Disclaimers: Supernatural and its character are the property of Eric Kripke (we love you!) and the CW. No infringement intended. However, the story's plot and its original characters are all mine!

Spoilers: Story set between 5.14 (My Bloody Valentine) and 5.15 (Dead men don't wear plaid).

The Winchesters go investigate a series of deaths and disappearances that occur somewhere in Idaho, in the middle of the woods. Their lives in jeopardy, they will have, once again, to call into question every beliefs they had about what may be living amidst the forest, while dealing with the tension and distrust that didn't cease to grow between them since Dean's return from hell.

A/N: The story and its chapters are titled from the production music company of the same name. Their music inspire me a lot and it's while listening to it that I wrote down – or rather typed – these words.

Also, English isn't my first language. Therefore, I do apologize for any grammar or spelling slips that might make you want to tear your eyes off. But I promise you I will try and do my best to write this story – and the ones I'll write in the future – with as little mistakes as possible.

Besides, I noticed that approximately every author out there have (or will) become addicted to reviews. I'm no exception. Reviews are very welcome! :o)

Okay, I'll stop rambling now, so on with the story!

TWO STEPS FROM HELL

Chapter 1 – Prologue

Moonlight Armies

"Shit Dean, they're too many!"

"I can see that, Sam!" was the breathless and angry reply.

In the dead of the night, the scene enlightened by a shining moon hidden now and then by some passing clouds, in a clearing amid the woods were Sam and Dean.

Both Winchester were currently facing pumas. Exactly. Pumas. But these weren't some normal, afraid-of-people, do-not-eat-human-unless-threatened pumas. No, these were over-clawed, jaw full of not-so-blunt teeth and they were starving. Like, decided-to-taste-Winchester-flesh starving. And they were far too close to succeed in it.

So, yes, Dean was angry. Angry because they weren't prepare at all to fight off some fugly big – and he meant big – ravenous kitties. He was angry because they were so sure it was the other sonsabitches that had taken and killed all those people over the past century – or maybe even centuries for all they knew – that they hadn't expected at all an attack from some pumas. Which was understandable, right? Pumas, or cougar as Sam said, weren't some supernatural creatures. They were mammals.

Problem was now he and Sam were losing the fight – and their pride – and were about to end up in some mammal's stomach. Awesome.

Dean cocked his gun once more and shot at one of the carnivore that had just jumped to take a bite at his throat. The massive cat fell thirty feet away and got up at once 'cause, hey, shotgun's loaded with rock salt. Not working so much. His Colt 1911 was lying uselessly on the ground, fifty feet away from where he stood, behind a dozen of starving pumas. He cocked the shotgun again, shot, and caught the nearest squarely in the face. This one didn't get up. Yet it was replaced by three other beasts straight away.

Behind Dean, their backs facing, Sam was in the same situation, his .45 (loaded with real bullets – which were way more effective than rock salt) in one hand, his shotgun full of rock salt in the other. He killed one of the cougars that had succeeded in cheating Sam's vigilance so far and tried to jump at his brother from behind. The beast collapsed right behind his Dean's feet.

"Thanks" said the older hunter without even glancing, already wasting another panther.

Sam turned back, in time to see a cougar leaping at him. Sam single handled his own shotgun and shot once, twice, but the animal stayed motionless on the ground only after the third hit. And that was when he found himself out of rock salt. The distraction was enough for another one to attack. It knocked the hunter off his feet, his .45 flying from his hand. Sam used his shotgun as a bat to get it away from him. However, two extra cougars joined them and Sam screamed in pain as he felt fangs burying themselves deep in his left calf. Suddenly, through the haze of burning ache, he heard a shot, then another, and another, until the cougar chewing at his leg backed off with a whine.

"Sam!" Oh, so Dean took care of it ... serves it right.

His mind still fuzzy, Sam turned on his belly, pushing himself up with his hands, the shotgun still in his right one. Breathing heavily, he rose on his knees and tried to shoot at the carnivores circling his brother and him. Nothing. He then remembered he was out of salt.

"SHIT!" He yelled. Because of the pain, because of his helplessness and because of the fact that he couldn't even think straight and was now relying on his brother to get them out of there. And damn, it hurt. Fire was spreading in his body while the punctures in his lower leg were close to be molten magma. Hot. He gasped and opened his eyes. He hadn't even realized he had closed them. And he saw it. His .45, resting on the dirty, muddy forest floor, less than 30 inches from his hand. He could reach it. He simply had to stretch his arm and he'd be able to help …

A sudden blood-curdling, heart-wrenching scream had him to topple over on his ass to assess the situation. Dean was on the ground as well, face first and gun-less, the biggest of the puma holding him down with its forceful paws on his shoulder and hip, its jaw plunged in Dean's right side. And Dean was screaming, the same screams Sam had heard almost two years ago, when that hellhound had mauled him to death – and to hell.

Seizing his .45 and forgetting about his open wound, Sam stood up with a rage-filled bark, and jump at his brother's aid, once again hitting the attacker with the handgun's barrel, effectively sending it away from his brother, before shooting at it point blank. With a loud groan, Dean unsteadily stood up, his hand clenching his bleeding side, while griping Sam's vest for support. Sam kept a steady hand behind his brother's back, his .45 ready to kill, his own leg throbbing painfully. Only adrenaline was keeping him on his feet, he realized.

Sam clutched his .45 tightly. He would go down fighting.

All of a sudden, everything stopped. The cougars stayed where they were, showing fangs and claws, grunting, but at a safe distance from the brothers. And in an instant, both Winchester knew why. A low humming seemingly coming from the earth itself echoed around them, the ground shift, then tremble, then… it just disappeared from under their feet, right when the most imposing cougar jumped at the older hunter.

Dean was unconscious before he even hit the ground below.

Sam didn't remember falling. The next thing he was aware of was pain as he crashed on the uneven floor in a blast of sound. Pain fiercely shot up in his left leg – his already damaged leg – as something crashed on it, before traveling up his whole body in one powerful wave and exploding white hot at the base of his skull, stealing his breath away and lighting stars in front of his eyes, bringing him to the verge of consciousness.

He was blinking hard against it when he felt another weight landing heavily on his left side, pinning him down and bringing more black spots to cloud his spinning vision.

The last thing Sam saw was a worryingly thick and long piece of wood coming down on him.

The last thing Sam heard was his own cry of pain.

TBC.