs. "Good god. For a tech geek, you really pack on the muscle."

"You noticed?" He answered. It came out as "Tu-Notiffed?" But that was enough to make her stop.

Aisha set his arms down. A sudden wave of pain wracked his shoulders. He closed his eyes. More pain centred on the middle of his chest. "Wake up. Now!"

Jensen forced himself to open one eye and gave the glare he reserved for ridiculous error messages. The sharp knuckles of her hand were still making their way up and down his sternum.

Aisha remained unfazed.

She pursed her lips. "Other eye too." He did his best to respond. Frustrated with his slow progress, he was sure, she reached and pulled it open herself and immediately flashed a light in both his eyes. "Slow, but even." She might have smiled, but Jensen was still mostly blind, and still was seeing the ghosts of his burned retinas. "Well you aren't going to die at least." She settled back. Jensen got the impression she was looking him over. Not in the 'you are hot', checking you out way; but in the lioness examining her meal ticket sort of way. "At least not yet."

Jensen lay there blinking slowly, trying to remember what he was doing here. "Smoke."

"Since when do you smoke?" Aisha asked.

"No, got to go to the smoke." Jensen answered.

Aisha did something then. Her face contorted. It was hard to make out. "I was waiting at the smoke. For all of you. I heard you trampling through the tundra like a wounded elephant. Came to see what was going through your Swiss cheese head." Jensen was not sure he'd heard right when she muttered. "And I was more right about that than usual."

Jensen felt slightly cheated. That was the resolution to his quest? Find Aisha. Something in his chest tightened. "The team?" His voice hitched awkwardly. They were all gone.

Her voice lowered. Only a fool would call it soothing. "They've been picked up."

"Where?"

"Old allies of mine, we can go see them once we get out of here. My friends were spotted. They are being watched, can't come to get us." She kneeled at his side.

"Oh." Jensen's head remained stubbornly slow. Everything was distanced. "Good." The bodies of his brothers were safe.

"Not really. I'm stuck out here with loopy Joe." Aisha put her back to him. She straddled Jensen's waist. "Grab around my shoulders." Jensen sat up slightly. He reached, feeling his shoulder's cramp up. "Good." She made Jensen grab his forearms with his opposite hands. She grabbed his arms too. She stood slowly. Jensen was pulled up at first. She grunted. He suddenly realized that he could put his feet under him. Jensen walked slowly, leaning on her.

"Can't you make it back?" He asked. Back where, he wasn't sure.

"Yeah, but I leave your ass, I'm dead." She grunted again. That did not make a whole lot of sense to Jensen. Honestly. Who else cared he was out here? His niece had no clue what her uncle did, or where he was.

"Where?" Jensen heard her sigh.

"You are completely out of it, and still you talk... Where what?" Aisha kept pulling the lumber man behind her.

"We going?" Jensen answered after a minute.

"To my fire." She said.

He put his head down. It rested on her raven hair. She shuddered.

Jensen closed his eyes again. Aisha snapped at him. "Keep walking. I can't carry your heavy ass."

"Oh. Sorry." He straightened his knees.

Eventually they stopped and Aisha let him down next to the campfire. She grabbed a nearby backpack and popped it open. She pulled out a roll. She laid it out next to him. He rolled onto it, lying on his stomach. The warmth of the fire was reminding him that he had fingertips. They stung, so he tucked them under himself. "You didn't shoot me this time." He admitted apologetically.

"First coherent thing I've heard all night." She said simply. She was bustling around. She must have found what she was looking for, because she dropped into the ground beside him.

"I got the guy who did." He continued.

"Yeah. What happened to your back?" He was sure she swore then. He didn't know what language. He heard the sound of his jacket being cut up with scissors. He heard her stop and swear. "Your jacket is frozen to your back where the blood is. I am going to have to soak it loose."

Warmth dripped down his sides. It smelled like coffee. She wiped it up before it could dampen the sleeping back under him. Cold air whipped mercilessly on the exposed skin of his back. She peeled off the shirt. "That's going to scar."

She pushed gauze pads onto it and tapped everything down. A heavy blanket covered him. Jensen still shivered. Nothing he did felt like it was creating any heat.

Aisha cut up the inside seam of the arm of his coat to under his ribs. "Three grazes. You were lucky. Your back, your arm, and your chest."

"My kind of luck?" He said through the chattering of his teeth. "I got the guy who shot me."

"Guess I was lucky you weren't armed that night." She said with more than a hint of a smile in her voice.

She must have finished dress his arm and chest wounds, she moved on and knelt in front of his head. She scooted forward and placed his face on her lap. "Uh, buy you supper next time?" He got out, wondering what the hell was going on. He felt her fingers reach under the neck of his jacket and rest far down his spine as she could reach. She pressed firmly, but not deeply, and slowly worked her way up.

She reached the top of his neck and made a slight pleased noise. She then started probing his head. She got to a spot on his back of head, which made fireworks start up. She paused when he sucked in a strangled breath.

"No head injury worth mentioning my ass." Aisha grumbled. "This and the cosmetic damage up front are going to be a bitch."

Jensen concentrated on breathing. Pain was rolling down his body, his fingers were tingling.

"Hey. Jensen." Aisha pinched him.

"Ow!"

"Start talking." Aisha move out from underneath his head, and put it down gently.

"What." Jensen asked. That might have been the first time she had ever made that particular request.

What she did next prompted him. "Why are you sliding into bed with me?"

"This how you treat all over your dates?" She grumbled, and pulled herself next to him, wrapping her lithe body around his. "Clay's not going to care this time. This is the buddy system. You should be grateful I'm not Pooch."

That's funny he thought. He kept forgetting. "Clay's dead." Pooch was dead. Cougar was dead. His breath locked in his throat. How could he forget that?

Aisha sighed softly. "Shush. You're fine now." His chest bounced up and down furiously trying to take a breath. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders. "I've told you three times now. They're not gone."

"What. I saw them die. Dead. Post mortem." He was babbling now. Dizziness overwhelmed him. Strong hand worked on his shoulders. One dropped to rub his upper back.

"When I found you, you had a note in your pocket for me. Clay wrote it. It explained the situation. He was worried that you were lying about your head injury. He was right. He sent you to tell me to get them help. They couldn't move Cougar and you were the only one was walking straight. I talked to him on the radio twenty minutes ago." Aisha said. Her voice was soothing, but began to sound a tiny bit irritated.

"Not dead." Jensen said softly. "Pooch opened his eyes."

"Yes. When the truck rolled, you and Clay were eject from the vehicle, neither of you were wearing seatbelts. Clay's got a mild concussion, Pooch hurt his arm and his knee, and Cougar's got a hole is his gut. You remember about Cougar. You should have been there. Pooch carried him out of the compound." Aisha pinched him when he did not answer right away.

"Stop with the pinching stuff." Jensen grumbled. He still did not remember Clay giving him the note. But the pieces of his memory agreed with what Aisha told him. The blood on Pooch could have come from the sniper. "Cougs alright?"

"He should be fine." She sighed. "He might be missing his spleen, but he'll be fine."

Jensen stilled. "Oh. Good."

Jensen turned to look at her. "Can I sleep now?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You have a serious concussion. I am surprised your brain isn't leaking out your nose." Aisha probably rolled her eyes.

"The Egyptians used hooks to pull the brains of the deceased out through their noses. The brains were stored in special ceremonial jars if you were rich. They also liked cats. Cats. Did I ever tell that dogs can only make ten sounds and cats..."

"Yeah, Jensen you told me." Aisha's body jumped slightly. Jensen assumed she was laughing.

Jensen finally realized he was warming up. He told Aisha this.

Aisha stilled her hand that was making circles on his right arm and wrapped herself tighter around him. "Tell anyone about this and I will feed you your balls."

Jensen became very aware about how her legs were wrapped around his body.


Clay arrived after seven hours of waiting under that blanket. Jensen was dozing lightly, Aisha had been poking him every half hour to keep him from shuffling of the mortal coil. His head was pillowed on her shoulder in an effort to get him off the frozen ground. When he first met her, his thoughts had strayed to imaging what this would be like. Jensen had been wrong. Maybe Clay had found comfort in her arms, but Jensen felt like he was being cradled by an angry she-bear.

Jensen was shivering lightly. The fire had been kept up by Aisha who had found enough flammable materials besides their blankets to have a hot and smoky beacon. But shivering was good; it meant he had not progressed in the severe stage of hypothermia. Also, that he recognized the ramifications of his symptoms were also was positive. He must have mumbled something, because Aisha answered him in a tired "Yes Jensen."

She had quit forcing him to talk after hour four. They had gone through every game Jensen could think of playing. Geography, word association, riddles, everything. Neither of them was at their best, but Jensen figured he still was a bit of competition.

Jensen woke slowly when Aisha started move out from under him, and cocked her gun. He tried to pick his head up, and look around. Her other hand stopped him. He lay there feeling more helpless that a trained black ops solider ever should until he heard her whisper that the pickup was here.

He blinked slightly. "What pickup?"

Aisha ignored him. That was odd. She had actually openly answered every non-personal question he had posed in the last eight hours. And she had answered the personal ones, but he highly doubt that her mother had been the love child of Betty and Barry White. And her childhood pet had become the inspiration for Stephen King's Kojak. Well, that could have been true.

"Who's here?"

Aisha shushed him. Jensen reached up with intention of giving Aisha a piece of his mind. Someone else caught his arm.

Relief overwhelmed faster than the dizziness when Clay grabbed Jensen's shirt front and pulled him up to a sitting position. Aisha slid the rest of the way out of both the men's reach.

The look she levelled at Jensen said one thing clearly. His balls were hers. Even in his less than coherent state, Jensen understood. If he opened his mouth.

"Kid you alive?" Clay fingered the bandages wrapped around his blood stained head. "Shit, you look worse than Cougar."

"Cougar's alive?" Jensen asked. Clay's head came up to stare at him. His expression was shocked. Jensen's heart quickened. "Pooch?"

Aisha broke in. "Yes, Cougar will be fine. Everyone is fine." The words were almost said tenderly. Jensen looked from her to the colonel, and he missed the incredulous look Clay shot Aisha.

"The rest of the team are at the local clinic. They had a decent doctor on hand. Cougar has apparently trained his internal organs to jump. He'll be fine once he heals up."

Jensen heard Clay asking Aisha about injuries and the field medicine. He relaxed slightly. He closed his eyes. It was all stuff he knew. Paying attention would be a waste of his few, valuable, functioning brain cells. A gruff voice snapped at him. "Stay awake, soldier."

"Aisha let me sleep." And the small part of Jensen that was coherent, rational, aware, and not in charge of his mouth winced at the childish tone of voice he used.

Jensen's eyes remained closed until Clay pried them open to shine a flash light in them. "Geeze. Lay off!"

Clay pulled him up, and through him lightly over his shoulder. Jensen heard his colonel mutter to him, "And I quote, No Clay, my head's fine."

"Never said that." Jensen countered. He was quite sure of that. He would have remembered.

"Jensen. You never get to say you are fine. Ever again." Clay told him. His stern glare bounced right off Jensen.

Jensen relaxed. It would have been horribly cliché for him to say that a dark weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. And he tried very hard to be original.

Clay was here, Cougar was safe. And Pooch was waiting for them back at the local clinic.

Jensen closed his eyes.

He felt Clay yelling at him again, but since they were out of the army, he highly doubted the impending court martial followed by a firing squad.


Not them all. They weren't all there. Clay said there was a rendezvous. Clay had said there was a rendezvous. The pickup. Meet there. Everyone. North. North... Be a signal fire. There was not supposed to be any resistance. A mistaken assumption. I made the call. I got the intel. I was wrong.

He picked himself up, one more time. In his daydream, his flashback he thought. But in this dream, Pooch opened his eyes.

"Hey Jay. Good shot. Give me a hand will you?" Jensen fell to his knees beside the wrecked jeep.

"Yeah, sure. What do you need? Besides a hot shower and a beer." Jensen looked at the man lying in the snow in front of him. Jensen scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Pooch's torso.

"My wife. But first I need to get out of this damn thing." Pooch gave him a half smile. "Pull me out, but careful. Think my legs busted. My arm feels like crap too."

"Rib's okay?"

Pooch nodded and Jensen eased his friend out. Pooch lay on the snow for a few seconds, his face too pale. "Cougs is still in there?" He looked at Jensen. "Jay. Get him out and I'll get a shelter ready. Assuming that survival gear is still in the back of the truck." Pooch frowned and looked around the immediate vicinity. "You got all the bad guys?"

Jensen sighed. "Yeah. Think it was just those two, on foot. No other vehicles. The colonel's up there in the snow. He's out. Worried about moving him."

Pooch gave him an odd look. "Yeah. What the hell was he doing without a seat belt? You, I expect it from."

Jensen nodded sarcastically, and found himself sitting in the snow. "Jay, Jensen. Buddy what's up?"

Pooch was sitting beside him with his good arm bracing Jensen's shoulder. Jensen had the small feeling that if that was removed, he'd have been making snow angels.

Jensen looked to Pooch and grinned. "Think I got shot again. Twice. One ricochet, and one of the bastards that were chasing us. It's good though, I'm hardly even bleeding."

"Ricochet?" Pooch was moving slowly to the back of the jeep. He pulled out a tarp and laid it down next to the window of the vehicle.

Jensen crawled through the snow to Cougar's side. He realised the seatbelt and caught the marksman awkwardly. He pulled Cougar through the window, puffing slightly. "Thank god I'm not trying to do that with the colonel." Jensen stood up slowly. He grabbed the edges of the tarp and pulled it to the nearby tree line.

"Ricochet. Shot someone, point blank man. Cougar's gun. It hit the jeep and came back at me." Jensen said. "Doesn't hurt though."

"Yeah." Pooch was looking at him funny. "Can you get the colonel?"

A moan came from the black lump in the snow where Clay lay. The man rolled over and pushed himself onto his knees. Jensen walked over to his CO, and pulled Clay up, and slung Clays arms over his own shoulders. His other hand grabbed Clay around the hips.

Clay helped a little. Jensen and the colonel staggered drunkenly to where Pooch was dragging packs from the back of the jeep to their makeshift shelter. Clay was soon deposited by Cougar. "Cougar bleeding again?" Jensen asked as Pooch prodded at the field dressing.

"No man." Pooch nodded. Cougar reached up to grab Pooch's hands.

"Leave it for now. Don't pull the clots off."

Everyone started at the gut shot sniper's admonishment.

Jensen patted his friend's shoulder. "Hey man easy. We got you." Jensen grabbed thermal blankets and started wrapping Cougar and Clay in them.

"Someone's going to have to go meet Aisha to get help." Clay said blearily. His voice was more than noticeably slurred.

Jensen took stock of everyone there. "I'll go."

Cougar grabbed Jensen's bare hands after Jensen propped the sniper up on a pack. "Take my scarf, wrap your hands up."

Pooch looked at him. "You fell on your ass two minutes ago from shaking your head."

Clay looked at him sharply. Well as sharply as his CO could currently manage.

Jensen banished his feelings of wooziness and nausea.

"You're head on straight?" Clay asked. Jensen did not answer immediately. "If I got thrown out, you did too. I can't believe that you are perfectly fine."

"He's got two gunshot wounds." Pooch added.

Pooch winced when Clay swung his head around to glare at him.

Jensen held up his hands.

"No Clay, my head's fine."


Jensen's eyes opened. He was leaning against Clay's shoulder with the roar of a vehicle's engines in his ears. He remembered where he was, on his way to the clinic. Pooch was there, Cougs was there, and help would be there for the colonel and himself.

"We weren't just at the jeep, were we?" Jensen wondered aloud.

Two people answered "No!" to him. The worried voice of Clay and Aisha's whose held a bit of laugh.

The dream must have been part of his missing memory. The last words spoken in the dream he had rang again in his head.

"Shit."


THE END

I may write another fic to wrap this up a bit more, if I receive a positive response.

Ideas that I wanted to include in this fic were: Jensen thinks the team is dead, Jensen is completely and totally concussed, and Aisha has to deal with Jensen when he's hurt showing a little compassion.

Thanks guys for reading!

~Castiel's drycleaner 2010