Hidden Venom, for shoreleave

[summergen-mod.livejournal.com]

Title: Hidden Venom
Recipient: shoreleave
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7,700
Warnings: None
Author’s Notes: Written for the prompt - Preseries or up to season two. Dean gets bitten by a snake, and there’s no quick or easy way to get him to a hospital. Story takes place pre-series, and I send my sincerest apologizes to cottonmouth snakes everywhere. It’s not their fault Dean hurts so good that he's susceptible to every conceivable reaction to their venom.

Summary: A zombie hunt in the Everglades goes from bad to worse when Dean is bitten by a cottonmouth two days before his senior year finals.



Dean struggled to hear Dad’s reprimand over the pounding of the rain. The curtain of water drowned the swamp, soaking Dean down to his boxers and leaving his jeans hanging heavy.

Sam wasn’t far behind him, leaning between the buttress roots of an old cypress. He was hiding in his hoodie with his arms crossed over his chest and looking like the definition of misery.

Dean’s overshirt remained tied at his waist and he didn’t bother seeking cover under the canopy. It wasn’t as if either would keep him dry.

He blinked the stinging from his eyes. The rain washed the dirt and sweat down his face without making him feel any less hot and sticky. The mud he stood in kept trying to suck in his boots. He wanted to let it pull him down until he disappeared beneath the water.

Dean clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to take a step back as Dad loomed over him. He wasn’t even sure how Dad did it. They were nearly the same height now, but somehow he still made Dean feel small.

Most of the time, Dean felt like a grown up. He knew he’d never been a kid. Not since Mom. Dad knew it, too.

Dean had known he was an adult from the first night Dad had left him in charge. Dad was the smartest man Dean knew. He wouldn’t have left a kid to protect Sammy.

Dean didn’t remember how old he’d been. It didn’t matter. He’d been old enough. All he could really remember was how heavy the shotgun had felt in his hands and how he’d kept forgetting to breathe.

He’d sat up in the motel room clutching the gun and staring past the salt line that was all that stood between them and the darkness outside. It had been up to him to keep the monsters away.

Little boys didn’t protect their families. Men did. But right now, Dad was talking to him like he was just some stupid kid. The worst part was that Dean knew he deserved it.

“If I tell you to shoot, you pull the goddamn trigger, Dean.”

Dad said it like Dean didn’t know how to follow an order. Or worse, as if Dad couldn’t trust him to get the job done. That hit Dean harder than a fist ever could, and left him winded to the point that he wasn’t even sure if his ‘yes, sir’ was spoken aloud.

He wished the rain would fall hard enough to fully drown out Dad’s words. Dean had already heard enough to know that he’d screwed everything up. Wasn’t the first time. Wouldn’t be the last.

“That’s ridiculous,” Sam called out from beneath the tree. “You can’t yell at him for not shooting people just because you said so.”

Dad snapped his focus to Sam. “I raised you boys to know better. Just because something looks human—”

“’Doesn’t mean it is’,” Sam grumbled.

Sam parroted the words that Dad had drilled into them. Dean wasn’t sure what was worse—Sam’s squeaky-voiced impression of Dad or the color of red it made their father’s face turn. Apparently Sam wanted to die here.

“But what if you’re wrong?” Sam asked before Dad could go supernova. “I mean, we shouldn’t even be out here. This is our last weekend to study before finals.”

School was one of the last things Dean wanted to think about, but right now he’d take any distraction he could get. Even if that distraction was how he’d have to spend Monday filling in random multiple choice bubbles and scribbling in essay answers with the first smart ass reply to pop into his head. School would have been a better distraction if the mention of it hadn’t made Dad’s face go from red to purple.

Dean pulled one of his boots from the muck so he could swivel around to face Sam. He put himself as a visual barrier between his brother and father, and pretended he couldn’t feel Dad’s glare boring into the back of his skull.

“Relax, Sammy. You’re gonna do fine,” Dean said. “You’ve studied enough you could write the damn tests yourself.”

Sam peeked out from beneath the dripping hood of his sweatshirt to fix his gaze on Dean. “I’m not the one who needs to study.”

“Enough!” Dad snapped. “Sam, get your head in the game. We’re tracking a zombie. This isn’t the time for flash cards.”

Sam scoffed. “It’s two days before finals and you got your kids wandering around the Everglades looking for zombies. Do you even get that your son isn’t going to graduate?”

The question hung in the air with only the beating of the rain to break the silence. Dean felt as if the water was rising up around him. He couldn’t take it anymore and risked a glance towards Dad. His breath caught in his throat.

They hadn’t talked about it. Dean hadn’t thought they needed to. Dad had been busting his balls about training without a single word about graduation. It was obvious what Dad wanted. He needed a hunter to watch his back, not some stupid ass pencil-pusher.

“Dean sure as hell is gonna graduate.”

The terse reply was spoken while Dad was glaring at Sam, but Dean could feel the weight of the words crush his shoulders. He might as well shoot himself now.

The only books he’d opened this semester had been for researching hunts and, even then, only when Sam had been too busy studying. They’d switched schools so many times this year that he’d long ago given up on keeping track of what books he was even supposed to have.

It wasn’t like it mattered. All the books in the world wouldn’t turn him into Sam. He’d never be smart, not like that, but he was smart in all the ways he had to be.

Dean didn’t get why Dad hadn’t let him drop out years ago, or why he’d even bothered enrolling him in school at all. There was nothing to learn there that would keep them alive out here. The stupid teachers didn’t even know monsters were real. There was no reason to think they were right about anything else.

“And because you said it, it must be true,” Sam told Dad.

If Dad didn’t kill Sam, Dean would. As it was, he was struggling not to pummel his brother into the mud. He only hesitated because he expected Dad to do it for him, but then realized both their eyes were on him.

He didn’t know what they wanted him to say. He was sick and tired of hearing about graduation. Everyone in his classes wouldn’t shut up about it. It was as if they thought graduating would somehow magically fix the world. That was crap.

Next summer wouldn't be any different than this one. He’d still be screwing up, and there’d still be monsters in the dark. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that he could finally be out in the field making sure Dad was safe.

Dean dropped his gaze to the rippling reflection at his feet. This was the first time he’d considered that Dad might not think he was good enough to hunt at his side.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Dad said.

Dean’s chest tightened further. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, and gave a huff to try to release the tension that was damn near suffocating him.

“Awesome,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Drop the attitude.”

Dean immediately straightened his stance and clamped his mouth shut. Being a whiny little bitch wasn’t going to help Dad anymore than it was going to get him out of the grave he’d already dug himself.

“We have to find this thing before nightfall.” Dean didn’t have to look at Dad to know that his father’s next words were directed at him. “Any more screw-ups and more people are gonna die.”

People always died. There’s wasn’t much Dean could do about that, but he was going to gank this zombie and show Dad that he was a real hunter. He didn’t need some stupid piece of paper from some random school. All he needed was this bitch’s blood on his hands.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Sam said. “The only people in danger out here are us. If we just go back to the motel—”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said before Dad could say it worse.

Dad looked between them and shot Sam a warning glare before continuing. “We’ll split up to cover more ground. Dean, take the north. Sam, you’re with me.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue and Dean did the same. The only thing that could possibly make this day worse was if the only two people he cared about killed each other, but the argument died on his tongue when Dean realized why Dad was taking Sam with him.

Dad couldn’t trust him to protect Sam. Dean had his chance to shoot this thing and he hadn’t taken it. He’d been thrown off by staring into the face of a girl. It was a rookie move. He should have just blown her head off, Dean got that now, and Dad had to know it would be different if Sam was in danger.

Watch out for Sammy.

Everything that he had ever been was tied up in that one simple order. He would kill anything or anyone to protect his little brother. If he couldn’t manage that, he might as well not be here.

Dean wanted to tell Dad all that. He just didn’t know how. If all his actions over the years hadn’t proven that then no amount of words could. He’d just have to prove it by putting this zombie back in the ground where it belonged.

Dean nodded an affirmative and turned away before his expression revealed more than he wanted it to. The mud slurped as he pulled his boots out to slosh through the shallow water towards the nearest patch of grass.

He wasn’t sure when it had stopped raining. It sounded like it still was, but the big droplets were only dripping from the moss in the trees. The clouds had been replaced by the sweltering heat of the late afternoon sun. Even the dappled shade didn’t make it feel any less like a sauna as steam rose around him.

In the near distance, he could still hear Dad and Sam arguing. He was on the verge of yelling for them both to shut it. All he’d ever wanted was his family in one piece.

It was yet another reason he needed to get the hell out of school. If he heard just one more kid cheering about going away to college, he was going to pound someone’s face. He’d give everything to have his family back whole again and it pissed him off listening to how fast every other kid wanted to throw that away.

People were stupid. He got that. What he didn’t get was why Sam was drinking the Kool-Aid.

His brother talked about hunting zombies like it was crazy. They were out here saving lives yet it was the civilians with their heads stuck up their asses that Sam admired. Without them, those kids were just zombie food. Most people didn’t know to be afraid of the dark, let alone how to fight it.

Dean had always wanted to hunt zombies. They were a classic. When he was growing up, they’d also been a monster that had made his nightmares a little less scary.

The first time he’d seen Night of the Living Dead, he had felt as if he finally really got what Dad did. The movie had freaked Sam out, but for Dean, the zombies weren’t nearly as frightening as the things he’d imagined while patching up the claw marks on Dad’s back or reading through his journal.

Those zombies were slow and stupid. Sure, they could mow down civilians, but those lumbering things would be easy targets for any hunter. They had given shape to the shapeless things that Dean had seen skirting the edge of shadows. It had all seemed as black and white as the movie itself.

Only it wasn’t. Real zombies sucked ass.

Dean had expected a rotting corpse with its face falling off. He thought it would be stumbling around growling and snarling while chewing on someone’s liver. He’d even brought a bandana to wrap around his face to deflect the reek of reanimated corpse in case they found a whole pack of them.

He was used to the stench of death. The first time he’d smelled it had been in his own home and nothing could be worse than that. Sometimes the automatic gag reflex still choked him, but he hadn’t thrown up from anything other than a hangover in years.

The last time, he’d been helping Dad get rid of a corpse. He still wasn’t sure what the tangled thing had been the body of, but Dad had been afraid that the police were on their ass so they’d spent two days driving through the baking desert sun. Dean had lost it when they’d opened the trunk.

This zombie didn’t smell like that. Not by a long shot. It turned out that most zombies weren’t half as gross as in the movies. They weren’t black and white monsters either. They looked like real people.

She’d been wearing a pink dress. It might have even been a nightgown like Mom had used to wear. It was hard to tell what it had been. The fabric was tattered and her hair ratted, but not like some crazy old witch. It just looked like she’d been on the run. Dean knew the feeling.

The whole thing was stupid. Like Dad had said, Dean should have been registering the blank look on her face, not her cup size. Dean had almost convinced himself that Dad was right and that it was just him thinking with his downstairs brain that cost them the kill. It was easier than the truth.

Something splashed off in the distance. Dean pulled his gun and spun around. He stood frozen and listened before letting the tension ease from his body. He’d been hearing things all over the place today. This damn swamp was crawling with alligators. Dad had nearly hit a couple crossing the road on the way here.

He stopped short of sliding the gun back into his soggy jeans when a movement across the water caught his attention. A torn piece of pink fabric flapped in the breeze where it was caught on a splintered trunk.

Dean left the strip of dry ground he’d been walking along. He grumbled when his boots filled with water as they sunk into the boggy bottom. The water stayed lower than his knees. It wasn’t as if he could get any wetter, but he stayed hyper aware of the ground beneath his feet. He knew Dad would be pissed if they had to call off the hunt because Dean had been dumb enough to step right into an alligator’s jaw.

He made it to the other side without getting a chomp taken out of his leg, but from this angle he couldn’t see the fabric anymore. He climbed into the snag of downed limbs that were caught around the tree’s trunk and reached his arm through to feel for the fabric.

Dean was beginning to think he’d imagined seeing it when his fingers finally closed around the wet cloth. He blindly shoved aside a heavy branch that fell onto his arm right before red hot pain shot through him.

“Son of a bitch!”

He tried to jerk his arm back through the opening in the branches. It wouldn’t come. Something had snagged onto him and wouldn’t let go. It felt like a pack of piranhas were chewing off his forearm. Either he’d found an alligator after all or the zombie bitch had gotten tired of waiting.

Panic coursed through him as he fumbled for his gun with his left hand while he kept trying to yank back his right. The bastard wasn’t letting go. Dean wanted to call for his dad, but that would only prove that he wasn’t good for anything.

His arm came free and Dean stumbled back, splashing into the water. He surged forward again, stopping just short of cocking the trigger of his pistol when he caught a glimpse of the fangs drawn down in a gapping white mouth.

It was just a snake.

He cursed himself as he shoved the gun back into his pants. The large, dark snake stood its ground from where it hung in the branches. Dean wanted to shoot the thing out of spite, but there was no way he was admitting this to Dad.

He clutched his wounded arm and backed away. The pain crept like fire down his forearm and up into his shoulder. It hurt so bad he could barely think. They didn’t have time for this crap.

It wasn’t until he made it back across the water that he stopped to inspect the bite. It didn’t look anywhere near as bad as it felt. There were just a couple jagged holes ripped into his arm. He wouldn’t even worry about it except that it hurt worse than when he’d needed twenty stitches to sow up that same arm after a spook had heaved him into a scrap metal pile.

His mind was foggy as he tried to think of what Dad had told him to do about snake bites. He came up blank.

Dean knew how to deal with injuries from over a dozen different supernatural creatures. Yet he had no damn clue what to do about snakes. Shapeshifting serpents, sure, but with all the crap they had to deal with, garden variety snakes hadn’t exactly made Dad’s priority training list. Maybe Dean should've paid attention in biology after all.

His brain kicked in enough that he remembered how to deal with it. John Winchester might not have taught him about snake bites, but Dean knew what John Wayne would do.

He crouched down and pulled out his knife. He took a steadying breath. It didn’t help.

His pulse raced and no matter how hard he tried to stay calm, it wouldn’t slow down. He pushed aside the painful pounding in his chest to focus on slitting the skin around the bite.

His mouth clamped around the throbbing wound and he sucked as hard as he could to try to draw out the venom. There didn’t seem to be nearly enough coming out. Dean spit the tainted blood from his mouth and set the blade to his arm to cut deeper right before he heard Dad calling his name.

“Damn it,” Dean hissed. “Come on.”

He dropped the knife, ignoring his shaking hands, and latched his mouth back around the cuts. He groaned at the burning pain that shot through his nerves when he used his other hand to squeeze the swelling flesh and push out every last drop he could.

“Dean!”

The shout was close enough that it startled him. Dean grabbed his knife and scampered to his feet.

“Hold on!” he called back. “I’m just taking a piss.”

He wiped the knife clean on the wet grass and traded it for the bandana he had stuffed in his pocket. With one corner of the fabric in his mouth, he tied it tight over the wound. He managed to keep quiet since he was biting down, but nearly cried out as he jerked on his drenched overshirt far too fast.

Even as he stood still, his breaths came in quick pants. He gulped down air before nearly holding his breath when he saw Dad push through the tall grass to stomp towards him. Sam came up behind, dragging his feet. At least they were both still alive.

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to stand as if nothing was wrong. It might hurt like a fire-poker was jammed up under his skin, but he’d seen his dad walk away after a black dog tore open his throat. This was nothing.

“You answer me when I call you,” Dad said.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Dean cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I was…I was just trying to listen. She went that way.”

Not she. It.

Dean motioned in the direction he’d heard the breaking of brush, which had sounded far more like a person than an alligator. He pointed far enough to the left to still be roughly on track without steering Dad and Sam into the mess of branches that smug, slithering bastard was probably still sunning himself in.

“You saw it?” Sam asked.

“No…” Dean stared back at his brother who was making more of a sour face than usual. “I heard something in the bushes, okay?”

“Sure. And it’s not like there could be anything other than a zombie in the bushes of a wildlife sanctuary.”

“Shut up. I know what I heard, shorty.”

Dean expected a smart ass retort, but Sam remained silent with his eyes fixed on Dean and his expression far too thoughtful. Dean turned away to follow after Dad, who was already heading off into the trees. He stopped when Sam’s next words came out as a gentle whisper.

“Dean, you okay?”

“What?” Dean focused on Sam and still wasn’t sure what his brother was asking. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Dad’s a jerk…and maybe I shouldn’t have brought up school.”

“It’s okay.”

Dean would love to tear Sam a new one. Sam had no business bad mouthing Dad for calling it like it was, and the school crap had been a low blow. He’d kick Sam’s ass later. Right now Dean was having enough trouble seeing past the pain without Sam wanting to have an actual conversation.

“’Okay’? Seriously? Now I know you’re—”

“I said I’m fine, Sam.”

Dean snapped the words and swallowed down a frustrated growl. It wasn’t Sam’s fault Dean was a moron or that his nerves were screaming. He made a show of standing straighter, even though his body felt like a lead weight, and resisted the urge to cradle his arm.

“You look like crap, Dean.”

“At least I don’t look like a mop-headed dork.”

“Boys, let’s move!”

Dad called out on the run. Dean couldn’t see him, but knew that he was on the zombie’s trail. It was enough of a distraction that Dean was able to sidestep Sam’s attempt to elbow him without raising a question.

“You heard Dad. Let’s move it.”

Dean would usually sprint to catch up, but he was struggling with the exertion of a moderately paced jog. He gritted his teeth against the jostling of his arm, and was quickly so short of breath that his head began to spin.

Dean nearly fell on top of his dad, stumbling to a stop as he tripped over a root. He moaned at the impact when he just barely caught himself on the trunk of the tree behind where Dad was staked out.

Dad shot a glare over his shoulder. “Watch where you’re stepping, Dean. You’ll be no use with a twisted ankle.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean grumbled, mostly at himself. “Where is she?”

“Close. Keep an eye on your brother.”

Dean looked back, expecting to see Sam a few yards behind still dragging his feet. Panic rose up in his already painfully tight chest when he couldn’t find him.

“Dean?”

He jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice right beside him. “Dude, don’t go sneaking up on people like that!”

Sam’s brow creased as he looked up at Dean. “I was talking to you.”

Dean tried not to appear as flustered as he felt. He hadn’t heard Sam’s footsteps, let alone any words that had been coming out of his mouth.

It took him a moment to realize why Sam was hovering tight beside him. At first he’d thought Sam was scared, but Sam wasn’t staring out into the woods. He was watching Dean as if he expected him to fall over.

Dean was in the middle of trying to prove that he was a bad ass hunter. He didn’t need his little brother babysitting him. Worse, he couldn’t have Sam going and tattling to Dad.

“Whatever. Just stay behind me.”

He did need to keep himself between Sam and the zombie, but what he needed nearly as badly was for Sam to stop staring at him. At least his brother would have a far harder time analyzing the back of his head.

Dean’s fingers tingled as he grabbed his gun. He tried to flex the numbing sensation out of them, but it only made his arm hurt worse. He used his left hand to support his right wrist as he followed Dad deeper into the swamp.

By the time they stopped, Dean was having trouble picking up his feet, but he was high enough on the adrenaline of the hunt that he could barely feel the throbbing of his forearm anymore. It was about time the damn thing stopped bitching about nothing.

His pulse pounded in his ears. Dean blinked away the sweat that dripped down his brow. He didn’t have a free hand to wipe it away.

His gun hand was shaking and he couldn’t make it stop. He needed his left to steady it or risk Sam throwing another fit. He was only unsteady because they’d skipped lunch, but Sam was in the mood to make a drama out of everything.

Dad held up his hand and signaled to go right. Dean nodded, and motioned for Sam to stay put. Sam looked ready to argue. Dean raised his arm to draw his fingers over his throat and instantly regretted the motion. Maybe it did still hurt a little.

He stalked silently in the direction he’d been ordered. Or at least he tried to be quiet. He couldn’t actually pick up his feet far enough to avoid dragging his boots over the ground. He really should’ve had lunch.

Dean forgot about food and his stupid arm when he saw her. The sun shined down on where she stood in a clearing. Her skin was pale, but not so much that she looked inhuman. It still wasn’t grey, rotting flesh.

Her gown was far more frayed than the last time he’d seen her. It was verging on a good fit for that Tarzan porno he’d seen last week. He could probably get a full view now if he could just make it past her face.

She looked scared. Dean didn’t see the blankness that Dad said was there. She looked like any other girl from school. Hell, she probably was a girl from school. Or at least used to be.

It didn’t matter. Dad had said he'd seen this thing crawl out of the ground and that was enough for Dean. He just couldn’t figure out why something so simple had him bordering on nausea.

It didn’t make sense. She was a thing, not a girl, and it wasn’t as if she was the first thing he’d wasted that looked like a person. Maybe she was younger and prettier and more intact, but he was a hunter.

“Why are you people following me?” Her voice was desperate as her bloody, bare feet stumbled backwards towards the trees. “No, please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”

The gun shook even harder in Dean’s sweaty hands. He could feel Dad’s eyes on him. It was enough to block out her pleas right along with whatever Zombie Amnesty International argument Sam was making. Dean swallowed down the acid in his throat and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Damn it, Dean, shoot!” Dad yelled.

Dean wanted to. He was trying to. When he couldn’t, he took stock enough to realize that he couldn’t even feel his trigger finger. His whole hand, up to his elbow was numb and tingling up into his bicep. It was only because of his grip on his own wrist that his hand hadn’t fallen back to his side.

He fumbled to switch hands, but he couldn’t get his finger out of the trigger guard. He used his left hand to pull his right trigger finger back. The silver bullet sailed into the trunk of the tree that the girl had been standing in front of only a couple seconds earlier.

Dean couldn’t locate her again until she was nearly on top of him. He braced for the impact, but it was Dad who reached him first, shoving him aside before the zombie could tackle him. Dean skittered in the mud as the pain overtook everything else. He lost focus of the world around him before he hit the water.

When he gasped, he sucked in a silty gulp of murky water. Dean chocked, spitting the foul liquid from his mouth. The water tasted metallic with a hint of menthol. He barely had a chance to wonder why before his stomach churned again.

Rapid shots firing drove Dean to his feet even before his vision cleared. Sam yelled out and Dean pushed aside everything else. He clutched his arm and dove for his gun. He steadied his left elbow on the ground and got off two shots that struck her square in the chest.

She stumbled back and Dad launched forward, bringing a machete down across her neck. The cold blood splattered over Dean a moment before her head and body thudded to the ground around him.

Dean winced. It wasn’t the sight of mangled vertebrae or the now blank eyes staring up at him. It was the cramping in his stomach and the searing pain in his arm. He scrambled to his knees just enough to lean over to miss throwing up on the body.

The world was spinning and he was still spitting mucous from his mouth by the time he registered the hand rubbing his back. It was too small be Dad’s and he knew Dad wouldn’t be standing protectively over him. Not now.

Dean grimaced as he heard the heavy thud of boots stomping towards him. Sam jumped up to put himself between him and Dad. Somehow, in that moment, Sam nearly seemed as big as their father.

Dean didn’t bother to look up to see the disappointment and anger he knew was written all over Dad’s face. Right now he wasn’t even sure if he could lift his head. He was still on his knees, barely managing to prop up his front half with his left arm. His muscles were shaking as if he’d just finished five hundred push-ups, which wasn’t half of what he was going to have to do when they got back to the motel.

Dean could tell by the way Dad was breathing that he was fighting to keep control. It wasn’t as if Dean could blame him. He’d disobeyed a direct order. Again. He could’ve gotten Sam killed. Dean mentally kicked himself when he realized he hadn’t even checked to make sure that Sam was okay.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Dad asked.

Now there was the million dollar question. His head was swimming too much for him to even begin to pin down what thing he’d screwed up the worst. He just wanted to lie down.

“Stop yelling.” Sam gave the order with all the sternness their dad had ever used. “Dad, there’s something wrong with Dean.”

The command in Sam’s voice gave way to concern. Dean wanted to tell Sam he was wrong, that everything was okay, but he couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs. He struggled just to breathe and quickly gave up on trying to follow what they were saying.

Dean attempted to get up when Dad pushed past Sam. He was only still kneeling when Dad hauled him back so that he was sitting propped up against a tree trunk. Dean clenched his good fist as he waited for the flare of pain to settle and tried to force his rapid breaths to slow.

Sam was there before Dean could blink away the fog. Panic caught his shallow breaths in his throat when he saw the blood on Sam’s hands. They were taking off his flannel. Dean made a token attempt at stopping them.

He didn’t care anymore about Dad seeing the little holes in his arm. He just wanted to keep the flannel on because he was already shivering. He wondered if they were really still in Florida.

Dean swatted at Sam’s hand and a much larger, stronger hand gripped his wrist. Dean sat still. He knew better than to shove that hand away.

“God, Dean, what did you do?”

Dean didn’t think a little bite required an explanation until he looked down at his arm. His hand and forearm had swelled to the point that they didn’t look like his anymore. The bandana Dad was tugging off was soaked in blood that oozed up from grey purple skin. That bitch had turned him into a zombie.

“She must of bit me,” Dean muttered.

“Hey!” Dad slapped his cheek. “Son, I need you to focus.”

The sting barely registered. Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. Some bastard had bit him, but it wasn’t the girl. He nodded as he remembered.

“Was just a damn snake. I took care of it.”

“You took care of it?” Dad’s tone was thick with disbelief that declared that Dean was possibly the dumbest person to have ever walked the face of the earth. “You went into a hunt without reporting an injury when you were supposed to have my back. That’s what you call taking care of it?”

Dean shifted his gaze back to the body. When Dad put it like that, he realized he’d broken one of the top ten rules of hunting. Only morons went into a fight compromised. Only sons of bitches risked their families by doing it.

“You’re just making it worse.” Sam pushed back in beside Dad. “Dean, you need to relax. The faster your heart beats, the quicker the venom will spread.”

Dean scrunched his face at Sam. “How’s that relaxing?”

“It’s okay. Just focus on your breathing,” Sam said. “None of this was your fault.”

“No, Dad’s right. I’m an idiot.”

Dad loosened his grip on Dean’s arm. “I never said that, Dean.”
“Didn’t have to. Too stupid for school. Can’t hunt worth a damn. No use to you.”

Calloused fingers pressed against Dean’s pulse. His eyes fluttered open again when he realized they’d closed. He looked to his dad, but the heat of the fingers was gone and Dad had already turned away.

Dad’s back was to them as he grabbed the tangled hair at Dean’s feet. Dean watched the girl’s head swinging from his father’s bloody hand. Dad grabbed a leg of the body and started to walk away, dragging it behind him.

“Get that arm immobilized and keep an eye on your brother.”

Dad’s voice was rougher than usual. Dean was too busy trying to place the strained tone to give a proper reply. It could also be the lack of air that kept him quiet. His shirt was too tight. Dean tugged at the loose cotton of his wet t-shirt. It didn’t make the air come any easier.

“Who cares about the body?” Sam asked. “Dean’s—”

“Just do it, Sam.”

Dean wasn’t sure what Sam was supposed to do and had no damn clue how Dad could trust him to keep an eye on his brother after what had just happened. Sam had already disappeared. Dean looked around to see his brother sorting through a pile of branches.

“Don’t be digging around in there,” Dean said. “Shapeshifting bastards hide in the sticks.”

“Stop talking.” Sam sat down in the mud beside him with a broken off branch in his hand. “You’re not even making sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

Sam rolled his eyes. He lifted Dean’s arm. It looked like he was being gentle, but felt as if he were ripping it open. The thing looked like it was about to rupture anyway.

“Sorry.” Sam sighed softly. “Why didn’t you tell Dad you were hurt?”

Dean sucked in all the air he could when Sam tied the bandana higher up on his bicep. Dean watched his brother’s slender fingers secure his arm to the makeshift splint. Sam was still just a kid. He shouldn’t even be out here.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean tried not to hear the tinge of betrayal in Sam’s words. “You know why. Hell, Dad can’t even look at me.”

“You’re right. You are an idiot.” Sam set Dean’s arm back over his lap. “Dad’s just scared.”

Dean would have laughed if he could. “You’re the idiot. Dad doesn’t get scared.”

“Are you kidding me? Dad’s freaking out right now. Why do you think he went to hide a body when we’re already in the middle of nowhere?”

Dean tried to think of an answer, but couldn’t only because it was a stupid question. Of course Dad had to take care of the body. That was just something they did. It was part of the job.

“Dean, Dad knows you’re hurt and that he messed up.”

“I think I’m hallucinating.”

Sam sat up straighter. “What do you see?”

“Nothing. But either I’m hearing things or that zombie hit you harder than I thought.”

Sam shook his head. “What kind of snake was it anyway?”

“A big one with a white mouth.” Dean collapsed back against the tree. “This is stupid. I sucked out the frickin’ venom. How can I still be sick?”

“It doesn’t work like that. Seriously, Dean, you need to relax before we can move you. You shouldn’t have been running around like that.”

“Thanks for the advice, doc, but it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“You’re going to be fine.”

Sam was talking in that annoyingly calm voice that he used when everything was going to hell. It was always a sure sign that Dean should be panicking, but somehow he still bought it every time. He pushed everything else aside and focused on mimicking Sam’s breathing.

It wasn’t long before he looked up to see Dad. He crouched down next to Dean. Even without saying anything, there was something in his bloodshot eyes that took the sting out of the fact that Dean couldn’t do a damn thing right.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I tried to pull the trigger. I really did.”

“I know, son.” Dad set his hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, we have to get you out of here.”

Dean didn’t want to go. He had everything he wanted right here. Dad was on one side and Sam on the other, and no one was yelling. He wasn’t sure that he could feel his legs anyway.

He thought about getting up, but nothing happened. He wiggled his toes inside his waterlogged boots. There was still feeling in his legs. They were just really damn heavy and his heart was already pounding like he’d just run a marathon.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Dad must have not heard him because he slung Dean’s good arm over his shoulder and hauled him up. The sudden change in altitude flipped his stomach and left him lightheaded.

It was a strange sort of relief that he felt like hurling all over Dad’s boots. It wasn’t the zombie that had made him lose his lunch. Or breakfast. Whatever. He wasn’t hungry anymore anyway.

He couldn’t focus his vision enough to see, but he felt Sam hovering tight by his side. He watched Sam’s boots as they walked. It was easier to try to keep time with Sam’s shorter stride than to try to follow Dad’s.

Dean wasn’t sure where they were going. He just put one foot in front of the other and trusted that Dad would get them there. It was all he’d ever been able to do.

He did it until he couldn’t. Dean wasn’t sure how far they’d walked before his knees gave out beneath him. Dad’s arm grabbed him around the waist, but he was still falling.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.

The last thing he felt was Dad lifting him into his arms. Dean was sure there were worse ways to die.

***

Dean awoke to the steady beeping of a heart monitor and the familiar smell of antiseptic. His head was pounding, but his heart had slowed and he could actually breathe. He couldn’t remember what happened. Something told him he didn’t want to.

His blurry gaze focused on the tubes that were hooked into his ridiculously swollen arm. The ugly purple skin shot his mind right back to the zombie and why he didn’t want to wake up.

He flexed his stiff neck and tipped his head to the side. Sam was curled up in a turquoise vinyl chair with his nose stuffed in a textbook. Dad sat stiffly beside him, staring blankly out the window. Maybe he could just go back to sleep and they wouldn’t notice.

“Dean?”

Dean sighed before giving his brother his best attempt at a grin. “Hey, Sammy.”

The crooked smile slipped from his lips when Dad’s eyes locked with his. Dean’s gaze darted down. He picked at the edge of the bandage on his arm.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I—”

“Enough.”

Dean bit his lip and turned his head to face the beige wall. He fisted the sheets at the scraping of chair legs over the linoleum. He’d hoped they could have at least waited to get back to the motel before having this talk.

Dean remained quietly staring at the empty wall until the ticking of machinery drove him to the edge of sanity. He glanced back at Dad, whose chair was now pulled up tight against the bed.

“You listen to me, Dean. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, you’ll wish you had died back there. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The warning left Dean with a hint of hope. If Dad was going to kick him out on his ass, there’d be no reason to warn him about next time. He was still too afraid to ask. Almost as afraid as he was of hunting again. He was fine with being the one hooked up to the IV, but if Dad hadn’t been there to clean up his mess, it could have just as easily been Sam lying in this bed.

“It won’t happen again,” Dean promised when he found the words. “I know I screwed up.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Come again?”

“You damn well should have told me about that bite. I don’t know what the hell happened out there, but not one of these doctors here have seen a cottonmouth bite like that, and you didn’t even bother to mention it.”

“I didn’t want to slow you down.”

“Dean, you got off two good shots with enough venom in your veins to take down a horse.”

The corners of Dean’s lips turned up slightly. It hadn’t been the kill shot he’d wanted, and he’d probably looked like a beached whale doing it, but he’d nailed the bitch and Dad had noticed.

“You don’t slow me down,” Dad continued. “You and your brother are the only reason I keep going. Don’t you ever think that any hunt is more important to me than your life.”

Dean looked back at his IV. He could tell by the cloud he was floating on that they had him on the good stuff. It was also the only possible explanation for his continued auditory hallucinations.

“So I guess I’m stuck here for a while?”

For once, Dean had no problem with the thought of a few days of hospital food. Even if he hadn’t missed finals yet, he would, and he’d happily take dry jello over the boredom and insult of staring at pages of words he didn’t understand.

Sam patted the stack of textbooks on the table beside him. “Don’t worry, I brought your books.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Doesn’t look like I’ll be needing those.”

“That’s the other thing,” Dad said. “Your summer training will include studying those books until you’re ready for your GED.”

“Seriously?” Dean glared at the books in disgust. “What’s the point in wasting everyone’s time to take a test that proves I was too stupid to graduate?”

“Dean, you’re a damn smart kid. That you’re not graduating is on me.”

“No, Dad. Sam’s managing just fine…”

“Sam’s not pulling half the weight you are.”

Dean’s boost of pride was stifled by fear that the statement would reignite the fighting. It wasn’t even true, and he waited for Sam to say as much, but Sam only bobbed his bangs in agreement with Dad. This was the best morphine Dean had ever been on.

Sam set his book aside and leaned against the arm of Dad’s chair. “I got plenty of time to study because you take care of everything.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, well, I wanna keep doing that. I want to take care of you guys. I want to hunt. Nothing in those dumb books is gonna help.”

Dad’s hand rested on Dean’s good arm. “I have to know that when this is all over, you’ll have everything you need to take care of yourself.”

Dean didn't want to take care of himself and, despite what Dad liked to say, he knew this wouldn’t be over until he was dead. There would always be more monsters in the dark. He was okay with that because he realized that no matter how badly he screwed up, he'd still have everything he'd ever wanted.