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"Sam! Drop!"
Just as Sam went to drop, the wendigo towering over the gigantor named Sam, swiped his clawed hand down on Sam's shoulder. Sam emitted an awful guttural scream that caused Dean to shudder. Sam crumpled to the ground and Dean had to fight the urge to run over and check on him. Instead he raised his flare gun and fired. His shot lands, but he’d hit the Wendigo in the shoulder. It’s enough to kill it, but it had the ability to move around as the fire spread.
The wendigo screeched deafeningly and began flailing around in its desperation to survive. Dean watched carefully, eyes trained on Sam’s closeness to the thrashing creature. Sam’s eyes were open and following the wendigo’s movement and Dean was incredibly thankful. Because the wendigo chose that moment the drop to the ground and had Sam not been paying attention he’d have been squashed.
Sam barely managed to roll in time. His brain was moving sluggishly and initiating the turning movement almost caused him to black out from the pain that screamed through his shoulder. Thankfully, he’d managed to get far enough away that he wasn’t underneath the massive and foul monster. It did however land mere inches from him, still burning. Sam felt the intense heat and flinched back. He no longer had the strength to move though and he prayed he wouldn’t catch fire from the proximity.
Just then Sam felt hands on him, pulling him away from the flaming beast. Sam couldn’t help the grunt of pain that escaped him from the motion. It hurt, but he was damn glad that he was no longer at risk of bursting into flames.
Dean was looking down at him, kneeling above his head and speaking to him, but he couldn’t understand the words. He squinted up in concentration and finally, it started to make sense.
“Sammy, hey. Come on, little brother. Focus on me. Sam!”
Sam blinked up at him and moaned out some semblance of a response.
“There you are,” Dean sighed in relief. “Let me take a look at that shoulder. We need to get out of here before someone sees the smoke and comes investigating.”
Dean peeled away the flannel and cut Sam’s shirt sleeve using his knife. He cursed under his breath and pulled off his own flannel, bunching it up and pressing it against the massive claw marks. Sam wailed in response.
“Sorry, little brother. I gotta stop this bleeding. We need to wash it out with holy water too and it’s definitely gonna require some stitches.”
Sam faded out a little from the pain, only hearing the last few words from Dean. When he was able to focus back in, he saw Dean rummaging in the duffle. He pulled out a large flask and opened it with his mouth since he only had one available hand. As quick as possible, Dean moved his flannel and flooded the wound with the blessed water. Dean heard a sizzling sound and then Sam’s scream in response. He flushed the area again and this time there's no sizzling. Dean thanks whoever is listening that he didn’t have to get any more supernatural cooties out.
Unfortunately, flushing the wound seemed to have picked up the bleeding pace. Dean presses the flannel back onto Sam’s shoulder and presses hard. Sam doesn’t seem to react so he looks down into his face. Sam’s eyes are closing and Dean is desperate to keep him awake.
“Hey, hey. This is no time to sleep!” Dean was going for some humor, but instead all that comes out is terror.
Sam does blink his eyes open, but they rest half mast.
“Stay with me Sam. I’m gonna get you patched up and then we can get out of here. You can sleep all you want when we get back to the motel ok?”
Sam nods, but it’s weak. He has to fight just to keep his eyes somewhat open and trained on Dean.
“Alright. You need some topping off, or you’re not gonna make it back to the car. So we’re gonna do a pressure bandage, a quick little field transfusion and we’ll pick up some supplies on the ride back, ok?”
Sam couldn’t even nod in response, but he blinked his eyes in rapid succession to show Dean his understanding. Dean pulled out several bandages from the first aid kit and deftly wrapped his shoulder tightly. Dean pulled the field transfusion kit. Dean marveled at the speed he was working at. Then he realized they’d been in so many situations like this, that he simply got quick and efficient with it. That thought brought a whole host of emotions with it and he shoved them all down. This was not the time to get emotional about their shitty job.
As Dean’s blood flowed into Sam, Sam seemed to perk up a little bit. He went from sheet white to just mildly pale and he seemed to be a little more awake. Dean wanted to continue on transfusing, but after a few minutes of transfusing he knew he needed to stop or he’d be less functional and he still needed to get them both back to the motel in one piece.
Dean packed the equipment back up, piled it onto himself and helped pick Sam up off the ground. He gave Sam a moment to just stand and lean on Dean to stabilize and then together they hobbled out of the woods. The car was about 3 miles away, a distance they could easily cover on a normal day in less than an hour, even in the rougher terrain, but Sam’s instability and constant fight to remain conscious and able to move, caused significant delay. Dean groaned in relief when he saw the shiny black car glistening in the moonlight. After two and a half hours of hiking with a severely injured little brother left him exhausted. He quickly bundled Sam up in the back of the Impala and raced out of the woods. He found a 24 hour corner store on the way to the motel and stocked up on orange juice, soup, and gatorade.
Dean dragged Sam into the motel room and practically dumped him on the bed. Sam groaned and Dean apologized. His energy was sapped and he’d essentially lost any ability to gently move his ginormous brother. Dean got Sam’s boots and jeans off and helped peel what was left of his shirts off before helping Sam shift on the bed to a more comfortable position.
“Ok. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You are gonna start by drinking at least half of this gatorade while I set up the suture kit. We’ll get you all stitched up, and then we’re both gonna sleep for several hours, yeah?”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Sam croaked out.
“Ok. Take these pills with that gatorade. For the pain. Maybe you won’t squirm so much that way.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but took the pills nonetheless. Dean took a deep breath and set to work on the mess that was Sam’s shoulder.