Oblivion whispers my name more insistently now. She wants me. She's becoming harder and harder to ignore, the bitch. I'm running out of time and I damn well know it. Blood is dripping out of my body faster than it has any goddamn right to. The blackness at the edges of my eyes draws in closer.
I am perfectly ok with dying. The business I'm in, the risks I take, I knew it would come sooner rather than later. I'm going down in a blaze of glory. Just like Bon Jovi. So, I'm ok with that.
What I am not ok with, and the reason I am still fighting, is because I don't know where he is. I don't know if he's even still alive.
Trying desperately to pull myself up, I fail again, and the pain consumes me. I know I can't fight it anymore, that no matter how much I want to find him, want to know that he's ok, my time is up.
There's nothing I can do about it. As the blackness sweeps over me, I sink back into the bitch's arms. Oblivion wraps herself around me and the last thing I am aware of is his name on my lips.
I'm dazed, and I definitely have a concussion. My skull feels entirely too small to contain my throbbing brain. I have blood on my hands, and I think there's a deep gash across my belly.
I wish I could remember more than just him screaming a warning, but I know, once again, Dean has saved my life.
I have no clue where he is now though, the beams in the old mine collapsed so quickly, the rubble pile is so huge…God, I realize, he could be under it.
There's sunlight where I am, I can see it coming through the cracks in the rubble. The pile near the entrance isn't as large, and I will probably be able to get out that way.
Not that I have any intention of leaving without knowing what happened to my brother. And that means trying to get through the massive pile behind me.
Running a hand through my gritty hair, I do my best to focus on the task before me, and try to formulate some type of plan. Yeah, a plan for my broke ass to attempt to move eight tons of rubble to find my brother. That will be a piece of cake.
I realize there is no way I can do this on my own. I don't want to leave him here, but I don't know what else to do. I have to find help.
With a deep sigh, I move towards the entrance, preparing to dig my way out.
The second I answer the phone, I can tell something is terribly wrong. Sam is gasping through sobs, screaming that he can't find him, there's too much rubble. When he finally gets a semi-coherent sentence out, the most I can figure is that those two idjits attempted to blow up a Wendigo's den in an old mine and brought the place down on themselves for their trouble.
Sam is apparently in a hospital after collapsing in the middle of the small town and is now hysterically trying to tell me where he thinks Dean is and can I please come get him and help him find his brother.
I tell him I'm two days out, but that I'm on my way. He thanks me profusely, still sobbing like a child. He must have a concussion. Sam has never done very well with them.
I tell him to hang in there, I'll be there as soon as I am able, and disconnect the call. I move to my computer and pull up airline listings. I know I don't really need to worry about weaponry; the boys will have more than enough. It's time I am worried about. I book the first flight into Pittsburg, noting that it will take me an hour to drive to the Pennsylvania ghost town my boys are holed up in.
That's right, my boys. Because they have been for a long time. Mine, that is. I couldn't love or care about them more if they were my own flesh and blood.
"I'm coming Boys."
I wake up again, gratefully noting the restraints are gone. I guess I flipped out hard yesterday, was it yesterday? Time is not making any sense to me right now. My head still hurts, and I am still sore in my guts.
Abdominal blunt force trauma. Apparently it's damn amazing that I walked the six miles into town in my condition. I guess I couldn't remember where the hell we put the damn car. The docs say I collapsed in the middle of Main Street, out of my mind with the concussion and my spleen about to blast off.
I don't remember any of this. My last memory is standing in that damn collapsed mine arguing with myself about leaving Dean behind.
I wonder if he's even still alive. I know they sent search crews up there to look for him. They keep calling it recovery. No one has said the word rescue. This bothers me more than I can possibly express.
Bobby's coming. I spoke to him yesterday…I think it was yesterday. I'm surprised when the Doc tells me this is the most coherent I have been in three days.
He also tells me Bobby is already here, but left to go up to the mines to help look for Dean. It's ridiculous that hearing that makes me cry, but knowing Bobby is already on the job is such a huge relief. Unfortunately, the nurses read my tears as something else, apparently I have been quite the unmanageable patient. Something cool is fed into my I.V. line and my whole body relaxes.
I'm back to blackness before I can even blink.
No sign of Dean. None at all. The rescue workers have been down there for three days, and there's nothing. They found the mine entrance and the rubble piles just as Sam described. We know it's the right place, they also found Sam's Taurus.
But, Dean, well he seems to have vanished. They are concerned now that he may have been forced down the open shaft they found. That he might be further down the mine then anyone had considered.
I don't want to think about it, but my boy is probably dead. I don't know how he could survive any type of fall in here, not to mention the fact that he's been here for three days, with no food, no water, no means to keep warm. It's cold. It's December and it's cold.
Trying to shove off the worry, I again pull Dean's dirty boxers out of the plastic bag for the dogs to sniff. The crew up here is already talking about Dean in the past tense. I can't tell ya how that's ripping me to shreds. I don't want to be the one to go back and tell Sam his brother's gone. I don't want to be told his brother is dead.
I'm standing at the entrance when I hear the shout. They've found something. Is it Dean's they ask?
I turn the item over in my hands, feeling the tears well again, and I force the down the lump in my throat as I nod the affirmative.
I'm holding a jacket. A beat-to-hell, blood-stained, brown leather jacket.
Bobby lays Dean's jacket in my lap, and I swear my heart stops. They're giving up, he tells me, his eyes full of unshed tears. It's too cold, there's just no way he's still alive. I burst into tears. I can't stop the sobs and Bobby sits next to me on the bed and pulls me into his arms and just holds me.
I cry until there is nothing left and then I cry some more. Dean and I always knew, it was always in the backs of our minds that a hunt could go south, and one, or maybe both of us, wouldn't make it out. I had allowed myself the luxury of thinking we would probably go down together.
I find myself wishing we had. I'm so broken. I feel myself losing it again, and the nurses are there, telling Bobby I have to calm down or they will have to sedate me again. I don't understand. My brother is gone. Can't they have a little fucking sympathy? Is that too much to ask?
Apparently I screamed that last part instead of just thinking it, and it's just a moment before I feel that coolness in my I.V. and my vision starts to go.
I am still in Bobby's arms, still sobbing my brother's name, and this time when the blackness beckons, I don't even make a half-ass attempt to fight it. I welcome it, and go there gladly.
Truth be told, I'd be happier if I didn't come back out later. Let me stay here.
Let me die here.