Cold Oak, South Dakota
They had been driving for hours, and Dean was nearing the point of exhaustion, but he had refused to let Bobby take the wheel. For once, it had nothing to do with the well-being of his precious car, and he threw the Impala around corners at breakneck speed, suspension be damned. Right now, Hell, always, Sam was more important. He had to find Sammy. Had to look after him. And that crazy-ass vision thing earlier had, hopefully, told him where to look.
Cold Oak, South Dakota. The town so haunted that everybody left. Or were forced to leave. You never knew what vengeful spirits would do for a quiet life. Accounts varies in their views on how many ghosts the old mining town actually had, but Dean was willing to bet on at least a hundred. He was also willing to bet that, right now, they would be baying for Winchester blood. And Dean didn't bet unless the odds were stacked in his favour.
On the other hand, he definitely wouldn't have put his hard earned money on the freaky-ass vision that had led him here on the first place. Because, you know, a vision! That was Sam territory, bizarre even for Dean, although he tried to hide from his little brother how much it really weirded him out. Christ, he had laughed at the kid. He knew now that they were not fun at all. They hurt like Hell, and left your ears ringing for … well, they were still clanging in his head now. He was immensely grateful that Bobby had been there to catch him. And he was glad that the older hunter had recognised the bell form Dean's shabby description. Seriously, how the man could hold so much information in his head was beyond Dean, but he wasn't complaining. Especially not if it helped him find Sammy.
The Impala skidded to a halt in a muddy field next to a cluster of run-down wooden structures. Every instinct told Dean to barrel out of the car and race to his baby brother, but his training – and his father's voice embedded in his subconscious – reminded him to take it slow and steady. They had no idea what was out there. Opening the trunk, he retrieved his trusty sawn-off shotgun, loaded it with salt rounds and filled his jacket pockets with spares. Beside him, Bobby did the same. They were ready.
It was wet, and the ground was squelchy underfoot as they followed the trail past an old, creaky windmill and into Cold Oak itself. Squinting against the driving rain, Dean could just make out a tall figure through the gloom. As it neared, it became easier to distinguish from the dark around it. If the sheer size of the creature hadn't identified it as his Sasquatch brother, the long hair, plastered to his forehead and dripping frigid rainwater in his eyes, would have. Sammy! He was alive. He was holding his right arms awkwardly, but tightly, to his side, which suggested to Dean that he had at least a dislocated shoulder, but he was upright and he was walking. The relief on his face at the sight of his brother was painfully obvious, and Dean's anger rose at the thought of what had happened to his kid brother in the last twenty-four hours.
"Sam!" He called, forgetting his wariness and allowing his own relief to filter through to his voice. His brother might irritate him to extreme levels, but he had never been so happy to see him, bedraggled as he may be. It would appear his brother felt the same, judging by the wonky grin that now spread across his face.
"Dean!" Sam staggered towards his brother, gritting his teeth against the obvious pain in his shoulder. Behind him, a second, shorter shadow moved, but he wasn't at full speed so he didn't seem to notice. Dean's heart leapt into his mouth as the figure bent to the ground, before straightening with something in his hand. Something that glinted dimly in the watery moonlight. A knife!
"Sam, look out!" Too slow, far too slow, Sam began to turn, but it was too little, too late. Sam gasped as the mystery man plunged the knife deep into his back, and let his arms fall to his sides, dislocated shoulder forgotten. The man behind his brother twisted the knife sharply and Sam grunted, his face contorting in agony.
"No!" Dean let his shotgun fall to the mud and began to run and his brother crumpled to his knees. He hit the ground seconds after Sam, grabbing the frint of his jacket and silently willing his head to rise. Sam's eyes flickered in Dean's direction, but they were dull and unfocussed. Dean's blood ran cold and it took every ounce of his willpower to not react to the state his little brother was in. it might not be as bad as it looked. God knows, Sammy had survived injuries just as bad as this before.
"Sam!" He tried desperately to get a response out of his brother, but could do no more than catch Sammy under the arms as he sagged against Dean's chest, breathing ragged and eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Dean's shoulder…