Where's Waldo?

Disclaimer: They belong to someone else. D'oh!

Thank you: In heaping helping amounts to Wysawyg – a very busy lady with her own stories brewing and yet she manages to find time to make my stories better with her suggestions. I played with it after she beta'd so as usual all mistakes are my own.

…………………………………………………….SUPERNATURAL……………………………………………………….

Dean's mind whirled. He couldn't know who Sam was. Dean had not described him or given any indication that would help the man link Sam to him. Although in truth, there could not be that many people wandering about in these woods. The longer Dean's muddled mind dwelt on that fact, the stronger his conviction that Gibbs actually did know who Sam was. "How, how do you know he was my brother?" Dean asked quietly and brokenly.

Gibbs did not open his eyes or turn his head towards Dean. "I wouldn't have at all, 'cept he was callin' for you."

Dean's heart sank into his stomach. He refused to believe Sam was dead. He was hurt, he needed Dean to climb out of this hole and help him, but he was not dead. Dean struggled to stand, but a lack of strength coupled with uncooperative limbs conspired against him. He flopped back onto the ground and fisted loose dirt in his hands. He tossed the dirt impotently across to the other side of the hole and braced himself against renewed flares of pain. Dean fought against the hopelessness threatening to consume him and the waves of panic clawing at his brain. His head swam with dizziness and this time he allowed himself to sink into blissful unconsciousness.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

The third time Dean awoke diffused sunlight filtered through the leaves, down twenty feet to where he lay on his side at the bottom of the oubliette. He blinked sand-filled eyes and tried to focus on the area around him. The coarse rancher, Gibbs, was nowhere to be seen. Had he simply imagined the old guy? It was a wonderful, beautiful thought, but Dean knew it was not true. Gibbs had been here and he had told Dean what had happened to Sam. The question remained, where was Gibbs now? The obvious answer was not a pleasant one and Dean quickly tucked it away in favor of assessing his current predicament.

He eased himself onto his back and looked up at the faraway, slowly lightening sky. The sides of the deep hole were lined with protruding rocks and dry, exposed roots. Dean figured he could free climb using the natural hand and foot holds. It would be a stretch in some places, but it would be possible. He attempted to prop himself onto his elbows, ignoring the spasms in his back and the pounding in his head. His muscles quivered from the strain and he wondered how he was going to scale the dirt wall.

Tossing aside feelings of doubt, Dean strengthened his resolve to free himself and to find Sam. He used his feet and elbows to push himself along the bumpy ground until his back hit the wall. He groaned as he wriggled into a sitting position. Curiosity as to the time had Dean raising his arm to check his watch. He ignored the twinges in his shoulder and focused still blurry eyes on the digital display. It was either three minutes after eight or eight minutes after three, Dean could not tell which. He decided it was shortly after eight in the morning based on the amount of sunlight and lack of heat.

Wrapping trembling arms, weak from effort, around his knees Dean gathered his strength for the next round. His stomach gurgled in angry opposition of Dean's recent activity and his brain throbbed as if trying to escape the confines of his skull. "Come on, Winchester," he coached himself. "Get your rear in gear, you're okay." It was funny how his father's words came out of his own mouth when he least expected it.

Dean slowly peeled off his jacket, his breath hitching when his ribs burned hot. His breathing gradually returned to normal and Dean searched his coat pockets for anything that may be helpful once he reached the top. He pulled out a gas receipt, a book of matches and three, slightly linty peanut M & M's. He shoved the matches into his jeans pocket, dusted off the M & M's and popped them into his mouth. He was not hungry, in fact he was far from it, but he knew he should eat to help replenish what he had lost hours earlier.

He leaned back, allowing his head to gently rest against the dirt wall. From his new vantage point Dean craned his neck and looked up from the bottom of the hole. The top loomed impossibly far away and Dean closed his eyes, momentarily. Steeling himself for the long haul he staggered to his feet. Failure was simply not an option.

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Sam grunted under the exertion of pulling the large beast away from the car. He huffed from the effort as he hid the carcass of the cougar under the thick underbrush. He had not wanted to leave the cat near the Impala on the off-chance of a Forest Ranger driving by. The fact that he had managed to walk away from the attack with only bruised ribs and a large scratch down his left arm was something to be thankful for.

He pulled out the lock pick set and walked around to the back of the Impala. Within seconds had the trunk open and he began to carefully pack a small duffel with the essentials. Rope, axe, emergency blanket, power bars, water, lighter, accelerant and salt all made their way into the bag; after some thought Sam also stuffed extra silver bullets and a sharp knife in with the rest. He kept out the first aid kit to patch up the cut on his arm.

Slamming the trunk closed, Sam made his way to his traditional spot on the passenger side and crawled into the Impala to wait for Dean. He turned on the interior light and slipped out of his jacket and the long sleeve outer shirt. Examining his arm closely for the first time, Sam realized he actually had one very long, deep cut as well as three shallower cuts. The cougar had gotten in a full swipe. After cleaning the wound and suturing it closed with a multitude of steri-strips, Sam re-donned his shirt and jacket. He shook out two ibuprofens and swallowed them down with a huge swig of water.

Knowing there were at least two hours until daybreak, Sam leaned back in the seat to wait for Dean. If Dean was not back by then, he would begin searching again. Sam wrapped his coat tighter around him and tried desperately to get a little sleep. If Dean really was not okay, Sam needed the rest. Dean never got himself in just a little trouble. Sam's eyes grew heavy and he blinked lazily out the windshield.

Sam hesitated at the side of the bed. On the one hand, he wanted reassurance that Dean was okay and on the other, he did not want to accidentally cause Dean any pain by bumping his injured legs. Their dad was already asleep on the other bed, so Sam's only choices were next to Dean or on the floor. He stood beside the bed, silently hovering, weighing his options when Dean groaned softly.

"Just come to bed, Sammy," he sighed without rolling over to face Sam.

"Scoot over," Sam whispered, making shooing motions with his hands behind Dean's back.

Dean rolled half-way over and looked over his shoulder at Sam. "You know I sleep on this side. Climb over."

"Not tonight," Sam insisted, making no move to the far side of the bed.

Dean glared, but it was half-hearted. The painkillers had dulled his reactions. "Sammy…"

"Not tonight," Sam reiterated. "Sometimes you need to let me be on the outside."

"Tonight's not that night," Dean stated, rolling back onto his side.

Sam sighed and gingerly climbed over Dean to his customary spot between Dean and the wall. 'One of these days, Dean,' he thought. 'You're going to have to let me.'

Sunbeams glinted merrily through the trees, hitting Sam directly in the eyes. He glanced at his watch and realized he had been able to snag a couple hours of rest. Dean had obviously not returned to the car, so Sam shoved the first aid kit into the duffel and headed out to find his brother.

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Dean's hand shook as he stretched to reach the next handhold. The sun was not yet shining into the confines of what he decided was an old well. Although there was not any direct sunlight beating down on him, it was already very warm and Dean wiped sweat off his forehead onto his shoulder. Rocks gave way under his foot and Dean hastily grabbed for the exposed root above him. His fingers grazed the dry tuber, but his foot slid further off its perch and Dean's damp hand could not maintain its grip.

Sliding down the side of the well, Dean frantically searched for any protruding object to latch onto. With a resounding thud he landed back on the ground, his ankle popping and a smaller thud as his bottom hit moments later. Dean wheezed; no breath to spare even for a curse. He panted shallowly and squinted as the sun crested over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head on bent knees in frustration.

He was not sure how long he stayed in that cramped position, but the sun beating on his head encouraged him to move. He eased himself up very slowly and stood carefully on the ankle he had turned. It was sore, but not broken. Things were looking up. Favoring his left ankle, Dean hobbled to the edge of the well. Winded from the short trip, Dean bent forward, resting his hands on his legs trying to catch his breath.

The sun continued to bake his head and back until he straightened. He looked closely at the wall-face in front of him. There were no longer any significant rocks in which to hoist him out of here. He had searched the other areas earlier and knew there was not any low enough to use. He slumped back down to the ground in defeat. "Sammy," he whispered.

Whether it was the heat or the concussion, Dean was losing the battle to stay awake yet again. He rested his head on his knees as it was more comfortable than bracing it against the hard wall. He felt the back of his head and discovered the large lump he was certain was the cause of the double vision, but he did not think it adequately explained the light-headed feeling that was continually worsening. It had to be the heat and the lack of water.

He fought against the pull of sleep because he needed to escape before nightfall. He was convinced the werewolves had returned for William before daybreak. Not to mention the ominous news from Farmer Gibbs that Sam had been hurt by the lycanthropes. He still clung stubbornly to the hope the man could not really know Sam and while he may have been calling to Dean it was in Sam's attempt to locate him, not because he was hurt. It appeared increasingly likely to Dean that he would not be able to free himself to help his brother and the loss of control over Sam's welfare had him wallowing in self-imposed, nearly debilitating guilt.

He blinked several times trying to stay awake, but in the end the heat and the head injury proved too much to overcome and he lost consciousness in the sun-baked bottom of the old well.

Dean watched Sammy from a partially hidden spot on the perimeter of the park. He had followed Sammy when his brother had wandered away from the playground area apparently ignoring the rule that he needed to stay by Dean at all times. Sammy crouched in the grass, gazing intently at something. Dean assumed he had found an interesting bug of some type. Sammy had recently become enamored with insects of all kinds.

Sammy looked up and scanned the playground. Dean could tell by the expression on Sammy's face that he was looking for him. To Sammy's credit he did not appear scared or upset not to have Dean in his immediate sight, but with the increasing frequency of the glances Dean knew he was searching for him more urgently.

He decided to end the game. Dean had only been trying to teach Sammy the importance of obeying dad and staying near him, but he did not want to scare him. "Hey, Sammy," Dean called stepping out into full view. "What do you have there?"

Sammy looked up, relief clearly evident on his face. "It's a praying mantis," Sammy replied with a smile, the gap from his two missing front teeth showing. "He's a hunter too."

Dean returned Sam's smile and bent down to look at the praying mantis. After a beat he cautioned, "You know, you were supposed to stay by me on the playground."

"I know," Sam replied ashamedly. "I'm sorry." He looked up at Dean, his hazel eyes conveying his sincerity. "I wasn't afraid though."

"It's not really about you being afraid. It is about you being safe," Dean lectured. He put an arm around Sammy's shoulders.

"I was safe," Sammy insisted. When Dean opened his mouth to contradict him, Sammy added, "I knew you were here watching me somewhere. You always are."

As much as Dean wanted to push his point, that Sammy needed to learn to obey the rules, the big brother part of him swelled in pride at his independence and his faith in Dean. "And I always will be."

Sammy laughed and wriggled out of Dean's embrace. He ran a few feet away and turned around to face his brother. "N'yah, n'yah, you can't catch me."

Dean rolled his eyes. His little brother never tired of this game and the reason eluded Dean. There had never been a time he had failed to catch Sammy. When Dean sprang to his feet and gave chase, Sammy squealed and almost tripped over his own feet taking off. "Dean!" Sammy screamed in the high-pitched delight only small children could muster.

Dean was almost on him when he shouted again, "Dean!" Dean frowned. The voice was still Sammy, but the deep voice was incongruous with the child in front of him.

"Dean!"

"Dean!"

Dean's eyes flicked open. Sam's normal alto voice had dropped an octave, the way it did when he was upset or concerned. "Sam?!" Dean croaked in a dusty voice. He licked his lips and tasted the salt from dried sweat. He swallowed hard, but he lacked saliva to soothe his raw throat. "Sam?!" he tried again. There was no response and Dean thought for a moment he had imagined his brother calling him.

"Dean, thank God," Sam's voice came from directly overhead.

Dean looked up and tried to focus his swimming vision on Sam, but he could not make the colors stay in the lines no matter how hard he concentrated. The blurry vision was making him nauseous and he closed his eyes. He would wait for Sam for he could do nothing else. At least he knew now, the bastard had lied to him.

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Sam dropped the duffel next to a tree close to the pit. He snagged the canteen and slipped it over his shoulder. He then pulled out the length of rope and wrapped it around the tree. His sweat-dampened fingers slipped on the rope as he worked frantically to tie a tight reef knot. He hurried back to the edge of the deep hole uncoiling the rope as he went, concerned whether or not it would be long enough to reach Dean. He did not appear to be in any condition to climb out by himself.

He tossed the remaining coils into the well, taking care not to hit Dean. Sam lay on the ground, hung onto the rope and eased his legs over the edge. His fingers slipped as he struggled to control his rate of descent. Hands burning, he hit bottom with enough force to rattle his teeth.

Sam rushed over to Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dean?" he asked, gently shaking his shoulder. He could feel the heat radiating through Dean's shirt. Dean looked up at Sam, his head lolling to the side and Sam took in his appearance. His sunburned face was scarlet red and puffy, his lips were chapped and his pupils were unequal with a glassy finish. All in all, Dean looked a bit like a hotdog, left too long on the grill. Sam knelt down next to Dean. "Hey, big brother, let's get you out of here, okay?"

Awareness gleamed in Dean's eyes. "Sammy?" he asked, placing a hand over the one Sam had on his shoulder.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam replied, with a small smile.

Dean frowned. "You okay?"

Sam chuckled on the verge of hysterical relief. "I'm fine, Dean. You're the one who's hurt."

"M'fine. Gimme a minute," Dean slurred, struggling to stand.

"I could give you a hundred minutes," Sam stated bluntly. "And it wouldn't matter. You're hurt." Sam pushed down softly on Dean's shoulder encouraging him to remain seated. Dean scowled, but otherwise said nothing. Sam unscrewed the lid on the canteen, lifted it to Dean's lips and slowly tipped out the water. Dean drank in a sloppy, uncoordinated fashion, as if he had forgotten quite how to swallow. Sam lowered the canteen after giving Dean a few sips and screwed the lid back on. "That's it for now. I don't want to risk upsetting your stomach."

"Did that once already," Dean managed with a slight frown. "Didn't like it, hurt like a mother."

Sam threw Dean a concerned look. Dean admitting something hurt was tantamount to snow on the Gobi dunes. The dry, hot skin and the confusion were both indicative of heat exhaustion. He needed to get Dean out of this hole and into the shade quickly. "Do you think if I tied a makeshift harness you could hold the rope?"

Dean's scowl turned into a grimace. "Yes," he snapped, his frustrated retort made less potent by his swaying.

"Prove it," Sam challenged. He grabbed the end of the rope and held it in front of Dean. Dean made three attempts to latch onto it before Sam realized Dean was having vision problems. He helped Dean's fingers find the rope before he gave it a soft tug. He pulled it effortlessly out of Dean's grip. Well that's never going to work, he thought. Sam glanced around the dry well looking for a solution when he spotted Dean's discarded coat and an idea came to him.

It was nearly thirty minutes later before Sam had a strong, looped harness tied around Dean's backside and legs. He then fastened Dean's coat around Dean and the rope, diagonally over one shoulder and under the other in an odd type of sash. It was not a great solution, but it would keep Dean's upper body from dangling too far away from the rope and causing him to either smack into the wall or fall out of the harness.

"Dean?" Sam asked, trying to engage his brother in any meaningful way. Dean had been less responsive as time dragged on. Dean's eyes moved to Sam, but Sam could not honestly tell if Dean truly comprehended what he said. "I need to climb up the rope and that's going to jerk you around quite a bit." He hated the thought of causing Dean more pain, but he obviously could not trust Dean to secure himself in the harness after Sam climbed out.

Dean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, 'bitch,' and Sam cast him a puzzled look.

Sam tapped Dean on the shoulder and said, "Okay, I'm headed up now." He waited for a minute for some sign from Dean that he understood, but received none. Sam took a firm hold of the rope and started the arduous process of climbing hand over hand out of the well. The burns on his hands and the cut on his arm throbbed in syncopated rhythm, but Sam ignored them, his eyes set only on the goal of reaching the top.

Forced to dig his hands into the rough ground to continue to maintain his hold on the rope, Sam had more difficulty managing the final four pulls, but he was finally out far enough to swing his legs over the edge and back onto solid ground. Spinning around to look down at Dean, Sam paused to catch his breath and flexed his rope-burned fingers in anticipation of pulling Dean to safety.

Slowly, inexorably, Sam began to pull Dean to the surface. His arm muscles sang and his bruised ribs ached from the effort and as a silent reminder of his own injuries. Once Dean was in reach, Sam grabbed his collar and hefted him onto solid ground. Dean's eyes were closed and his head flopped to the side. Sam grasped Dean under the arms and dragged him bodily across the uneven ground to the sun dappled shade of the nearest large tree. "And you talk about me needing to cut back," Sam muttered, panting from exertion.

He untied Dean's coat from around the rope, folded it neatly and placed it under Dean's head. Sam untied Dean's boots and slid one off. The other grabbed at Dean's heel and Sam bent down to examine it further. Dean's ankle was swollen. Sam winced in sympathy, as he firmly pulled on the boot until it released the captive foot. Socks came off next, followed closely by both of Dean's shirts. Sam succeeded in getting Dean to drink a few sips of water while he had him in a sitting position. He lowered Dean carefully back to the ground and untied the harness.

He coiled the rope as he reeled it in and finished by untying it from the tree before stuffing it back in the duffel bag. Sam raised his hand and stared at his enemy: the sun. He estimated they had approximately two hours left of daylight. That was a good thing because as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon it would start to cool off quickly. However, it was also a bad thing as Dean would not be able to negotiate the difficult terrain and they would be stuck out here another night. In fact, Sam doubted Dean would be leaving here under his own steam any time soon. That left only one option in Sam's mind. He would have to build a travois and drag Dean back to the Impala.

Turning his attention back to Dean, Sam knelt on the dry, wild grasses next to his brother. Dean's skin was still red and hot. He toyed with the idea of using water from the canteen to cool Dean, but until they were able to get back to town this was all the water they had and it needed to be reserved for drinking. He examined Dean's chest and arms, but other than scratches and minor bruising he did not see any significant injuries. He bent Dean's left knee, placed a hand on his shoulder, rolled Dean towards him and shifted him into the recovery position.

He sat back on his haunches at the sight of Dean's back. Angry red blotches littered his back, his hair was crusted with dried blood and a large, spongy, purple bruise covered nearly his entire lower back. Using the peroxide from the medkit, Sam cleaned the wound on Dean's head. It was not terribly deep, but it was long and the bump on his head looked as if a golf ball lay housed just below the surface of his skin. Throughout his ministrations Dean did not move nor utter a sound. He began speaking to Dean in the hopes of eliciting a response.

"You managed to bang yourself up pretty well, Dean," Sam stated, cleaning one of the deeper scratches on his back. "But you seem to be losing your touch. I don't think that ankle is broken." Dean still did not move or emit a noise.

Sam squinted in the fading light at the ankle in question. "Although, who knows? You are getting older and I'm sure your bones are more fragile. I'm just glad you didn't break a hip," Sam quipped, using tweezers to remove small rocks from an abrasion on Dean's elbow. "And I see you've taken up rock collecting." Nothing, no response.

"I'm getting a little worried, Dean," Sam admitted, putting away the supplies in favor of securing the impromptu campsite. "I wish you'd wake up and say something."

"Don't be scared, Sammy," Dean mumbled, his words barely intelligible. "Dad'll be back soon."

"Dean?"

Dean's eyes opened to half mast and Dean winced. "Sam? Head hurts."

"You've got a big knot on the back of it, that's why," Sam replied, a smile cracking his face.

Dean looked at him hazily. "Where are we?"

"We're still in the woods and there's still one more werewolf out there," Sam replied honestly. "Hey, it's going to be dark soon. I need to gather some wood and build a fire. It won't deter a werewolf, but it might keep the animals away."

Dean blinked at Sam as if trying to figure out something important. "Hand me a gun," he stated finally.

"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean, you can't use a weapon right now."

"Can too," Dean replied petulantly, still struggling to keep open his heavily-lidded eyes.

"Can not," Sam stated with a tone of finality. He held up two fingers only a foot from Dean's face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

The heavy pause was broken by Dean's huff of annoyance. "Fine. No gun."

Amazed he had won that round, Sam stood up. "I'll stay in sight. Don't try to do anything."

Dean waved a hand at him and closed his eyes. Before Sam had picked up his first stick of wood, he heard light snoring. It took only minutes to find plenty of kindling for a fire, but the next problem was the dry grass. He could not start a fire in the open or it would burn the whole forest down. He deposited his pile of wood neatly on the ground, picked up a nearby rock and dug into the ground. It took nearly a half an hour to dig a hole wide enough and deep enough to contain a fire. He decided to line the circle with rocks for added protection.

A cool breeze blew through the trees as the sun kissed the horizon. He would only have enough light left to quickly gather a few rocks and get the fire started. Burdened with an armful of rocks, Sam kicked over one last stone for the fire pit and startled when the distinctive rattle of an angry snake reached his ears.

TBC

………..…………………………………………….Supernatural…………………………………………………………….

AN: This chapter was in danger of another day's delay (sorry it is late) because even after donating blood this morning, I decided to walk up Table Rock (1.5 miles up; 3 round-trip) after work during the heat of the day. I arrived home, exhausted, sweating and with enough salt around my lips to dip a margarita glass into. Rather than shower, I sat in my dining room, stinking up my house, typing away. Ew, it's time to rectify that situation before crawling into bed. The best part was, as I walked up the rock I thought, 'Hey, this is good research…walking around in the heat (95 today) with a little less blood. Now you know a bit about how it might feel.'

I think crazy is the word you are searching for. (c:

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