Tecumseh
By Tidia & MOG, May 2006
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Chapter 15/18
“Frankie, look!” Dean swatted at the man walking in front of him and
pointed to one of the large, fluffy-tailed rodents he and Sam had seen
previously.
Uncle Frankie looked at the marker that Dean gestured towards. “You get
hit on the head too hard? Of course there’s going to be gravestones in
a cemetery.”
“Forget it, Dean,” Sam replied, having seen the creature too. He led
the way to the grave of the three Shawnee girls.
Uncle Frankie bowed his head when they reached the plot and in a low
voice began singing. From the language, Sam suspected it to be a
Shawnee prayer.
“These girls need flowers,” Frankie stated. He bent down, placing his
hand on the marker, and stayed there for a minute, concentrating,
before he stood.
Looking out into the cemetery, his eyes narrowed and he pointed to
another gravestone. “Hey, I didn’t know he died!”
He walked towards the granite headstone, then noticed another marker to
the right. “I knew him too…”
As Frankie wandered, Sam knelt and carefully emptied the pouch of ashes
into the dirt in front of the girls’ headstone. The late afternoon sun
beat down on his back, warming the thin material of his flannel
overshirt.
Not knowing what the appropriate words should be, he merely whispered,
“Rest in peace.”
He wrapped up the small bag and stood. Dean caught his brother’s eye
and gave him a nod.
Frankie called out to them from one row over, where he paused in the
middle of what seemed to be quite the discourse with a gravestone.
“There’s some flowers over there!”
“Man, you are cheap,” Dean yelled back, then noticed Sam walking
towards the wild rose bush growing along the fence that Frankie pointed
at. “And why are you listening to him?”
Sam shrugged, searching for an explanation. “It’s a good idea.”
“Coming from Frankie?” Dean retorted. He watched his brother struggle
to break some of the rose stems off. The plant, however, was
unrelenting and Sam’s first attempts brought about little more than
petals on the ground.
“Jeezus, Sammy, you keep shaking it like that, you’re gonna end up with
a stick.” He walked towards his brother. “It’s small, just pull the
whole bush up.”
Sam shot him a look, while still gripping a very green stem that held
several miniature blooming flowers. “I’m not going to pull the bush up.”
Dean reached his brother as Sam grabbed a stem deeper in the rose bush
to try to break off another part. He looked over his shoulder at Dean.
“Don’t you have your knife? Ow! Thorns.”
It was then they heard the distinctive rattle.
A timber rattlesnake lay curled in the dirt, hidden by the tall grasses
surrounding the base of the plant.
Dean spoke in a quiet voice. “Okay, just ease back. They’re not
aggressive….”
Taking in a deep breath, Sam slowly uncurled his fingers from the rose
bush. He exhaled, cautiously pulling his hand away. His pulse raced in
time with the clicking rattle of the pit viper’s tail. It wasn’t until
the plant’s long stem began to bow towards him that Sam noticed the row
of thorns caught on the sleeve of his denim overshirt.
“Shit,” he whispered.
The continued movement of the small bush heightened the startled
reptile’s agitation.
Dean kept his eye on the snake. “Don’t jerk it.”
“I’m not,” hissed Sam, “I’m stuck.”
Cautiously, he twisted his arm, hoping he could dislodge the sharp
barbs from his shirt. As he slowly pulled away, the thorns lost their
grip. With the tension released, the entire section of stems snapped
back with a quick jerk.
Sam’s vision blurred when he felt Dean slam into him, knocking him
sideways. They landed hard, a few meters away and slid into a
headstone, which stopped their momentum.
Sam felt the breath forced from his lungs, but it didn’t stop him from
pushing away as he tried to unravel himself from his brother. “Get
off,” he gasped.
He scrambled back, putting even more distance between himself and where
the snake had been. He sat still, staring at the tall grass and thought
he saw blades shifting as the rattler sought escape under the fence.
Taking in a breath, he worked to calm his racing heart. His eye landed
on a fresh rip in his sleeve. He breathed a small laugh as relief
washed over him. “I’m running out of shirts.” He looked at Dean.
“What’s with knocking me--”
His brother remained still, lying on his back and looking up at the
sky, cradling his left arm.
“No,” Sam whispered. Still seated in the dirt, he moved quickly. “Dean?”
His brother didn’t reply right away, but instead took in two deep
breaths. Uncle Frankie was already headed towards them.
“What happened?” queried the older man.
“I think I just got bit,” Dean said in a tight voice. He peeled his
right hand away from his forearm for just a few seconds, then clamped
it back down. “Oh fuck.”
“Bit?” repeated Frankie, “by what?”
“Rattlesnake,” stated Sam in an anxious voice.
“You sure?”
“No!” blurted Dean sharply, “it was a legless lizard with a pair of
fuckin’ maracas tied to its ass! Yes, he’s sure! You said they needed
flowers! They’re dead, Frankie! They don’t care!”
Sam stared at Frankie. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
The older man loosened Dean’s grip so he could get a look at the wound,
while responding to Sam. “No good, it’s forty minutes away. Yep, you
got bit. Ben is our 911. I’ll call him, he can be at Scarlett’s by the
time we get there.”
“Is it all right to move him?” asked Sam.
As if the tightness in the young man’s voice wasn’t indication enough,
the lost look in his eyes made his level of concern obvious.
Uncle Frankie laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay - never
known anybody who died from a rattler bite.” He glanced at Dean, “Hurts
like a sonofabitch, though.”
Dean rolled his eyes as his breathing increased.
Frankie looked at Sam again. “But we do need to get him in the car and
to Scarlett’s, okay?”
Sam nodded firmly. “Right.”
He wrapped his arm around Dean’s back and helped his brother stand.
Frankie removed Dean’s watch and pocketed it before moving the injured
arm down to the younger man’s side. “Let’s keep that below the heart.
Nice and slow, just a stroll to the car.” A thought struck him. “Hey,
can I drive?”
Dean and Sam answered at the same time. “No!”
“No respect,” muttered Frankie. He took on most of Dean’s weight as
they walked and he pointed to a branch lying a few feet away. “Sam,
grab that stick.”
With his free hand, Frankie fished his cell phone out of his back
pocket, flipped it open and punched in a speed dial number.
“It’s me, we need rattlesnake antivenom...No, this isn’t a joke...Dean.
We’re at the cemetery…Gimme some credit, Ben, I’d know a dry bite. I
saw venom by the punctures…No, meet us at Scarlett’s. And drive fast,
not like a grandma!...Okay, bye.”
He snapped the phone shut as they reached the Impala. “He’ll meet us
there. I think he’s glad he can use the antivenom before its expiration
date.”
Sam stared at him with a slightly shocked expression. “He said that?”
“Nah,” replied Frankie, “I could just sense it in his voice.”
Dean tried to help his brother calm down. “He’s messin’ with ya, Sammy.
Remember, Frankie is the witch doctor. Ben’s legit.”
Sam didn’t seem wholly convinced but he didn’t say anything as he
opened the rear passenger’s door and pushed the seat forward so Frankie
could help Dean into the back. Sam recalled a piece of the older man’s
conversation and used it to try to keep his mind off all the answers
flooding into his brain from the question, ‘What if…’
“What’s a dry bite?”
Frankie took the branch from him and broke it in half. “Rattlers can
control the injection of their venom when they bite. Over half of all
poisonous snake bites are ‘dry’ - no venom used.” He patted Dean’s leg.
“Not your luck though, eh, peshewa? You piss that snake off by trying
to hit on his woman, maybe?”
His eye fell to an Impala Chilton’s manual stuffed under the driver’s
seat and he retrieved it while addressing Sam. “You have that first aid
kit here?”
“In the trunk.”
“Got an Ace wrap?”
Sam nodded. “I’ll get it.”
He risked a glance at Dean, lying on his back, with knees bent, in the
rear of the Impala. His left arm rested on the floor. His eyes fixed on
the car’s headliner, while his right hand clamped tightly to the spot
just above the already swelling bite. Sam could see the rapid rise and
fall of his brother’s chest but seeing a sudden, pain-filled wince
cover Dean’s face jolted him back to his task.
Thirty seconds later Sam was gunning the engine of the Impala as
Frankie, wedged behind the folded-forward passenger’s seat, created a
loose splint to immobilize Dean’s arm from the repair guide, two sticks
and an elastic bandage.
“Hope it’s not your favorite hand,” Frankie said, with a wink.
“You’re a freak,” Dean replied, flinching as Frankie loosely secured
the Ace wrap.
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