Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still getting nothing.

A/N: Well, here's the next part: Sam heads off to attempt a rescue. Or, heads in! Hope you like it.

Chapter Two

Sam turned his head

Sam turned his head. Dean was lying totally still on the other twin bed in the small room, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Not so much as a twitch in two days. Sam could feel the desperation building again, then his view was blocked by Missouri's considerable bulk. She was smiling gently at him and he realized she had seen his growing tenseness and had deliberately taken that position to keep Dean from his sight.

"Sam, one last time: are you sure you want to do this?"

He nodded. I'm not worried about the risk of being trapped, Missouri. There is something that scares me a little, though. When I left Stanford, I was so sure I knew everything about the family Winchester, especially my cocky, smart-ass, skirt-chasing, beer-swilling older brother, who had all the depth of a rain puddle. I was right about that last part, provided your rain puddle is the Pacific Ocean. I'm just starting to learn what I don't know about Dean and I'm more than a little scared what I'll find in there. But he said nothing.

She continued. "Good. I'll open a link between you and Dean and I'll keep it open. The 'doorway' will look like a bright light. If you succeed in getting Dean to come back out, just head for the light, go in and you'll wake up in your own body. Any questions?"

"Dean...do I bring him out with me?"

Missouri laughed. "I hope not, honey! Then you'll both end up inside your head and I'm not sure that's an improvement. That boy's already home: All he needs to do is bring the fortress down." She looked down at him. "Ready?"

Sam nodded again and Missouri patted his shoulder. "Just relax, close your eyes and let me do the work. And don't fight me, child!"

She began to talk to him, so low he had to strain to make out the words, and then he realized it was the wrong thing to do. It didn't matter what she said; it was only the rhythm and the soothing tones that counted. He relaxed, as she had instructed, closed his eyes and found himself drifting in a soothing darkness. Then he started moving in a specific direction, slowly at first then with increasing speed.

An instant later, he found himself face down on what appeared to be a forest floor. He pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed his bruised nose and aching head, spitting out a chunk of dirt that had worked its way into his mouth on impact. Remind me not to do this more than once a lifetime.

Getting to his feet, he dusted himself off and glanced behind him. There, as promised, was a ball of glowing light. The way out. He hoped it would be in sight no matter where he went.

Satisfied that the exit sign was lit, Sam got his first good look at his surroundings and his mouth dropped open. "Forest" seemed a totally inadequate way to describe the place where he stood. It was ancient of days, this vast, seemingly endless vista of mighty trees, their tops soared heavenward, lost in shadows and gloom. This was no Disney woodland. No cute rabbits or shy skunks or wide-eyed deer played amidst these giants.

This forest was primeval, raw, dangerous, a place "red in fang and claw." Life wasn't taken for granted here and carelessness was punished swiftly and permanently. But it was not dinosaurs that stalked the land, not here.

This place was haunted. The chill of a cemetery at midnight hung in the air and Sam knew the semi-darkness was normal here; no sunlight ever reached the ground. The howl in the distance was not wolves, not ordinary ones at least, but ones that ran only under the full moon. A stagnant pond sat a short distance away. Sam didn't even want to think about what might lie beneath the still, green surface.

Is this really the way Dean sees the universe? Sam shivered and was suddenly saddened by the thought that his brother, whom he had come to admire for managing to find some laughter in their bleak lives, truly—behind the façade—believed the world to be a place of darkness ruled by the things they had spent their lives hunting.

For all the times he'd snapped at Dean and given his brother grief over Dean's flirtatious ways, right now he wished that Dean's world looked more like a Toulouse-Lautrec painting than something out of the Necronomicon.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sam, but this is as good as it gets."

It was Dean's voice, behind him, and Sam whirled around, expecting to see his brother lounging carelessly against one of the great trees, smirking at him. Instead, he found himself nose to nose with a jaguar, which was lying majestically on a huge boulder Sam would swear hadn't been there when he'd looked at the spot before.

"Damn ground is damp and cold and I don't feel like lying on it," the jaguar said, as if reading Sam's mind. "My mind, my ground rules."

The jaguar stood up with a ripple of muscle and yawned, displaying an impressive array of fangs. "In case you're wondering, I'm here to guide you to the center."

"What?" Sam was totally flummoxed. "I thought you were locked away in your castle. And if you aren't, why am I here?"

"I am in there, Sam. Most of me, anyway. The part you're seeing now is the part that knows I'm trapped and wants out. Unfortunately, most of me doesn't feel the same way."

"Oh." Sam looked around. "Do I really need a guide?"

The jaguar gave him a wicked smile. The better to eat you with, my dear. Sam shook himself, smiling slightly. Not that he would ever pass for Little Red Riding Hood.

"Come on, Sammy. You have some idea by now what kind of a mess I am. There are traps here. I'm not letting just anyone march in." Jaguar-Dean leaped down from the boulder and stretched, then grinned at his younger brother. "Stay on the path; I've run across a lot of supernatural nasties in my life. You'll probably find at least one of everything somewhere in here."

They started off through the trees. A few minutes later, the narrow pathway they were on split into three directions. To Sam's right, the forest thinned out almost immediately and he could see grass and sunlight. He smiled and turned to head toward the warmth and light.

As soon as he stepped into the sunlight, the solid path beneath his feet shook and softened, and Sam found himself sinking. In an instant, the muck was almost waist-high and he was as stuck as one of the mammoths in the La Brea tar pits. At the same time, the light and grass disappeared and there was nothing as far as he could see but grayish-brown mud and small, brackish pools of water. He shivered: The air had turned icy and goose bumps were covered his arms.

There was a flash of movement to his right, accompanied by a snarl. Sam turned his head and froze: He was practically nose-to-nose with a Black Dog. It eyed him hungrily, almost smiling at its prey's predicament. It started toward him, but did not get more than a couple of feet before the jaguar, roaring furiously, slammed into the Dog. The combatants rolled back and forth, all growls and snarls, flashing fangs and claws.

The fight ended as abruptly as it had started. There was stillness and silence. Sam craned his head, staring at the intertwined forms, suddenly very afraid for his brother. "Dean?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

The jaguar shifted and climbed to his feet. Sam could see a where the Dog had ripped a chunk out of Jaguar-Dean's side, but even as he watched, the wound closed up and the blood disappeared. The big cat shook himself and stretched. Then he trotted over to where Sam stood, still held in the grip of the mud.

The jaguar smirked at him. "Hey, Kemo Sabe, there's no point in having a native guide if you're going to run off on your own. I told you there were traps." He waved one paw at the muck. "Designer quicksand."

Sam shook his head. "What's scary is that it sounds like something you would do!"

A thick branch appeared out of nowhere, lying at the jaguar's feet. The cat grabbed one end in his mouth and pushed the other end at Sam. Sam took hold and the jaguar began to back away, pulling Sam forward until Sam could feel solid ground beneath him again. He scrambled to his feet and hurried back into the forest. Glancing behind him, he saw once again the sunlight path and the fields of grass. The trap had been reset.

"Nasty, Dean," Sam said.

The jaguar laughed silently and padded on ahead. Sam followed, turning up his collar against the all-pervading chill. Nothing, though, could fend off the feeling of unease caused by the constant twilight and the shifting shadows.

Jaguar-Dean glided onto the leftmost path, which snaked around giant trunks in seemingly endless twists. After a while, Sam wondered if they'd doubled back on themselves, the way the path constantly looped and turned. He was about to ask if the jaguar really was there to guide him or just to keep him busy, when he thought he heard the sound of laughter. Very faint at first, but growing steadily louder as they walked.

As he rounded one especially long, sharp curve, Sam caught sight of something ahead and to the right. A glade, surrounded by majestic trees and bathed in a pure white light. He could see people in it, still too distant to make out. He moved closer, then stopped dead, stunned.

His father was there, as Sam had never seen him. Younger, happier, laughter on his face and on his lips, the haunted look gone from his eyes. He was on the ground, tussling with a tow-headed boy three months shy of his fifth birthday. Dean. The younger version of his brother was laughing riotously, his open face and un-shuttered eyes alight with happiness. After a few minutes of horseplay, John pulled Dean to him in a massive bear hug; Sam carefully avoided looking over at the Dean who was currently guiding him through the maze that was his brother's mind.

Sitting on a blanket next to her two roughhousing men was a beautiful, blonde woman, her head tilted back as she laughed at John and Dean. The streaming light caught her face and set it aglow. In her lap, she held an infant with a full head of darkish hair that already threatened the sheepdog look. From time to time, Mary Winchester reached down and smoothed the flyaway hair.

Sam's throat tightened and his eyes burned. Dean had created a shrine in his mind to what had once been and was now lost. Here, though, it would remain forever, perfect and pure.

The jaguar stared at the scene, then turned away. Sam thought he heard Jaguar-Dean murmur, "For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been.'"

Poetry from Dean Winchester. Just one more surprise from a brother Sam once foolishly thought he knew. Without looking back again at what he would never have, he followed the jaguar deeper into the forest.

A/N: Only two more chapters to go. How's it doing so far?