Welcome to the second part of the Needy Dean H/C Dogme Challenge. All stories are canon Season 1, so no spoilers for anything but that. This story is a remix of Enkidu07's Left Behind, retold from Dean's POV. Also posting today are Mad Server's Canonized Bones, the remix of my fic Land of Enchantment; Enkidu07's Ninetynine in the Shade, her Dean POV remix of Going Up in Flames by Soncnica; and, There is No Mathematics, Soncnica's Dean POV remix of Mad Server's Display.

A/N: I'm the last to go up having been cruelly deprived of power for many cold hours this morning. I hope you'll read all the fics and enjoy the challenge from start to finish. If you would like to know the vows of chastity we took, let us know.

A/N 2: Thanks to Soncnica and Merisha for the invaluable betas, advice ('too many ands, too many ands!'),and suggestions. All remaining errors are my own.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

It wasn't that he didn't care about the hikers going missing and the pain their families were in, or notice giant Sam with his big soulful eyes gazing at him with a weird mixture of hurt, condescension, and hero-worship; and it's not like he didn't want to go because he didn't think they could handle it, even with Sam still a little damp behind the hunting ears. It wasn't any of those things and Sam, damn him, knew that. It's not like Sam'd forgotten the Wendigo all of a sudden, even if he wasn't the one knocked out and cut and tied up. But Sam guilted him out anyway by sighing, gazing at the floor, not talking, and in general, being a fucking little bitch.

Dean didn't want to go because it was camping and nothing good ever came out of camping. If it wasn't Dad's tough love marine corps 'suck it up and find your way home from the middle of a forest', it was getting his ass handed to him by a black dog or a werewolf, or it was caves, or bears, or that elemental sucking him into a tree and a Spring Heel Jack bouncing him into thorn bushes, and even if Sam didn't know about the last two, he should just trust Dean when he said that things were always going to go to hell if they went camping.

"We'll call Jefferson. He likes trees and mud and streams and bears and shit," but Sam just said, like the snotty sixteen year old he used to be, 'It's hiking, Dean, not camping' like there was some huge difference that Dean was too stupid to recognize because he didn't go to some swanky college.

But Jefferson was four states and two days away, and people needed to be saved even if they were stupid enough to be hiking in the woods. So Dean agreed to go, and if Sam wanted to think it was because he was all logical and persuasive and talked Dean into it, it wasn't any skin off his nose.

He sure wasn't going to tell his little brother that he missed being looked up to by… his little brother. It wasn't the admiration of childhood, colored as it was now by age, separation and frustration, but it was so nice to be looked at as something other than a Private to his Dad's Corporal once in a while, that he'd do things to get it. Even go camping.

Sam smiled triumphantly, ducked his head, and got in the car. Dean grinned back, silently forgave everything, because he always forgave Sam everything, and turned the wheel right and headed north, little brother sitting shotgun, right where he should be.

They talked to witnesses, families, an assortment of people who wanted to help, rangers who wanted them to leave, and got nothing. Five hikers had just vanished after being separated from their party all along a single two mile stretch of trail. One guy had stopped to take a leak. Another wanted a break—the last his friends saw, the guy was shaking leaf litter and twigs out of his Birkenstocks. Two days of sympathetic eyes, fake IDs, and understanding tones, but nothing to see or hunt or kill. They would have gotten more information from a tree. Maybe that's why the park service had cordoned off the trail.

Sitting at a picnic table and eating lunch, Dean watched Sam with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Sam was running a hand over the yellow police tape and moving his weight from foot to foot, anxious, while his hamburger was sitting all alone and defenseless. Dean shrugged and took a big bite of his cheeseburger, chewing thoughtfully.

The victims were all males. That was kind of interesting and probably meant something. He brushed some kind of giant ugly camping insect off his French fries, waving it toward Sam's side salad, and almost choked on his bun when the bug landed right on top of a crouton. He glanced over at Sam, who had followed the detour signs and walked a hundred yards or so up a paved road with the EMF.

Once the rest of his fries were free of bug poo, Dean stuffed a handful in his mouth. Only males. Mostly young, fit, healthy enough to want to go outside and exercise. And only taken when they were alone. Wolves would pick off bucks that way, although the analogy only went so far because only one of the missing hikers showed any kind of weakness. Maybe they'd been lured off? He thought about that as he finished his burger and unwrapped Sam's.

Dean's mouth was full when his brother walked up, and he blew crumbs on the table when he spoke. "Drawing its victims away from the herd."

Sam handed him the EMF. "What?"

Dean drained his Coke. "It waits for one of them to wander away from the group. Then it makes its move."

"What does?"

"Not sure yet." He waved Sam's mostly eaten burger toward the path. "Lots of things will draw victims to them. Will of the wisps, a fae, wilas, Deer Woman…"

Sam took another long look down the trail before sitting down and reaching for his salad, only to stop in disgust when he saw the large, ugly, now dead, camping bug in a puddle of dressing. He assessed the table and glared at Dean. "You ate my lunch?"

"No. I didn't touch the salad."

Sam pinched his nose. "Come on. I want to do a little more research and then we can check out the trail tomorrow."

"Dinner's on me. Getcha anything you want and I won't eat it."

"Oh, I know you won't."

Dean didn't think he'd be able to find sushi within a thirty mile radius of middle-of-nowhere camping central, so he found a bar instead once his brother was safely back in research mode at the motel. He was ordering a third beer when an exquisite woman, all glossy black hair and coy slanted eyes, happened to accidentally brush his arm with her 'D' cups as she leaned on the bar. She was lovely, unattached, a little bit drunk, and more than interested and… his phone rang.

"Before you say anything, I have not eaten your sushi."

"So where is it? You've been gone an hour, dude, and I'm hungry. Wait. Is that a jukebox? Are you in a bar?"

"No, I'm, well, technically, yes, I pulled in to see if anyone knew where I could find raw seafood around here and no luck."

Darla, Doreen, Dorcas, waved to get his attention, bouncing a little on her toes. She enunciated clearly and loudly in the way drunk people will when they're trying to appear sober. "Sushi? There's a great place not far from here. Good rolls." She closed her eyes and made a 'mmm-mmm' noise.

"Guess you didn't ask your date?"

"Give me forty-five minutes."

Presented with his dinner, Sam was magically able to eat with chopsticks and not drip rice and soy sauce all over his notes. Dean ate teriyaki beef and shrimp tempura with his fingers. The weird fried vegetables that came with the tempura got lobbed at one of Sam's shoes, left upright at the foot of the bed.

Unfortunately, there was no magic available to help with nightmares. Dean stared at a splash of light on the ceiling until Sam settled down, finally drifting into a deeper sleep. Dean's last coherent thought before sleep claimed him was one of relief. Sam hadn't said "Jess" once.

Sam's bitchface was a wonder to behold. He stepped into his shoe without looking and cold greasy vegetables squished up around his toes. Even with the cursing, the changing of the socks, and the death threats Dean only heard when he stopped laughing, they still got to the trailhead well before dawn.

Skirting the tape, they started hiking, which was number two in the list of things that, done in a forest, was a prelude to actual camping and never came out well. Number one, of course, was the actual camping in the fucking forest. Dean explained this at some length to his irate little brother, while watching his breath fog in the freezing air. He pulled his leather coat a little closer.

"And something else…"

"We aren't camping, Dean, we're walking. We have no camping equipment, no tents, no sleeping bags, no freeze-dried beef stew… we aren't spending the night in the forest."

"What I was going to say is that you need to learn to shake out your shoes before you put them on."

"One of Dad's Marine things? Poisonous Vietnamese snakes in your boots?"

"Yeah, but, actually, I was thinking about scorpions. They can't kill you, but they sure can lame you for a day or two. I used to check your shoes every morning when we lived a little west of here." The EMF let out a half hearted squeal and fell silent.

"I didn't know that."

"Lots of things you don't know, College Boy." Dean shivered. "Did you bring any trail mix? I like the kind with peanuts and M&Ms."

"That's amazing, Dean, I never would have guessed peanuts and M&Ms. But no, I brought power bars and water."

"What kind of power bars?"

"The kind in the trunk." Sam checked his pack and huffed in annoyance. "The kind still in the trunk."

Dean had to laugh. "Oh, that kind. I put those in my pack before we left." He was distracted when the EMF squealed, but again it was inconclusive. By noon, they were hot, sweaty, and had patrolled the length of the two mile stretch of trail three times. They started their fourth tour, this time working off the trail, ranging several yards on the eastern side of the trail, always keeping each other in sight. After two miles, they took a breather, crossed the trail, and covered the western side of the trail on their return.

Dean had been bitten or dive bombed by every single goddamned bug in the entire forest. Some of the little ones had gone in his ears, up his nose, and some had gotten sucked into his lungs. There were probably some stuck in his teeth. He grimaced as his fingers slipped on the water bottle cap. Wrapping the tail of his shirt around the cap, he twisted the cap off. "Sam."

"What?"

"Did I ever tell you how much I hate camping?"

"Christ on a crutch, Dean, would you can it? We are not camping." Sam took a swig of water and checked the sky. "The sun's going down. Why don't we…"

Dean took a step toward Sam but didn't hear the rest of the sentence. There was Sam in the fading light, then a cracking noise, and then it was dark. There wasn't time to yell on the way down, but he was sure he yelled something when he hit the ground hip first, head second.

"Dean!"

"Fuck." He got his eyes open, and blinked quickly, until Sam's giant head came into some kind of focus above him. "Fuck!"

"Hey."

The smell hit him like a brick. It was like breathing corpse. He hawked up phlegm, trying to get the smell out of the back of his throat.

"I think I found the hikers." He hawked and spat again, just as Sam's flashlight came on. The light made his eyes water, and he had to look away as Sam played the beam over him. Squinting, Dean followed the beam when Sam aimed it around the pit, illuminating piles of clothing that could only be the hikers they were looking for. "Looks like they got trapped. Couldn't get out. Died together. Sort of. Some look fresher than others."

The light was back in his face. "You hurt?"

He tried to sit up, because the whole lying and not moving thing was going to freak Sam out as much as it was freaking him out, but the movement jarred his hip, and the spike of pain made him gasp. And that made it necessary to hawk and spit again, swallowing loudly at the end. "I'm okay. Hit my fucking hip."

"Hit your head?"

"Maybe a little." He tried again and got upright, trying to keep his right leg as still as possible. Still, when he experimentally put weight on it, he grunted in pain. "Fuck."

"I'll get a rope. Hang tight." Sam's head disappeared.

He muttered, "Like I have a choice. At least, if I vanish I'd end up back here. Dead, but here." He found a piece of wall clear of rotting flesh, and carefully braced himself against it as he gingerly lowered himself back to the ground. His duffel disgorged his own flashlight, which he turned on, water which he drank, power bars which he shoved back in with disgust, some hunting equipment, but nothing he could use to plug his nose.

They needed to start carrying air freshener.

Sam was a resoureful guy. He got Dean out of the hole in the ground with a rope tied in a loop for his foot, while topside he went scientific and winched or something, until Dean was out of the hole and mostly standing on his left leg. Felt like he's going to puke, his right hip was throbbing, but he could breathe without gagging on corpse stench.

Sam started to run the drill, looking in his eyes, checking his pulse, quick and efficient.

"Why didn't they yell?" Sam looked up at that. He'd been eyeing Dean's hip like he wanted to examine it, but not even Dean was going to poke at that right now. "I don't understand why they didn't yell. There were searchers all over this place." He coughed and sneezed until dark colored snot ran down his lip. "And the smell… dogs would have found that easy."

Sam stopped his exploration of Dean's skull for a second and handed him a tissue. "Good questions. We'll have to think about that after I finish checking your head."

Dean started to smile. Of course they were good questions. He was still the big brother, all smart, and whoa, little brother just found a dent in his head. He jerked back and looked accusingly at Sam.

Sam looked back at him appraisingly. "We'll make camp for the night. Now that we know what we're dealing with, we can finish it off in the morning."

"Know what we're dealing with? What'd I miss?" His vision went blurry for a second and he had to squint to keep Sam's all-knowing face in focus.

"The... decayed body. With the red sweatshirt and boots. I remember him. Saw his picture last night. He was lost out here this time last year, right before a sudden rash of missing persons occurred, kind of like what's happening now. He was never found." Sam pulled Dean's right arm over his shoulder, and started to walk. "Honestly, it didn't look like anyone ever looked that hard. Sounded like his friends left him behind and now I'm guessing he's a little pissed off."

"So, he's lost out here and now is trapping other hikers out here with him?" Dean stumbled and opened his eyes. Didn't know he'd closed them. "Did you just say we were spending the night in the woods?"

Sam went on like he hadn't heard him. "We can burn his remains in the morning. Call in a tip to the authorities. If the disappearances stop, we'll know we were right."

"If?" He looked up at Sam's face, forced to squint to bring it into focus. He stumbled, jarring his hip again, and had to catch at Sam's shirt to keep himself upright. "What's to stop him from trapping us?"

"All of the hikers went off alone. Left behind. He picked them off one by one. We just have to stay together."

"Drawing its victims… away from the herd." He dragged his eyes open, not sure if he'd actually said that but probably not for all the attention Sam paid him. He'd apparently found a place to camp. Dean was doing his best, but even he had to admit Sam was carrying him by the time they stopped by a tree in a small clearing, and Sam helped him to sit down.

Which was a relief, truthfully, but the pain in his hip flared up, and the clearing started to revolve slowly around him. He closed his eyes, not moving even to breathe as he waited out the flush of nausea.

"How you doing?"

He carefully opened his eyes and didn't puke. "Good." He tried a breath. Still no puking. His hip… "Gonna suck come morning, though." A sudden chill and his teeth were chattering. Sam dropped both duffels, and Dean didn't even remember not carrying his, or even remember Sam getting it out of the hole, but there it was. Sam pulled Dean's leather jacket out of one, and helped him into it. He must have grabbed Dean's gun, too, because he was putting it into Dean's hand and closing his fingers around it. Dean squinted suspiciously at Sam.

He looked apologetic. "I'm just gonna grab some wood."

"Not alone," but damn if he could get enough of him to move to stand up. He glared one eyed at Sam, channeling all of his big brother mojo into six words. "Stay where I can see you."

He kept on alert while Sam gathered wood and built a good sized fire. Setting the saltgun between them, Sam sat down and leaned against the same tree, not quite touching, but close enough to brush Dean's arm when he leaned forward to add branches to the fire.

The fire was warm, and despite actually being camping—the fire being the final straw—Dean finally lost the battle with his eyes. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, just that he was suddenly awake. Instinctively, he reached for the sawed-off. Just as instinctively, he knew Sam wasn't next to him. Left him behind.

Everything went very still and quiet, even the fire, like the forest was holding its breath, as a figure appeared on the far side of the clearing. Red sweatshirt. He couldn't move. Couldn't yell. The kid was suddenly right in front of him, but Dean couldn't do anything but stare at the black spaces where the boy's eyes should be, almost falling into them, and he knew he was alone, freezing, abandoned, left, and… fuck.

Pulling his head to one side, he broke contact, growling, "You think you can do that to me? You ain't got nothin' on my brother and father, Psycho." He brought up his knees, feet scrambling in the forest litter, bracing himself against the tree as he pushed himself to standing. He aimed the saltgun point blank at the kid's chest. "No way a punk like you has anything on me."

Finger on the trigger, breath coming out white in the spectral chill, eyes locked on the spook, he yelled "SAM!"

A noise on his right and Sam was calling his name, then he was there, eyes moving from Dean to the forest and back. The kid was long gone.

"What? What is it?"

"Where were you? I thought... I thought it... I thought I saw..."

"What'd you see?"

"I think you're right about the boy."

"You saw him?" Sam's head was swiveling, eyes scanning the forest. "He came after you?"

"Maybe." Dean took a breath. "Thought maybe he drew you away." Unspoken, leaving me alone.

Sam sighed. "Nah. Nature called. Sit down. How's the hip?"

Dean held his breath, and used Sam's arm to lower himself back to the ground. When he could take a breath, he panted out, "It's awesome."

"Rest. I'll keep watch."

He just shook his head, rubbing his face. That's what got them into trouble the first time.

"Dean, we're gonna have to hike out of here in the morning. You're hurt. Sleep."

Sam was right, again. He banged his head against the tree in frustration, and man, was that a stupid thing to do with a concussion. When Sam sat down next to him again, Dean watched him settle down with wary eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Dean carefully leaned back and closed his eyes. All he could think about was what the ghost kid was doing to his victims and how vulnerable he had been. He wasn't going to be left behind again if he could help it. "Wake me up if you leave." His eyes slipped closed, and he relaxed into sleep, pretty sure he heard Sam say, 'I will.'

When Dean woke up to morning light, his brother was doing camping things, fiddling with the fire, packing the duffels, pissing in the woods. Speaking of, he was going to have to do that himself soon. He started to stretch out his stiff muscles, and must have made a noise because Sam handed him a water bottle. Dean worked himself upright, gingerly putting weight on his right leg. Not great, but no stabbing pains either.

The morning sun made him squint, but he could tell his brother was focused on his hip again. His jeans were crusty with dried blood, and he stopped himself before he touched it. He wasn't going to let Sam touch it yet, either. "I don't think these jeans are coming off. Maybe ever." There was some ibuprofen in his duffel and he downed four with a long drink of water. He really had to pee soon.

Sam finished with the fire, and straightened. "Come on." Dean hoisted his duffel and limped after him back to the hole. Sam approached the edge and looked down into the pit, finally turning his head to regard Dean. "If you lower me, I can burn the body down there. Let him rest."

Dean thought about that for a minute, running a couple of scenarios through his head, and caught himself humming. Clearing his throat, he regarded Sam back. "It'll look suspicious when the authorities arrive."

"Maybe." His little brother was using his giant brain to think about things now, without humming. Show-off. "Do we care?"

They regarded each other. Dean's hip ached, his head hurt, and all he wanted to do was piss and get out of the damn woods. "Huh. I guess not."

"I can bury the remains. Buy us some time at least." Sam belayed the rope around a tree handing one end to Dean and threw the other into the hole. Just before he dropped out of sight, he grinned. "Don't drop me."

Leaning into the weight, Dean just raised a finger. When the rope went slack, and Sam shouted "I'm down", he dropped the rope and limped over to a bush a few feet further away, eyes locked on the opening like Sam's life depended on it. And maybe it did. Bladder empty, he paced back and forth, anxious to stop camping before something else happened.

The Impala was always a thing of beauty, but today… the walk back had been a bitch, his hip starting to pulse with his heartbeat, and he was hanging on to Sam when she hove into view, gleaming and black at the far end of the parking lot. She looked like salvation on wheels. Dean took both duffels and limped determinedly to the car, stowing the packs and some of his weapons in the trunk.

When he couldn't put it off any longer, he called in a tip to the police. Told them the smell had led him to it. They hadn't talked about it, but the ghost must have been suppressing the stench. The victims not shouting didn't puzzle him anymore. Those hikers were dead before they ended up in the hole, or were too far down in an abyss of despair to make a noise. He was glad they'd toasted the kid.

The upholstery seemed to suck him in. He closed his eyes and gratefully leaned further back into man-made luxury. This was as close to camping as he would ever get again, brother or no brother. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his head toward the the driver's side.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Roll down the window. You stink."

Dean fell asleep to the sound of Sam laughing and the rumble of the car's engine. The next thing he knew, the car was parked in front of an unfamiliar row of rooms, Sam was pulling at his arm, and yelling at him about something. Dean stood up, swayed a bit, trying to figure out what was wrong.

"Dean. Help me out here."

He took a step forward to help and his hip almost gave way. Sam caught him, huge hands holding him upright. When he was steady, Dean looked around. "Which room?"

Sam said, "Eleven," and pressed a key into his hand.

Trudging to the room, Dean dropped everything he could but didn't stop until he reached the bathroom. Sam followed after him, tugging at his jeans.

Sam asked, "Can you get those off?"

Fuck. It must be time to poke at his hip. Dean dropped the toilet lid, perched on the edge, and concentrated on removing his boots. Sam pushed Dean's hands down roughly, quickly removed boots and socks alike with ruthless efficiency, then stood and almost yanked him upright. Dean shoved Sam's hands away, able to undo his own damn button and zipper. The jeans came off pretty easily, which surprised him. He smiled in relief at Sam, and then the idiot went and pulled at the fabric of his boxers, trying to lift it away from the hip.

He sat down hard on the john. Sam said something but he couldn't hear him over the roaring in his ears. Then Sam was helping him stand up, slower this time, then helping him out of the room. A bed was in front of him, and Dean gratefully lowered himself onto it, rolling onto his back with a sigh of pleasure. But Sam wouldn't leave him the hell alone, tugging until Dean rolled onto his left side.

Something touching the knot of pain and heat in his right hip made him jerk, his right arm automatically swinging around to protect it.

Sam deflected the arm, "It's water. Need to loosen the fabric." He tipped more water out, dabbing with a towel, and gently pulled at the fabric again. Dean sucked in a breath and held it until Sam said, "Got it. It's just scraped and bruised, man. Looks like a few splinters from those planks. Gotta clean it."

Dean clenched his teeth, and gritted out, "Awesome." And it was, in a pull your fingernails out kind of way, even though Sam was being gentle. The hip stopped hurting so much after a minute, and the familiarity of the scene, the warm water, Sam's tuneless whistling, was soothing and normal and he'd missed it during their four years apart.

A sharp pain and an acrid smell brought him half way off the bed before Sam's hand grabbed his arm. "Sorry, gonna burn." Dean tried to curl away from the pain, and the light, and the smell, but Sam's hand stretched over his hip. "Hold still."

He wasn't sure what else he was going to do with his brother's ginormous hand holding him down, but then Sam did something that hurt more than whatever the fuck he was doing before, and the only thing that came out of his mouth as he tried to twist away was, "Unngh."

"Dean. Don't move."

More pain, like Sam was setting lit matches to his skin or something. He tried to hold still, but he was afraid he was starting to shake.

"Dean? I've gotta clean it, dude."

"Yeah. Good. What're you waiting for?" He needed to put himself in the space he always went to when Dad was fixing him up after a hunt. He snorted. If Dad were there, Dean'd probably be passed out in the bathroom after pulling out his own splinters. Least he could do was hold still for Sam, who was there and wasn't going to leave his ass. He hoped. He was pretty sure. At least right then.

Time slipped by and then his hip felt better, and Sam was taping gauze over it, and pulling at his shorts. "You want these off?"

"Yeah. Get me up." Not that they hadn't had to do this crap before, but Dean was unsteady, blushing when Sam had to help him stand up to pull off his boxers, and then help him step into a new pair. The t-shirt was next to come off, but that he could handle on his own at least. Finally, the only thing still on him from the camping trip was dirt.

"Go wash while you're up and then I'll look at your head." Sam gave him a push toward the bathroom. He managed to get to the sink and splashed the worst of it off his face and head, dripping filthy water on the sink and the bathroom floor, before toweling off. He ran out of steam before he could do much but wipe at his chest.

It was all he could do not to groan when he came back in the room, and there was his brother waiting, all new first-aid stuff laid out in neat rows on the night stand. Once Dean was lying down again, this time on his stomach with a pillow under his hip, Sam's fingers worked through his hair, light touches and warm water lulling him toward sleep. Even when alcohol burned across his head, he only dug his face into the pillow, cursing softly.

He vaguely realized it was over when a blanket was pulled up over his shoulders, and Sam said something about a shower and Tylenol. Sleep was pulling at him, but something from the hunt, or the kid, or thinking about Dad, was nagging at him. He had to know he wasn't going to find himself alone in another motel room. Not again. Then he could sleep and Sam would still be there. "Wake me up if you leave."

Sam huffed "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean took a deep breath, safe in good company, and let sleep take him.