Summary: As one brother's life hangs in the balance the other begins to understand the pain of being a helpless bystander as time runs out. Not all dangers are supernatural. Takes place about three months after 'the deal'.

A/N: The original version of this story was written for a contest on the SFTCOL(AR)S board last summer. It became a bit AU as soon as Season 3 actually started, although the overall emotions turned out to be a decent guess about the direction the show was going. There was a 5000 word limit for the contest which kept the story down to bare bones. This is the very fleshed out version. I'll probably end up posting it in about 3 chapters over the next week.

It's gotta be finished by then…because on Aug 1 I'm heading to Shenandoah…and Loft Mountain…and the Big Run trails…WOOHOO!! Anybody who read 'Hozho' knows why I'm so freaking excited!

Hope you like the story.

Warnings: Spoilers for AHBL. And the usual cursing.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story. Well, that and all the great people I've met in the fandom.

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As the Clock Winds Down Chapter 1

Ripples spread out over the surface of the dark water as Sam moved down the flooded street. The term 'street' was a gross overstatement, implying a smoothly paved surface that would be easy to walk on even if it was covered by several feet of water. The surface under their feet was rutted and uneven, continually grabbing at their unwieldy boots and attempting to throw them headfirst into the floodwaters. Not for the first time, Sam regretted the need for the boots. They had filled to the brim as soon as the water had risen to his knees. Now, even when he stepped onto a dry surface he felt like his feet were swimming in a foot shaped fishbowl. The leader of the first rescue team that Sam and Dean attached themselves to had merely grunted at their complaints before gruffly explaining "Wet's better than bloody. No tellin' what shit's under the water."

The water had stopped rising, but every one of the volunteers working to evacuate the small hamlet knew it was just a temporary reprieve. A solid mass of storms had taken up residence in the skies over the region, Mother Nature thumbing her nose at the weather forecasters. The predictions had all called for the front to stall somewhere else, not over the quiet rural area of hills and valleys, farms and small communities. They weren't ready for the ten inches of rain that had poured down on them in twenty-four hours. There were no National Guard troops positioned to slog through the drenching rain and help people to escape from their homes when the water began to slowly but inexorably fill the valley. No federal Urban Search and Rescue teams were staged, waiting to swoop down and find the people in danger.

Instead, resources were stretched thin up and down the valley, with the majority of the heavy rescue efforts taking place in towns farther downstream where the flood levels were already high enough to threaten lives. In the areas where the flooding was, at least for now, less severe, they were scrambling for volunteers to help with evacuations. The National Guard would get to them eventually, until then they were accepting assistance from every reasonably fit person who offered. Including a tall stranger who seemed driven to help, and the slightly less enthusiastic brother who shadowed his footsteps. Inexperienced, un-vetted, would-be rescuers were parceled out, joining search teams with more seasoned and trusted members.

Mother Nature was on a coffee break, but she was expected back with several more inches in a few hours. Sandbags and pumps had been brought in to ease the pressure against the old dam at the head of the valley, but all bets were off when it started to rain again. They all knew that as time moved on, the situation was edging from serious to critical.

Sam ran the wide beam of his flashlight over the trailer on his side of the street. A flash of red next to the front door caught his eye and he flipped the light off before scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. Where an earlier crew had evacuated someone a large red X was spray painted near the door. The residents who had managed to evacuate on their own were also asked to mark their homes. Not everyone had bright paint on hand, and crews had seen everything from red tablecloths nailed to door frames to red T shirts tied around knobs. It wasn't foolproof, but it did save the search crews some time. "House is marked empty," he called out, grimacing at the way his voice wavered with exhaustion.

"This one too." Dean's voice from across the street was cold and clipped, and Sam spared a glance in that direction. His brother's figure was just an outline, backlit by his own flashlight beam. Sam didn't need light to know Dean was still royally pissed. Dean had morphed from brotherly concern to outright anger when he woke from a catnap to find his little brother had managed to avoid a mandatory rest period by sneaking out with a second rescue team. Their current team was Sam's third.

Sam hunched his shoulders under his flimsy rain slicker and repressed a shudder. The front ushering in the new round of rain was a bit cooler than the sultry warmth that had been blanketing them. Warm water covered him to mid-thigh, but sweat, splashed water, and the earlier rain had conspired to dampen his shirt, and goosebumps chased their way across his stomach.

Dawn was filtering through the clouds in the eastern half of the sky, making it easier to see without the flashlights. His eyes swept the small trailer park around them, the sharp pull of urgency churning his gut. They were playing beat the clock and he hadn't had a lot of success in that game lately. The small homes around them were dark and silent islands rising out of the water that stretched in every direction. Islands that would turn into floating matchsticks if the dam went. Scattered points of illumination in the gloom marked the locations of the other members of their team. They didn't look like much against the partially submerged landscape.

A sense of helplessness washed over him. There wasn't enough time. That was the story of his life over the past three months. Not enough time. Sam lowered his head and forced his leaden legs into action, pushing against the drag of the water. He kept pace with Dean as they leapfrogged past the men checking the next two houses on the street. "Anything, Percy?" he asked as he passed the heavyset man on his side of the street.

Percy stopped next to the home's mostly submerged mailbox, pulling off his truckee hat and perching it carefully on the box's flat top, just inches above the water. He pulled a worn blue bandana from his slicker's breast pocket and used it to mop the sweat off his face before running it over the top of his brush cut. "Nope. Empty. Thank the Lord most everbody got themselves out."

Sam nodded and kept walking. Yep, thank the Lord for people who were able to help themselves. Who were willing to help themselves.

Sam's eyes narrowed when he reached the next property and he switched the flashlight back on. The tips of the picket fence edging the front yard looked like a row of even white teeth studding the water. A wooden ramp rose up out of the water against the trailer, ending at a small deck in front of the door. It was the type of visual clue they'd been instructed to look for, an indication that the resident might have had trouble getting out on their own. He ran the flashlight beam over the side of the neatly kept trailer, stopping the sweep of the light and bringing it back to zero in on a paler spot that caught his eye. A small face was pressed against the glass, perfectly still as though it had just been waiting patiently for him to arrive. It disappeared back into the darkness behind the window as soon as Sam reached down into the water, his fingers fumbling to find and release the latch on the wide gate in the center of the fence. The trailer's door was opening by the time Sam's foot hit the bottom of the ramp.

A little boy stood in the doorway when Sam reached the deck. He had already pulled rubber rain boots on over his Osh Kosh sweatpants and a yellow raincoat trailed from his hand. He looked up at Sam with wide eyes. "Mister, you here to help us? My Nana said somebody'ed come. You gonna help us?"

The flashlight beam cut through the dark behind the child and Sam could see an elderly woman in a wheelchair, her hands clasped tightly around a set of rosary beads and her face wreathed in smiles.

He turned his head and bellowed over his shoulder. "Perce! We need the boat!"

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She introduced herself as Miss Abby while they waited, and smiled proudly when her great-grandson Simon shook Sam's hand with a solemnity that was beyond most six year olds. When Sam asked if they had an 'evacuation pack' ready, Simon had nodded a quick "Yes, sir, we do." and begun to drag an already sealed plastic tub closer to the door.

Miss Abby was light in his arms when he carefully scooped her out of her chair and began to carry her towards the waiting flat bottomed canoe. Behind him he could hear Doug, another member of the team, folding up her wheelchair according to Simon's instructions.

"That's some boy," Sam commented as he slowly waded down into the water covering the ramp. The boat was waiting outside of the submerged fence.

She shook her head but her smile was still proud. "That child has gotten it into his head that he needs to take care of me. I told him to leave with Mrs. Garrity next store…or even Old Phil down the street…when the water started to rise, but he said if they couldn't get me out too, then he wasn't goin' nowhere. He just folded his little arms and flat out refused." She chuckled softly. "I don't know if I should tan his hide or hug him till he turns blue. I expect his momma and poppa are gonna feel the same way."

Sam lifted her a little higher in his arms as the water edged up his legs and cleared the sudden thickness from his throat before replying. "I think I'd go with the hugging. He was probably scared but he stuck to his guns and did what he thought was right to help you."

"Oh, I know that, and I'm so proud of him I could burst. But that little boy's got a lot of people that love him and need him, and he's gotta learn that it ain't like them cartoons he's so fond of. Sometimes it ain't the right thing to try and be a hero. Sometimes you got to be brave and think about all them other people that need you instead of doing something that could get you hurt. Lord knows, that's a tough lesson for a little fellow like him to understand, but he's gotta learn it. I'm an old woman. I've lived my life. It just don't make sense that he coulda been hurt because he was trying help me."

Sam walked carefully across the flooded yard, worried that a misstep would land the frail woman in the water. "Well, Miss Abby, I think when you're trying to decide if you should punish him or give him that hug, just think about how he'd have felt if he left with the neighbors and then you got hurt here all by yourself. He might've had to grow up wondering if he could have saved you." She stiffened slightly in his arms and his cheeks burned as he ducked his face away with a mumbled "Sorry if I overstepped." Who the hell did he think he was giving someone advice on raising a kid? He was here to help this lady, not take his own issues out on her. He placed her carefully on a bench seat in the canoe and stepped quickly away as a rescue worker in the boat got her settled securely.

When it was time to carry Simon to the boat the boy perched on Sam's hip, his head held high as though he was supervising the rescue efforts around him. "Listen," Sam said quietly as they moved down the ramp. "You did good looking after your Nana. If you weren't at the window I don't know if we would have found her. If your family is mad at you it's because they were scared you might get hurt. Just remember to be proud of yourself and the way you did what you thought was right and helped your Nana."

He didn't care if he was overstepping. Somebody had to make sure this kid knew that looking after your family was the right thing to do, even when they fought you on it.

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Sam waited for the sense of elation that he knew he should be feeling as he handed the child to the smiling rescuer in the boat, but all he felt was empty. Every rescue, every job they did lately…he kept waiting for a save that would ease the hole growing inside of him. He turned away as soon as the small boy was settled on the seat next to his Nana and looked for Dean and the other members of his team.

They were close to the end of the street, gathered in a loose circle around Percy. The beefy team leader was nodding his head, as though responding to something coming over the small portable radio held up to his mouth. A couple of high fives were exchanged in the group around him and a small man with bushy red hair turned to Sam with a huge grin as he waded closer. The water that was up to the top of Sam's thighs reached almost to Jake's waist. "Did you hear that, Sammy boy? The Guard is taking over. Whooo boy! I got a hot shower and a big cuppa coffee calling me!"

Sam avoided his brother's eyes and looked to Percy for confirmation. The big man nodded his head and grinned. "They're pulling us in and taking over the water operations."

"What about the rest of these houses?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice calm. The chasm inside of him was yawning ever wider. "We're right here. Shouldn't we at least finish them up?"

It was a telling testament to his exhaustion that Sam didn't even notice his brother moving closer. He was surprised when Dean's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"This neighborhood is clear Sam," his brother said evenly. "The rest of the teams are already heading back."

"But what about the…" Sam trailed off when his brother's hand tightened harshly on his shoulder. Dean's message was loud and clear.

It's done Sam. Give it up.

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Dean pulled the Impala's heavy door open and slid onto the smooth leather with a contented sigh. Sam was already in the car, his hair still damp from a hasty shower in the high school-cum-evacuation center. He glanced in Dean's direction and slid lower in his seat, turning slightly away. It took Dean a moment to realize Sam had his cell phone pressed to his ear and was listening intently to someone.

Dean sipped from the cardboard coffee cup in his hand, enjoying the warmth of the liquid as it trailed down his throat. It wasn't cold out, but the thermometer had dropped a few more degrees. The slight drop combined with hours of wet clothing had left Dean chilled to the bone before his shower, and Sam in even worse shape. His brother didn't complain, but Sam had been pale and shivering by the time they climbed onto dry land. It was his own fault. Dean had at least taken advantage of the chance to rest and warm up when their first team had been pulled into rehab. Unlike his bone-headed brother, who had snuck off like a rebellious teenager. It was also his own fault if he was still cold. He definitely hadn't been in the shower long enough to completely chase the chill away.

"Okay…yeah…Thanks, Bobby." Sam flipped the phone shut and slid it into his pants pocket. He remained slouched in his seat, staring forward. The muscle on the side of his jaw was jumping.

"So, what did Bobby want?" Dean asked with a forced smile. He would not be pulled into whatever hissy fit his brother was working himself up to.

"Nothing. I called him." Sam sat up in the seat and turned to face Dean, his face tensing in preparation for a fight. "We have to head to New York. Bobby knows a man there who's got a copy of an ancient grimoire from—"

"No." Dean's grip started to dent the sides of the coffee cup but he kept his voice calm.

"We're going, Dean!" Sam's mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed, sure harbingers of the oncoming Sammy storm. "It could be exactly what I've been looking for! It was written at the same time as the Grand Grimoire and Bobby said—"

Heat flooded Dean's body and his eyes narrowed in anger. "What part of 'no' don't you get, Sam?" he bit out.

Sam's cheeks flushed red and he clenched his hands into fists. "Damn it, Dean! Don't you care about this? Why won't you let me help you?" He stared at Dean, his breath coming hard and fast as he worked himself up. He lashed out suddenly, banging his fist against the dashboard.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the unprovoked attack on his baby but kept his mouth shut. Sam looked like an overtired toddler working his way up to a full blown tantrum. He'd handled them when Sam was two, he hadn't expected to still be handling them over twenty years later.

"What is it with you, man?! At first I thought you just wanted to blow off a little steam before we got down to work! But you're still…you're still… You've stood in my way every time I came up with a lead! Hell, I still think you sabotaged us meeting with that old friend of Pastor Jim's that Ellen told us about!"

"We're not having this conversation now, Sam," Dean said coldly. "We're both tired and I don't want to get into it with you right now. I'm not going to get into it with you right now."

"Well I want to get into it!" Sam exploded. "Three months! It's been three months, Dean, and we're no closer…" He trailed off and wiped a shaking hand across his face. When he began speaking again his voice was low, shaking. "For three months I've gone along with your partying, and your one night stands. I haven't said anything about the way you've done everything you could to stop me from helping you. Do you know how it's killing me that I haven't come up with a way to save my own brother? It doesn't matter how many other people I help," he waved his hand at the evacuees milling around near the school. "It doesn't mean anything if I can't help you."

Dean tore his eyes away from his brother and looked out the windshield. The pain on his brother's face was too raw. He would not regret what he had done. He would not feel guilty about it.

"Pulling stunts like you did here, Sam? That doesn't help me. Getting yourself killed doing something stupid won't void the contract." He'd seen Sam pushing himself unmercifully and taking more and more risks trying to save others. Deep down he'd understood why, and he'd hoped the increasingly reckless behavior would stop once Sam accepted the inevitable. He should have known not to underestimate his brother's stubbornness. But enough was enough. This had to stop. "Now you want to go chasing around the country…The crossroads bitch will drop you in your tracks at the first whisper that I'm trying to get out of the deal, Sam. I'm not going to let that happen."

Sam's voice was low and pleading. "Maybe I don't care Dean. If she's coming for you no matter what, then maybe I don't want to be here to see it. I just…I can't do this without you. You're not the only one who's tired, Dean."

Dean's eyes flew back to Sam's face, searching for some hint that his brother was just being dramatic to make a point. He couldn't actually mean it. He'd tried not to look too closely at his brother's face for the last couple of months. He didn't want to have to acknowledge the pallor that was growing, the darkening smudges under his eyes. What he saw now scared him. Sam was starting to look beat down. Dean would like to blame it on the exhaustion of the last several hours, but he knew there was a lot more to it than that. "Don't you say that Sam," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Don't you make it all be for nothing. Please, Sammy, don't you do that to me."

Sam's jaw clenched tight for just a second before he visibly deflated. His shoulders slumped and he slid back down in the seat. He turned away and rested his forehead against the car window. He looked so defeated that a hard spear of guilt ran through Dean's chest. He reached out to lay his hand on Sam's shoulder but stopped before making contact, pulling his hand back and reaching for the car keys instead. Eventually Sammy would be okay. He was stronger than he gave himself credit for. He'd survive. Dean believed that. He had to.

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The Impala's tires moved over the rain slicked road with a low pitched hum. Sam hadn't moved since they started driving, keeping his back to Dean and his forehead resting against the side window. Dean had left the radio off and put the heat on, hoping that the warmth and the quiet would lull his brother to sleep. God knew, the kid could use some rest.

Dean had found a county road that traced a circuitous route up the outside slope of the low mountain range that hemmed the east side of the valley. The route continued to the north, etched into the side of the hills. It probably wasn't the most direct or quickest way out of the area, but Dean ignored the side roads that would have taken him down the slope and onto a highway. Being outside of the valley was no guarantee that low lying areas weren't under water. Red Cross workers at the high school had carried tales of washed out and flooded roads throughout the region. Even the hillside route showed the effects of the earlier downpours. In some areas Dean had to maneuver carefully past debris that had been washed down onto the road.

He sighed when Sam shifted in his seat, first his head lifting alertly and then the rest of his body straightening up. So much for Sam sleeping. Sam turned in his seat as they drove, obviously trying to get a better look at something they were passing. The stretch of slope below them was barren and muddy, and Dean couldn't see what had caught his brother's eye.

"Dean! Stop the car!" Sam's hands were scrabbling to open the door before the words were fully out of his mouth. Dean jammed on the brakes, cursing as he fought the Impala's desire to perform pirouettes on the wet road.

Sam threw the door open and jumped out as soon as the car's slide ended. He slammed the door shut without a word and began trotting back along the shoulder of the road, finally stopping about ten yards behind the Impala.

Dean watched in astonishment, his hands still clutching the wheel in a white knuckled grip. As soon as his heart slowed down he was going to drive off and leave the idiot to walk. Better yet, he'd throttle him first. He grabbed the gearshift with an abrupt jerk and the tires squealed as the car flew backwards, passing his brother before he slammed his foot onto the brakes and threw it into park. An angry twist of his wrist quieted the motor's rumble before he exploded out of the car, his hands fisted at his sides.

"SAM! WHAT THE HELL—" He broke off when his brother stepped off the edge of the road, completely oblivious to Dean's tirade.

"Dean, there's a car down there!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Dean stepped onto the thin strip of rocky dirt between the blacktop and the dropoff and watched as Sam moved down the slope. A dark gray sedan was resting in the mud almost seventy-five yards below them. From the looks of the slope and the damage to the car it had rolled at least once. The driver's door was hanging open but it was impossible to tell from the road if anyone was inside.

"Sam, be careful," Dean yelled, earning a quick over the shoulder wave from his brother.

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The surface of the slope was slick mud and Sam held his arms out to the sides, trying to keep his balance as his feet kept sliding under him. Just jumping right onto it in his rush to get to the banged up car might not have been one of his smartest moves. It would only have taken a couple of minutes to get a rope out of the Impala's trunk and tie it to some type of anchor. Maybe Dean was right about him being stupidly reckless lately. Sam's mind pulled back from those thoughts like they were a live wire. Now wasn't the time for distractions.

Sam tried to slow his descent, but the loose mud under him took away any semblance of control he might have had. It reminded him a little of the couple of times he had tried skiing. Memories of the twisted ankle he'd suffered on the ski slopes decided him on the best way to slow down. If it worked in the snow, it should work in the mud. He plopped himself down on his butt and grimaced at the feel of the chilly, slimy, mud oozing under him. Well, it beat the full body mud bath he would have been taking if he'd fallen. And it worked, halting his downward slide.

He climbed carefully to his feet, not wanting to even look over his shoulder to see his brother's expression. Dean was going to have a field day with this one. He continued picking his slow way down the slope, ending up on his butt two more times despite his best efforts to control his descent.

It was easy to see the damage to the car when he got closer. The back corner of the roof was pushed in, the back window completely gone. The roof rack was distorted, and the side of the car that Sam could see was a mess of dents and scratches. There was some mud on the car's body, especially caught in the nooks and crannies around the rack, but not as much as you would expect after a roll down the slope. The accident must have happened hours before, during the previous round of storms. The rain had washed most of the mud away.

If a victim was in the car, the long delay before they were found wasn't good for their chance of survival. It was not reassuring that he had seen no signs of movement yet.

"Is there anybody in there?" Dean's voice carried easily down the slope, his impatience easy to hear.

"I can't—" Sam turned slightly to yell an answer back up the slope, and felt his feet slipping out from under him again. He windmilled his arms trying to stay upright and had to make a mad grab for the open driver's door when he almost slid past the car. Dean's laughter echoed down the slope and Sam lifted his right hand to deliver a one fingered reply as soon as his feet seemed to be listening to his brain's orders again.

He braced himself against the door frame and leaned into the car, checking the front and rear of the passenger compartment. There was surprisingly little damage to the interior other than the pushed in roof in the back. There was a small smear of blood on the deflated airbag, but no signs of any serious bleeding. Loose change, papers, CDs, an empty travel mug…items were strewn around the car as though they had been thrown like confetti. The one thing most decidedly missing was any type of victim.

Looked like whoever had been in the car had managed to walk away. Sam backed out of the car, straightening up with a small smile. It was better than finding someone beyond help.

"Well?" Dean yelled.

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck and gave an embarrassed shrug. "It's empty." His mad dash through the mud to 'save' someone was starting to look like one of his dumber ideas. His eyes ran over the expanse of mud above him. How the hell was he planning on making it back up the slope? His gaze stopped somewhere near Dean's feet. He really didn't want to look up at his brother. Even if he couldn't make out Dean's expression clearly, his stance was usually pretty good at communicating his thoughts at times like this. And right now Dean was probably using his entire body to scream 'my brother is an idiot and now I've got figure out how to haul his worthless butt back up here'.

"Dude! You're not getting in my car like that!"

Sam's shoulders slumped in relief. Dean was laughing at him, but that sure beat angry. He just didn't have the energy for another argument. And maybe if they could laugh at something, together, then he could get Dean to open up to him and they could start working together to figure something out. Because the alternative… What he'd said to Dean wasn't an exaggeration. If he was supposed to just sit back and watch while the demon came for Dean, not lift a finger to help…well, he didn't know if he could survive being around to see that. One step at a time. And the first thing was to get the two of them back on the same page.

He looked down at himself and there was nothing forced about it when he began to laugh. Thick brown mud coated him from the waist down, wet clumps of it dripping off of him to splat onto the slime under his feet every time he moved. His top half was only marginally better. Mud had splattered up on him every time he landed on his butt. He could even feel dots of it on his cheeks. His clothes, his sneakers, his jacket…they were all going to have to be hosed off before they could even go into a washing machine. And he had no doubts his brother was going to make him strip down on the side of the road and put on cleaner clothes before letting him within touching distance of the car.

Amazingly enough, the only clean spots on him appeared to be his hands. How he had managed the entire trip down the slope without once putting his hands in the mud he didn't know. He held them out to his sides and began to grin up at Dean. He admitted it. He deserved whatever abuse his brother wanted to heap on him.

His grin faltered when there was a slight rolling sensation under his feet. He looked around in confusion as he began to sway in place. He placed his hands on the car, but the move did little to steady him as his feet slid sideways and he was thrown solidly against the hood. It was instinct to look up to his brother. Dean would know what was going on.

His eyes travelled up the slope and a solid wall of fear slammed into him.

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Dean could feel it through his feet. A low vibration that built to a rumble. The edge of the road in front of him began to bow downwards and there was a loud crack as a fissure tore its way through the blacktop. He watched in numb horror as a section of the road just fell away, almost in slow motion. He had the irrational urge to run forward, to grab it, to hold it in place, to jump in front of it and hold it up. His heart lurched painfully when the reality hit him, there was nothing he could do but watch as the broken section began to slide down the hill. The horror increased exponentially when he realized it wasn't just the road. An entire section of the hillside was sliding downwards.

"SAMMY! GET OUT OF THERE!" Even as he shouted, Dean realized there was no place for Sam to go. A pit opened in his chest and his vision wavered. Just for a second he was back on a muddy street in South Dakota and his baby brother was on his knees, the light leaving his eyes. The scene before him crashed back into focus and his breath left his chest in a gut-wrenching roar. "SAAAAAM!"

Sam scrambled onto the hood of the car and wrapped his hand around a piece of the roof rack just moments before the mud hit. The torrent of liquefied soil worked its way completely around the car. The gray sedan shuddered and then began to lift, shaking violently and throwing Sam from side to side. The mudslide picked it up and swept it down the hillside, farther and farther away from where Dean stood on the side of the road, stunned and helpless.

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A/N I'm all for promoting a contest that celebrates our Sammy (and Dean!), so I'm going to repeat the info I posted with Highwayman about the SFTCOL(AR)S first annual LimpSam awards, with one important change. The deadline for nominations has been extended to Aug 1.

The contest includes categories for fics, graphics, and vids. We love both brothers—c'mon, the magic of the show is their relationship—but Dean already has such a huge cadre of devoted and passionate 'Dean' fans that the board is just trying to give lil bro a boost and promote the wonder that is Sammy. But we're definitely 'bi-bro', so there are categories that are Dean heavy also.

If you go to the SFTCOL(AR)S forum, the "Limp!Sam Awards" category is in the Asylum section. The link is posted in my profile. Definitely check the contest out and think about any favorites you'd like to see nominated. It's a ton of fun just revisiting stories you've loved with the list of categories next to you!

Nominations are being taken until August 1, and then the top nominees will be posted on the board. You should definitely check it out to find stories, graphics, and vids that may have somehow passed you by, and then vote for your favorites. What a great way to ease ourselves through summer hiatus!