They went to bed about two am.

Sam couldn't sleep. He tried, he really did, but the bed was suddenly the most uncomfortable thing ever, and his legs were restless. Sleeping in the Impala was an option, except for the chill in the air. He never understood how the temperature could be so high in the daytime, and cold at night. He could just see the shadowy figure of his brother laying on his side, facing him. No details, just the hump of a shoulder curved in. Sam wondered if he was cold, and seeking warmth. He reached out and touched Dean's arm.

Dean jerked. "F' the love of god, Sam," he drawled out sleepily, "wh' now?"

"Sorry." Sam pulled his hand back. "Thought you were asleep."

"Tryin'. Your damn twitchin' ain't helpin'." His speech was slurred with fatigue.

"Sorry," Sam once again offered. He paused. "You nervous?"

"M' sleepy. Shut up."

"You're not nervous about this?"

Dean sat up with a huff. "Dude," he said, much more awake now, "I don't even know what this is, how the hell can I be nervous about it?" He jerked over to his side, facing away from his brother, and took the blanket with him.

Sam grabbed the blanket in his fist and yanked. Dean sat up, bare-chested. "Oh. I will so do you an injury."

"Answer my question."

"Gimme the blanket."

"Answer my question!"

"Give me the blanket!"

"Answer my question!"

"I did already!" Dean yanked back, only to have the motion stopped by Sam's counter. "You're such a child! I'm cold, give it back!"

"You should've put on a shirt!" Sam hissed.

"I have one clean shirt left, you moron!" He jerked. "Now give it up!"

"No! I'm cold too, and I'm tired of you hogging it!"

Dean gave a hard yank, toppling Sam over onto his side. He shoved at Dean, pulled on the blanket, and the two of the scuffled fruitlessly until a banging on the wall stopped them.

"Do I have to separate you two? Damn it, it's hard enough for an old man to sleep around here!" Grampa was pissed. His demand was followed by a young voice calling for Daddy, raised in question.

The boys froze with Dean stuck in Sam's headlock, and Sam pinned underneath Dean's body. "Sorry," Dean croaked softly. They quickly - and quietly - untangled themselves. Now fully awake, the best thing to do seemed to be to just get up.

Quietly.

Damned quietly.

The night air was still. Dean led the way, heading down the road in the same direction he'd jogged the morning before. Sam walked right beside him, his bare feet shuffling alongside Dean's. Dean remained shirtless. They'd walked out in a hurry, in case Grampa carried a big stick with this temper. Sam had grabbed Dean's overshirt as they headed out, and he passed it to his brother without a word. Dean mumbled, "Thanks" and slid it over his arms, leaving it unbuttoned.

Sam grunted in response, then gave a snort of laughter.

Dean spared him a glance. Sam could see the corner of his mouth working. Then his shoulders hunched over and he sputtered, and it was all Sam needed to join him.

Their laughter was certainly heard back at the house.

They caught their breath and walked on, shaking their heads and chuckling. "Oh, that was classic," Dean said finally. "That was sweet. Poor 'ole Gramps."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "And I had you, too."

Dean's brows raised. "Oh yeah? Care to test your mistaken theory, Sasquatch?" He stopped and bounced on his toes, loosening his arms, adrenaline obviously running.

"No, wait, not now, Dean. Dean, wait! Be still." Sam's hand was out, his eyes fixed to something on the road.

Dean followed his gaze, and froze. "I don't believe it. Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"I think it's okay, I don't think it'll. . ."

"It won't."

Sam shifted ever so slightly, his eyes glued to the snake. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"I am. I've seen it before." Dean was watching it out of the corner of his eye, his body frozen. "But keep still."

"When did you see it?"

"Yesterday morning. Sammy, don't move!"

Sam's taller body was automatically given to motion. He tapped pencils, bounced his knee, flipped through pages as though he were ripping them. Telling him to stay still was like telling a waterfall it had to go against nature and flow up the mountain. He couldn't stay still on that mattress, and staying still was hard as hell now.

"Does it remind you of something?" Dean asked as it hissed at them.

"No."

"What about that story the kid told Grampa? About his dream?"

"Coincidence. He probably just saw this snake and dreamt about it. Bet they're common around here."

"I don't know. Yesterday it was watching me."

"Dean, I . . ."

"Dammit, I said don't move!"

Sam swallowed. "I think it just looked like it was watching you." He wasn't going to admit that it kept swinging its head towards his brother.

"Yeah, well, maybe." Again, the sun burst over the horizon, causing the brothers to throw their hands over their faces. And again, the snake disappeared in the light.

Dean turned and looked pointedly at his brother. "Care to explain that at all?"

Sam just stared. "No. Not really."

"Thought not. We should get back. I bet Summer Rain is getting up, and you know what she said yesterday about breakfast."

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly. But his stomach was suddenly knotted with anxiety, and breakfast was the last thing he wanted.

**********************

This time they drove out much, much farther. The kids were safe at the neighbors house, where they were to spend the night. Summer Rain had caught her bus, and the men were left to their own devices.

It seemed someone took every boulder known to man and dumped it on the road. Dean oofed and grunted as he bounced in the bed of the pickup, and Sam didn't seem to be having a better time. "Dude. Get off the freakin' tire well and get in the truck. We're not coming back for your stupid ass. You fall out, you're coyote food."

"I'm fin-fine, Dean." But the last bounce jarred him, and Sam half-fell to the bed of the truck. Dean took his arm and pulled him back against the cab.

"This -mmph- this better be worth it." Dean groused.

"They'll think so. I'm sure we'll be thanked." Sam flailed as they hit a large bump, sending his head pounding back against the glass. "Fuck!"

Dean grabbed his shoulder, hearing Toby's faint "You okay back there?" through the window.

"Yeah, peachy!" Dean shouted back angrily, but he noticed the truck slowed. He released his grip on Sam as his brother rubbed the back of his head. "Freakin' snake."

"What?"

"This is all that snake's fault. I know it is."

"Dean, sometimes a snake's just a snake."

"Don't go all Freud on me. You saw it vanish. And you didn't care to explain it, now did you?"

"Trick of the light."

"Yeah, I thought so too. The first time it happened."

"So, it's residual energy."

Dean gave Sam an incredulous look. "You're saying a snake is pulling a Woman in White and haunting the road where it was killed? Maybe looking for it's baby snakes down by the river?"

"Fine. A mirage, then."

"In the dirt?"

"I don't know, Dean, okay?"

"Then stop pretending like you do. Son of a bitch, are we freakin' there yet?"

They bumped onto a paved road, traveled ten minutes in smooth, peaceful, ass-pacifying bliss, then turned onto another dirt road, but a much smoother one. Twenty minutes later, they were parked in front of a small hut.

The driver and his passenger climbed out. Sam stood awkwardly, but Dean just shifted and leaned to look around the cab of the truck. "What's this?"

"Sweat lodge," Toby said.

Dean blinked and vaulted himself over the edge. "Whoa. Are you serious? You think this heat isn't enough?"

"You're right. We won't be in long. Too dangerous."

"Yeah, you think?" The heat was making him crabby. Had the heat always made him this tense? He couldn't remember.

Toby ignored the retort. "The fire shouldn't take long to start back up, it was in use a short time ago. Take off your shirts and pants. Underwear. Put this on." He reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out two pairs of black shorts.

Dean looked at the clothing in disgust, and waved it up at Sam. "Oh. Well. This shouldn't make me feel uncomfortable at all."

"Just do it, Dean," Sam said as Toby walked away. He jerked the laces from his boots. "At least there's no one out here to see us change."

"Don't put your insecurities on me. I guess they're changing in there?"

"I just hope they're wearing shorts."

Dean sputtered at the image of the old man not wearing shorts. "Sam! Warn a guy!"

"Suck it up. Get your clothes off."

"You and your fucking indecent proposals." But he unlaced and removed his boots quickly, and pulled down his jeans. Socks followed (which admittedly felt good), then his shirt. He glanced around, and quickly yanked off his underwear, replacing it with the shorts. "Man, I hope these aren't used."

"Dean! Come on, dude!"

"Yeah." He straightened, and swayed. Felt Sam steady him.

"You okay?"

"Head rush. I'm fine, Sam."

"It's the heat."

"What's with everyone's gift of stating the obvious, lately? You ready?" He glanced at his brother. His mouth twitched. "You do the whole basketball length better than those micro-minis."

"Since when did you become a fashion guru?"

"Just sayin'."

"At least I don't walk like I've got a rash!" Sam called over his shoulder.

"Stork-ass-freak!" He walked into the lodge behind Sam. "Holy – SHIT!" He quickly backed out.

"It's not ready," an old voice called from within.

"Not ready? You waiting for the boiling point?" Dean yelled back. "Christ!"

Sam walked out, coughing. "I can't believe we have to go in there."

"I can't believe I've been in worse." Dean stuck his head in once more. "How long then?"

"You can come on in. Wouldn't hurt to get acclimated." Toby's voice overrode his grandfather's comment.

Dean walked in, waving at the heat, pushing a path through to his seat on the bench. "I've been in saunas before, but man. This is off the hook."

Toby looked around, his lower body wrapped in a white towel. "It's warm. Been warmer. Told Gramps that you weren't used to a sweat lodge like we are, and to back off the steam." Grampa grunted an affirmative and walked out, bending through the doorway.

"And he did?"

"Hell, no. I believe his current new phrase is 'honky-pansy'."

"Good ole Grampa. Out to kill the people trying to save his ass. Typical" Dean was already wiping his face. He winced and sat on the wooden bench, hoping to god it had been sanded recently. He shifted cautiously to make sure, and eyed Sam, who was already flushing. "You okay there, Sammy?"

"You're not gonna make this into a contest of who can stay the longest without puking, are you?" he asked with a heavy swallow.

Dean smiled sympathetically. "Wouldn't dream of it." Not this time, anyway.

"Good. Cause I think I might."

"Close your eyes. Breath deeply," Toby instructed. "This is merely a purification rite."

"Where'd Grampa go?" Sam asked, eyes closed, sweat running in small streams down his face.

"Making preparations for your journey."

"You're sounding more and more like you know what's going on," Dean said, almost accusingly.

"He's filled me in. And to be honest, I think he's nuts, but we'll see."

"That's supposed to make me feel better about things?"

"Close your eyes, and your mouth."

Dean did as he was told.

***********************

They staggered out fifteen minutes later, fifteen minutes that seemed like an eternity. "Never thought this air could feel so good," Sam said lazily.

"Mmm," was all Dean could manage. He sluggishly raised his hand to wipe at his face, an action performed more times in the past few minutes than in his entire life. He flicked away the sweat as he felt his body being steered to an area behind the hut.

"Quickly, before the effect wears off," Toby said, grabbing Sam by the arm. "The transition will be easier."

"Transition to what?" Dean asked groggily, and not a little annoyed.

"You'll see."

"Okay, wait a damn minute." Dean jerked away. "I want answers. I want to know what's going on. I want to know what that smoke is and why everything is spinning."

Sam had already fallen to his knees, and was raised with the help of Grampa. He and Dean were lead to tent and shoved inside the flap. Layers of blankets covered the ground. It felt nice, and the brothers let themselves collapse onto it.

Toby came behind them and carefully arranged their bodies so that they were on their backs. In a nearly drugged state, Dean could only blink at him. The air filled with a sweet scent, pulling him under. "Dean?" he heard Sam ask.

"'M here. N't goin' nowh're." He reached out and managed to set his hand on top of Sam's. "Whuss hapnin," he tried to ask.

"Relax," Toby soothed. "We'll watch over you."

He couldn't feel anything. His eyes were heavy, his breathing slowing. "Whss Smmm?"

Grampa leaned over him. "He is beside you. You're going together. Be at peace. Take care of yourselves, of your bodies. What happens to you there, can happen here. Remember that."

"Wh're goin'?" Dean managed to ask, his brows drawing together, his anxiety growing.

"A hunting ground, called the Shadowlands."

Dean opened his mouth. "Huh. hunting. . ."

Then everything was gone.

******************************

The trees were whispering to him. They surrounded him, lush and full, laughing down from their great height. The sound grew as a wave of air crashed against the leaves, then settled. He felt calm, cool, sleepy. Prickly. Must be the grass. It was poking at his cheek, but he couldn't make himself sit up, couldn't even open his leaden eyes. Didn't want to, not with the trees laughing down at him, with the wind caressing the bare skin on his back, his legs, his ass.

His ass?

Dean's eyes twitched, suddenly aware that something was very wrong with that sensation. His body was lead. He tried raising a finger but couldn't be certain it was there. He realized his mouth was dry, painfully so, and his throat stuck together like a joining of both sides of the Sahara. His comfort ebbed into confusion, then panic. He couldn't move. The trees were laughing at his bare ass, and he couldn't move to cover it.

It took a monumental effort, but he managed to open his eyes. Blink. See a sideways face peering down at him, obsidian eyes in an amber face, longer hair flopping to the side. A face that reminded him of something, of waking with another face looking down at him, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't remember anything. He blinked again, more easily, squinting upwards, trying to push himself up on his hands, but his body gave out and he fell back onto his chest. He realized the sound he was hearing wasn't that of the trees, but of childish giggling. He tried again, to rise, this time quickly to outwit his sluggishness, and heard them scatter in fright, crashing through the brush. He blinked again, and managed this time to keep his eyes open.

Everything was green.

Everything was green. There was an odd, big-leaf plant right in front of his nose, almost touching it, and he could smell the greenness of it as though he had broken the leaf and sniffed the chlorophyll. Multi-shades of green, from the deepest, almost-black to the most vivid neon that bordered on yellow. Dark trunks of trees sliced through the growth in straight lines. He felt mulch underneath his body, and it stuck to him as he managed to push himself back on his heels, slightly slumped, his hands still braced on the ground. His head fought to clear itself. He was breathing easily, which was a good sign. Memory tugged at him, of a tent, and a body beside his own. Blinking more rapidly, he tried to grab the memory and force the recall, but his brain felt numb. Instead he pushed himself to stand on bare feet, shakily, feeling a small rock puncture his arch. He cursed and raised his foot, pulling the tiny stone from his sole, seeing a dot of blood well up before he lost his balance and stumbled to the side. If this was a dream, it was a damned realistic one.

He braced his hand against a tree while looking around. Didn't recognize a damn thing. Took several steps back. Heard the babble of a creek behind him. Water?

Oh, thank god.

Nothing meant anything, only refreshing wet. He craved that sound, and what it meant more than anything in his entire life. He crashed through the brush, ignoring the slices and stings as twigs from bushes slapped at his skin. He tore apart the natural obstacles, ripping his own path through to the creek that curved just below him. He slumped on the shallow bank, then fell to his chest, cupped his hands, and drank as much of the clear water as he possibly could, as quickly as he could. As it coursed through his system, his mind cleared. He drank and drank until he could hold no more, until his arms were burning from the repetitive motion of scooping up the liquid. He lay there on his stomach, arms limp over the side of the bank. Wondered what Sam was doing.

Sam?

Sam.

Oh shit!

He twisted and launched himself back over the path he had created, cursing himself. Where was his brother? Where the hell was Sam? He choked on the name, coughed, and tried again. "Sam? Sammy?" His voice sounded foreign to him, rough and unnatural. He found his way back to where he had been laying, and stopped, bent over, hands on his knees, cursing the fact that he had to catch his breath in the first place. Frantic eyes scoured the area, and finally landed on a still form, upturned, half hidden by the large-leaf plant he'd noticed earlier.

He was beside his brother in three rapid strides. Put a hand on his chest. Heart beat strong. Good. He patted Sam's cheek. "Sam, wake up. Something's wrong. Come on. Dammit, wake up!" He gave Sam a good hard slap and jumped back as Sam gasped, his eyes flying open, his body jolting upwards, nearly colliding with Dean's head.

"Whoa! Easy, easy!" Dean grabbed his arms and steadied him, making sure Sam knew who he was before he let go. "It's okay. You with me?"

"Ah, god. Yeah." Sam winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The hell you hit me for?"

"I was waking you up, asshole. I've said before that you sleep like the dead. No, don't get up, not yet. Sit still a moment, huh? Sam!" Dean had no choice but to follow Sam to his feet as he took in their surroundings, in shock.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. You know, I don't think we're in . . ."

Sam just raised a finger. "Don't say it," he croaked, then wavered, and caught himself.

Dean quickly braced him. "Told you not to get up so fast."

"What happened?"

"I don't know." He glanced down. "But I'm about ready to grab some fig leaves."

Sam frowned, then looked down. "Oh. OH." His head jerked up. He wavered again.

"There's a creek near here, let's get you hydrated."

"Yeah. Sounds good." Sam voice fell weak, and Dean steered his brother back down the makeshift path.

Dean sat and waited as Sam made his own attempt to drink the earth dry. When he finally sat back on his heels, Dean snorted. "Dude. Shift or something, huh? That's a view I never want to see again."

"You move, then," Sam muttered, and fell to his rear, pulling his long legs in front of him.

Dean let his head fall gently back against the tree, half concealed by the leaves of a large bush that grew beside it. He glanced off into the distance, and froze. "Sam?"

"What?"

Dean didn't budge. "We're being watched. Stand real slow, and walk over toward me."

Sam did as he was asked. "Who is it?"

"Some men that look real pissed. Stand in front of me." Dean muttered, and rose slowly under the cover of his brother's body. "Okay, you ready?"

"I guess."

"Get behind me when I say. Go!" And he shoved at his brother as the men in the forest gave a loud whoop, and crashed after them.

They ran as fast as they could, which wasn't great, considering they were bare everywhere. Branches, twigs, vines, everything tried to rip them apart, stab into them, block their path, decapitate them. Dean was better at dodging, but he couldn't keep up with Sam's long legs on this terrain. He felt himself sagging, falling back, and blamed his conditioning. Well, back from the dead and all. . .a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He cried out in surprise and found himself face-down in the dirt. With no clothing to protect him, it hurt like a mother. Forest debris cut into his chest and stomach, and a few other places. A foot planted itself onto his back, keeping him down. Something sharp stung his shoulder blade.

"Dean!" He heard Sam's yell, and knew telling his brother to keep running was useless, especially after seeing scads of bare feet running past him across the ground with little care. Moments later, Sam was marched back, two men holding his arms roughly. His chin was raised, his nostrils flared, and he looked at Dean's predicament in obvious anger.

But he was alive. They both were. So far.

"Okay," Dean practically croaked, raising his hands inches off the ground, trying to raise his head so he could crank his body around and look at the man holding him, "Look, we don't know how we got here, or even where we are, but we're not here to hurt you. Okay? See? Empty hands. No weapons. No clothes either, but looks like you guys are okay with that. I'll try not to read too much into it."

His babble ended when the foot pressed even harder into his back as his captor leaned his weight in. He could feel the toes curling into his flesh, felt the hard prick of broken skin underneath the weapon. He let his hands and head rest on the ground. Managed to cast his eyes to where Sam was, making sure his stupid little speech hadn't fucked things up and put his brother in danger. Oh, and the breathing thing? Better when there wasn't two hundred pounds standing on him.

"Please, listen to me," Sam was saying. "I know you probably can't understand us, but we're here because of a - someone named Eagle Eyes. Do you know him?" The men glared at him. "Simon Redhand?" he tried again. Nothing. "Then I don't guess you know how we got here."

Dean could see that he was trying not to lose it. The situation was weird, granted, but obviously they couldn't think if they lost their heads. More than obvious. "Easy, Sammy," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. The man over him pressed harder, if that was possible, and he grunted. Couldn't help it. Much more and his lungs would be pancakes.

"Just, let him up, okay?"

There was a heavy pause. The pressure increased again, until Dean thought the man would step through his ribs. He held his breath in a grimace, trying not to make a sound, but it didn't work. It hurt too much. He yelled out.

Lightning split the heated air in half. It forked towards a nearby tree, scarring it, shooting limbs from the trunk like shrapnel. One man cried out in pain as thunder immediately ate any further sound.

Dean was aware of the pressure suddenly vanishing, of being pulled to his feet, of terrified men backing away from them as another bolt brightened the sky. The thunder knocked their feet from under them.

His lungs filled with air. His whole body inflated with the sensation, making his head dance. Sam was right behind him, pulling at him, trying to run. Dean fought his vertigo and took advantage of the moment to grab two bags that had fallen nearby, then scrambled to his feet, shoving his brother ahead of him. They tore off into the woods, knowing full well that was not where they wanted to be in a storm, but what other choice was there? Dean kept pushing Sam along, yelling at him to get a move on while trying to save his breath. They started uphill, and found large boulders sunk into the ground. "Climb!"

Sam did, without a word. Dean slung the packs over his shoulder and followed as the rain dumped on them in a monsoon. The moss-covered rocks grew slick. Sam hissed as his bare foot slipped, his knees slamming onto a jutted edge, his hand landing in a small pool of rainwater. Dean braced his back and pushed, giving Sam the leverage needed to move. A moment later, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and pointed to where two rocks created a natural lean-to leading to a shallow cave. They dove under cover.

Dean collapsed against the far end, his head thrown back, gasping. He looked down his nose at his brother, who had curled in on himself, holding his knee in pain. "Sam?" Dean crawled over ad pried away his fingers. "Lemme see."

"S'okay, just hurts like a bitch," Sam gritted.

"Funnybone's got nothing on a kneecap, huh? Let me look at it." Sam angled himself from his half-laying position and dug his heel into the earth, knee bent. His face was drawn with pain. His knee was a bloodied mess underneath a large, loose flap of skin.

"Crap," Dean hissed. "Sure you didn't leave the bone behind down there?"

"Think I tried to," Sam panted, wincing. He pushed more upright.

Dean glanced around. His eyes fell on the two bags he'd snatched as they made their escape. He pulled on closer to him. A little dried food, and a skin of water. He quickly checked the contents of the other, larger bag and found a small blanket and a shirt. Not enough to fill the bag. Must've dumped some contents from it while they ran. "Here." Dean grabbed the shirt and tore it into thing strips. "Not the best thing, but better than nothing." He poured a little of the water onto one of the strips and pressed it to Sam's knee, holding his brother's arm as he jerked and hissed. "Oh, come on, Francis. You got worse than this when you fell off your bike."

"That's cause you pushed me down the road, you idiot," Sam said, his teeth clenched.

"Well, how else were you gonna learn?"

"I almost got hit by a car!"

"And you learned to swerve, didn't you? Too bad you didn't remember where the brakes were."

"Ah! Dammit, Dean, take it easy!"

"Gotta clean it out."

"You're tearing it off! Christ!" Sam's head rolled back, his eyes wide.

It was pretty bad. Like ripped up, needed-to-be-sewn-back-down bad. "Pussy."

"Masochist!"

"Pulling out the big words, huh? Must really be hurting."

"Mm, God, shut the hell up." Sam fisted the dirt.

Dean wrapped the wound tightly, and gave Sam some water to drink. He pulled out the blanket, flapped it open, and spread it for the two of them to sit on. Shivered in the edge of the breeze as the air cooled in the rain. He sat shoulder to shoulder with Sam, feeling the same shiver go through him, and gazed out at the unfamiliar terrain. "Where the hell are we?" he muttered.

Sam was breathing heavily. "I don't know. What do you remember?"

"I – I don't know, there was this tent, and some smoke." He clenched his fists by his side. Dammit, none of this made sense.

"And Grampa."

Dean's head jerked towards his brother as the memory fully surfaced. "Gramps. That old bastard! He pulled his mojo on us, didn't he? Went all Shaman on our asses and dumped us here."

"I don't think he could have dumped us in a place like this."

"Yeah, well, I don't remember pulling out a flip phone and telling Scotty to beam me somewhere. This isn't the tent."

"I know."

"It's not the tent, Sam!"

"I know that!"

Dean pressed his lips together.

"Look, we'll figure this out," Sam soothed. "It's gotta be a part of the job. Let's just – I don't know." He looked down. "Let's get some clothes first, okay?"

"He sent us all the way out here, could've had the decency to send a pair of boxers with us at least. Those black ones. Can't believe I'd be glad to see those things."

"I know."

"That all you can say?"

"You want me to quote Ghost Busters at you?"

"What? You 'terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought'?" Dean glanced at Sam, then really looked at him. Of course Sam was scared. He was in this too, up to his neck.

Dean didn't know what to do. He stifled his own fear and patted Sam on his good knee. His brother gave a nod, his eyes cast downwards.

Together, they waited out the storm.

tbc...