"Blurred"

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

Chapter: 2

"The past is malleable and flexible, changing as our recollection interprets and re-explains what has happened." -Peter Berger

Gravity should have found them tumbling back end over front, smashing through the trees as they somersaulted down the steep ravine. Dean didn’t believe in chance, left their fate to Bobby’s driving skill and the massive bank of snow that padded the Tahoe’s landing like a big fat pillow. Dean’s body wasn’t shown such mercy.

“Sonofabitch.” Dean tried to raise his head, but thought better of it when a sharp pain lanced through his skull. He could feel a warm trickle of blood sliding down towards his ear. The jack hadn’t been the only thing abused by the Winchester steel today. He attempted to move his right arm but found it impossible with Caleb’s boot wedged against it. “Damien, move.” He shoved weakly against his friend’s body with his left hand, hoping the other man was conscious.

There was a low groan. The foot lifted, replaced by the feel of skin. “Deuce?” Caleb’s fumbling hand moved from his head to his chest. “You alright?”

"Dean!”

Dad’s voice was more demanding, angry sounding, but Dean could hear the concern laced through it as plainly as that in Caleb’s tone. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”

“Junior?” Bobby said. “You in one piece?”

“Mac won’t be killing anyone.”

“Good to know.”

Bobby groaned and Dean tried to sit up, satisfied that either he had been spared serious injury or was in shock. “You guys okay?”

“Fucking great,” Dad said. It was punctuated by a loud smash that Dean imagined was his father’s boot, shattering the passenger window. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

He didn’t realize his body had reacted to the sound until Caleb’s hand tightened in his shirt front. “Go slow. Ignore Johnny’s post crash tantrum.”

“Help me up,” Dean said through gritted teeth. Dean lifted his hand, hoping Caleb could see more than he could in the darkened cabin. His friend’s grip was strong as he helped Dean onto the bench seat among the bags and other junk that had been tossed around.

“Anything feel broken?”

Dean still wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Everything’s working.” He doubted he’d be able to walk tomorrow. “How about you?”

His friend’s attempt at a laugh morphed into a coughing fit. When Damien caught his breath, he squeezed Dean’s arm. “Cold’s not bothering me so much now.”

Dean wished he had a visual confirmation that no one was hemorrhaging to death. The familiar sound of gunfire and the shattering of the back glass had him refocusing on more important things. “Fuck!”

Caleb shoved him down, leaning across him, arms over his head as glass rained around them.

“Get out of the truck!” John yelled. “Get out now!”

Dean’s door was wrenched open; his father’s bloodied face illuminated by the interior light that suddenly came on. “Dad? What the hell is…”

His father didn’t give him a chance to finish as he grabbed his jacket and heaved him out of the truck, dragging Caleb out too. “Move!” He shoved them towards the rear of the Tahoe. “Head for the thicker tree line. If they hit the gas tank…”

“Those bastards are shooting at us!” Bobby sounded astounded. He’d made it across the front seat, freeing one of the duffels from the floorboard before sliding out John’s door. A bullet pinged the side of the Chevy, followed by another. “What kind of crazy bastard are we dealing with, John?”

“The kind I trained!” Dad yelled, stumbling behind them.

A light flashed, panning the trees and the ground. “They’ve got a spotlight,” Bobby said. “And the higher ground advantage.”

“You would piss off a bunch of spineless redneck deer hunters,” Caleb snapped. “We’re like fish in a barrel.”

“Move faster!” Dad ordered. “Stay down.”

It wasn’t easy to stay low. The snow was like wet cement, miring Dean’s steps. They had almost made it to cover when his left leg suddenly gave way. A white hot pain tore through his thigh, dropping him to the ground like a prized buck. “Sonofa…” He went down hard, barely able to catch himself before face planting in the snow. Dean’s vision blackened, he heard ringing. The bells morphed to his father’s voice.

“Dean! Get up.”

He was barely aware of the hands that wrapped in the back of his jacket, and heaved him out of the snow. Dean cried out as his leg was jarred.

“He’s hit!” Caleb's voice was raw and hoarse. “Goddamnit, John!”

“Keep moving,” Dad growled. “Go. Go.”

Caleb’s arm came around his back, taking most of his weight. Dean took a gasping breath, fighting the urge to pass out.

“Deuce?”

Dean nodded. “I got it.” All he knew for sure was he had a fucking bullet wound, but there was no choice but to suck it up. “Just a graze.”

He heard more shots right behind them. Dad was returning fire blind, trying to give them a better chance at escape.

Bobby materialized on Dean’s other side, dragging Dean’s arm over his shoulder. “Hustle, boys.”

Dean didn’t know how long they stumbled through the snow, but they were deep into the forest now. He could hear his father moving quickly behind them, branches snapping, heavy breathing. No more shooting. Dean’s head pounded with each step, the burn in his leg increasing. Heat rushed to his face, his stomach flip-flopping. Sweat beaded his upper lip, his mouth watering. “Damien…”

Caleb must have sensed what was about to happen. “Bobby, stop.”

Bobby let him go just as Dean doubled over sick. Caleb struggled to keep him from falling into the mess as Dean heaved again, emptying his stomach of the beef jerky and M&M’s he’d had for lunch. Dean didn’t know which he hated worse, gunshots or concussions. He’d had many more of the latter, perhaps the reason the former left a much stronger impression on him. That and getting shot hurt like a sonofabitch.

“Dean?” His dad’s hand was cool against the back of his neck. “You okay?”

“No!” Caleb growled. “He’s not okay. He’s been shot! We need to do something.”

Dean gave Dad credit. For someone who snapped at the stupidest shit, John Winchester could maintain his cool in the worst situations. His father ignored Caleb’s insubordination. “Take some breaths, son.”

Dad took his other arm, easing some of the burden from Caleb. Dean inhaled the frigid air, willing his stomach to give him a break.

“He’s bleeding!” Caleb continued to point out the obvious. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“We just need to go a little further,” Dad said. “I don’t think they’ll risk tracking us now that they know we’re armed.”

“You sure about that?” Bobby asked.

Dean continued to focus on breathing. His father’s touch lingered, anchoring him. “I’m willing to bet those bastards bit off more than they wanted to chew.”

“Then we hold up here,” Caleb said. “Better yet, you and I can double back and take them out while Bobby patches up Deuce. We can take their ride and get the hell out of here.”

The way Caleb was breathing, Dean was pretty sure his friend needed to stay put as much as he did.

“No. Everyone in that bar heard my name and we’re dealing with civilians. Humans. We can’t risk that kind of collateral damage.”

“Humans who ran us off the fucking road and shot your son- The Knight’s son. Jim would understand.”

“We’re doing this my way and not involving The Brotherhood,” Dad said. “That’s an order.”

Dean vomited again, dousing the fire of Caleb’s rebuttal. Damien’s grip tightened and his voice softened. “Take it easy, kiddo.”

“Bobby, keep them moving,” Dad said. “I need to be sure we’re not being followed.”

“If they're that crazy, we’re going to make tracking easy for them,” Bobby said.

Dean felt bile rise to his throat again as the meaning of the mechanic’s words registered. Blood stood out in the snow. If the bastards did give chase, Dean would be a fucking beacon. He might as well be dropping bread crumbs.

“Let’s hope they’re not that stupid.” Dad’s hand returned to the back of his neck with a reassuring squeeze. “Hang in there, Ace.”

Dean straightened up in time to watch his father disappear into the snowy woods. Bobby moved to his side once more. “I hate to tell you Casanovas ‘I told you so’.” He shouldered Dean’s arm again, giving a tight grin. “But we won’t be in Kentucky for the New Year.”

“Fuck you, Bobby,” Caleb said. “Fuck Johnny, too.”

Dean closed his eyes, thinking about those dry socks and Jim’s homebrew. Not for the first time, he wondered what Sam would be doing to ring in the New Year, imagined the breezy beaches of the California coast. Stanford seemed a million miles away as did the drafty tent and warm sleeping bag Dean had complained about a few nights ago.

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“This is far enough.” Caleb didn’t care if Bobby agreed with him or not, didn’t give a damn if John came back and reamed him a new one for not following protocol. Dean was hurting. Despite the dampening of his psychic abilities, Caleb could feel the younger hunter’s misery overriding his own and deemed stopping their mad dash worth the risks.

Caleb wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. They were along a slow rolling ridge now, rocks lining one side of the forest. He hoped for a shallow cave, but would settle for any shelter from the falling snow.

“Over here.” Bobby didn’t argue his decision, but gestured to an overhang, a cluster of boulders jutting up from the snow. “Let me take a look at the kid’s leg.”

They eased Dean against one of the massive rocks, bellying him up to the stone like a bar. It would give Bobby access to the wound on Dean’s thigh. Bobby let the duffel drop from his other shoulder, bending to dig through the contents as Caleb focused on keeping Dean upright and his own legs from folding. “How you doing, Deuce? You’re too quiet.”

“We should keep going.” Dean’s breathing was ragged, and he was sweating. The cold had flushed his cheeks, but even in the minimal light Caleb could see the kid’s face matched the whitewash backdrop around them. “We can stop when Dad catches up.”

Caleb shook his head, keeping a firm hold on his best friend’s shoulder. “We’re not going anywhere until Doctor Singer patches you up.” They could at least assess the situation, stop the bleeding.

“Good thing I grabbed John’s bag with the med kit.” Bobby rattled the first aid box. “Of course, I didn’t get the one with any of our camping gear, but nobody’s perfect.”

Dean choked out a laugh. “That wouldn’t fly if me or Damien dropped the ball.”

“Yeah.” Caleb coughed. “Johnny would have us nursing our pack like a new born baby for a couple of weeks.”

“Good thing John isn’t the boss of me,” Bobby replied. He turned on a small penlight and handed it to Caleb to hold. There was a tearing noise. Dean jerked giving a startled yelp as Bobby applied direct pressure to the wound. “I’ll store my gear up his ass with that sword he carries around.”

“Such love,” Dean said, hoarsely. “Jim would be so proud.”

Caleb concentrated on the fact Deuce was joking, trying to block out the fresh ripple of pain. “So much for Brotherhood.”

Dean nodded; jaw clenched against Bobby’s ministrations “Definitely overrated.”

Caleb’s gut twisted as he picked up Dean’s thoughts of Sam. He might as well have kicked the kid for good measure. “Johnny should be here soon,” he said. Caleb looked in the direction they had come from, their tracks now barely visible. The snow was still falling steady. He wasn’t sure how much good John showing up was going to do them.

“Hold the light still, Junior.”

Caleb hadn’t realized his hand was shaking until Singer snapped at him. “Sorry.”

Bobby lifted the bandage away, and Caleb breathed easier when he noticed the bleeding had stopped, the wound was not as bad as he had feared, although he was really hoping for a graze. “Good news is you were wrong about them being hunters. We’re fucking lucky they weren’t using a high velocity weapon. I’m guessing a handgun, maybe some kind of military issue.”

“That’s the good news?” Caleb shook his head incredulously. Any kind of injury was not acceptable when it came to Dean. “What’s the fucking bad news?”

“The bullet’s still in there,” Bobby said.

“Of course it is.” Dean leaned his forehead against the rock in front of him, muffling his distress in his folded arms as Bobby continued his examination. “So not my day.”

Caleb rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Can you get to it?”

Bobby grunted. “You really think now’s the time or place for me to be digging out a slug?”

“I vote no,” Dean said. He kept his head down, but Caleb could hear his friend's panting breath, feel his elevated pulse from where Caleb’s left hand rested. ”What the fuck can you do?”

“I can bust you in the mouth if you don’t remember real quick who the hell you’re talking to.”

Caleb took a deep breath, ignoring the burning it stirred deep within his chest where his lungs felt as heavy as led. He exhaled wearily. “Bobby.” They were in the middle of the Colorado Mountains without a vehicle, no cell phone reception and sparse supplies.

Bobby rocked back on his heels. “I can clean it up, give the kid a band aid, but we all know the sooner we get somewhere I can get that bullet out, the better off Dean’s going to be.”

“Where the hell do you suggest we go? I’m not guessing there’s a Hilton anywhere close by. ” At that moment Caleb would have given Tri-Corp and his trust fund for one of the roach-infested dumps of a motel John liked to stay in.

“I think I know a place.”

The fact John Winchester could move with all the stealth of a legendary Apache warrior had awed Caleb as a boy. As his abilities matured and his bond with John grew strong, Caleb could sense him before he had the chance to surprise the teen. The fact he now reached for his weapon before John’s voice registered was testament to his own condition. “That’s a good way to get shot.”

“You’re not that quick, kiddo.” John stepped completely into the clearing.

Dean lifted his head, but didn’t offer to move further. “Did you find them, Dad?”

Caleb watched John kneel beside Bobby, the two older hunters exchanging a silent look that set his nerves on end. “No signs we were followed in.”

“So we can double back to the road?”

Caleb felt his irritation growing as John shook his head. He watched his mentor examine Dean’s wound with a grim resolve. “No. They could still be on the road, and even if they’re not, the Tahoe isn’t going anywhere. I doubt if there will be any passing traffic.”

“Then what the hell are we going to do?”

John stood, gesturing to their right. “I found an old logger’s road. It’s familiar.”

“Familiar?” Was he joking? Caleb had the sudden urge to shake the man. “You know where we are?”

“Daniel’s place.” Bobby began taking more supplies out of the kit. “I forgot his cabin was out here.”

“Daniel who?” Dean asked.

Caleb blinked, John’s thoughts hitting him like an anvil. “No.” He backed up. “No fucking way.”

Dean turned slightly in his direction. “Damien?”

“We don’t have any choice,” John said. “It’s not far from here. He’ll have what we need. He was a medic in Korea.”

“He’s not touching Dean.” Caleb didn’t want Deuce anywhere in the vicinity of that man.

“This isn’t your decision.”

“Who?” Dean demanded. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

“Daniel Elkins,” Caleb said. “He’s talking about going to Elkins.”

“Crazy Daniel Elkins?”

John looked at Dean. “There’s more to him than that. He taught me a lot.”

“He taught me a whole hell of a lot, too,” Caleb said. “It was a lesson I won’t fucking forget.”

John closed the distance between them with two steps, grabbing Caleb’s jacket. The psychic reached up, shoving to break the hold, but John held fast, leaning in so close he could feel the heat of John’s breath on his cheek. “You willing to let your fear put Dean’s life in jeopardy? Are you telling me some grudge you got against Elkins is more important than your priority mission?”

“John.”

John ignored Bobby’s protests, giving his protégé another hard shake. Caleb shook his head, unable to find voice in face of his mentor’s accusation. Mostly because Caleb knew there was some truth to it. He was afraid. “I’ll do what I have to.”

John released him with a rough shove. “Good. We’re moving out as soon as Bobby patches up Dean.”

And just like that Caleb found himself with the prospect of not only being away from the city, away from all that was familiar on the upcoming holiday, but welcoming in the New Year in company of the devil from his childhood nightmares.