A.N. Sorry for the delay, I've had an epic writer's block. I'm not too sure about this chapter, so any feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading and enjoy.

With sweetened talk of dreams and bliss and the deliciousness of Judders.

Even as he threw himself at the door Sam knew his efforts were futile. The heavy door didn't so much as quiver under the force of his weight. He was trapped. A ferocious rage erupted inside him at the sheer unfairness of it all.

"NO!" He threw himself at the door again and again; beat at it with his fists until his knuckles were bloody. It wasn't fair! Didn't they have enough crap to deal with? Dean was severely injured and now he'd been taken by who knows what and Sam was trapped here, beating up a door. His energy ran out and he sank to the floor, feeling too hopeless to even cry. Dean was probably dead. He was a stubborn son of a bitch but he was only human, he could only lose so much blood before his body called it quits.

He wasn't dead though. Not yet. Sam could tell. Call it denial, psychic crap or the simple brotherly bond between them but Sam knew that Dean was still alive. But he wouldn't be for much longer if Sam couldn't get to him soon.

He pushed himself to his feet. Why the hell couldn't he get out? If it was after Dean then was Sam stuck here to keep him from Dean? Or was Sam being protected by what had been protecting Dean? Was the other spirit still in here with him? He was suddenly grateful that Dean wasn't here to see what he was about to do.

"Uh...Hello? Is anyone there? My name's Sam and my brother's been taken and I need to find him. So uh...if you could...open the door...? That'd be great." He cringed inwardly. Dean would never let him hear the end of this, talking to what was probably a figment of his brother's pain induced imagination.

"Great." He mumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

He was halfway down the aisle, to see if there was a window in the adjoining room he could wiggle out of when he heard a soft click behind him. The door was standing ajar. He didn't know why, maybe the bad mojo had worn off, maybe it was a trap, or maybe his awkward plea had been heard? To be honest he didn't care. He could get out and if he could get out he could get to Dean. He scrambled on the floor for his things; it would be a very bad idea to go out there without salt, guns and holy water.

Gingerly, Sam eased the door open wide and stepped out into the night. It was still snowing, thick flakes drifting softly to the ground, it could almost be peaceful were it not for the carnage surrounding him. Headstones were cracked and broken, the silent angels had been ripped from their posts, and were all now stood with their backs to him. As if whatever had taken Dean had not wanted to be seen by their eyes. This chilled Sam more than anything else.

A quick, mad thought flashed into his mind We are going to have to get the hell out of dodge before they find this mess! He almost giggled at that, feeling himself begin to crack under the pressure. He'd have thought that hysteria would be more Dean's department, but when Dean got stressed Dean got angry, when Sam got stressed he either found himself wallowing in despair or giggling like a hysterical schoolgirl. Truth be told it was probably one of the only situations when Dean felt like the more mature one.

There was definitely no time for that now though. Because at the centre of all the devastation was a path in the snow, one that was quickly being covered by fresh flakes but it was a path that looked like something had been dragged along it. Something man shaped and bleeding. It dawned on Sam that apart from the angels, the rest of the graveyard looked as if a powerful force that stormed along that path had forced the headstones and markers away. Sam shuddered at the thought that it now had his brother.

He didn't have time to waste. He took off at a jog down the path, through the gate that was now hanging off its hinges and started striding through the thick snow. He was grateful for the fact that it gave him an actual course to follow but it was so thick that it was going to make it so much harder to catch up to Dean. As he reached the tree line he paused and looked back towards the church. Silhouetted in the doorway against the dull golden glow from inside, stood a solitary man, head bowed as if in prayer.

Xxx

It was safe to say that Dean Winchester was having a seriously crappy day. First he'd been mauled by a damn yeti! Then he'd frozen his ass off in the damn snow! Then he'd been haunted by a freaking creepy ghost! And now he was being dragged by his ankles through the damn snow again by something that for some reason scared the crap out of him and that he couldn't quite see.

This wasn't how snow was supposed to work. Right now Sam should be bitching at him for trying to engage him in a snowball fight, and without being smug; he really did make a fine snow phallus.

But instead, all the clothes that Sam had bundled him into were now soaking and had ridden up so there was nothing between the sensitive skin on his back and the frigid snow.

He was definitely still bleeding, he could feel the wounds tugging as he was dragged out of the church to find himself once again on his back in the snow.

Yep. Seriously crappy day.

On the plus side, his adrenaline seemed to have picked up a little. Dean wriggled himself onto his front which was no easy feat. He realised his mistake when the movement caused pain to spike through his stomach. He tried to ignore the friction on his injuries and instead uselessly scrambled for purchase with already numb fingers. He couldn't grab hold of anything, couldn't slow his progress. Whatever was dragging him didn't seem in too much of a hurry but he was still moving fast, the trees quickly came into his vision and disappeared just as quickly as they were replaced by new ones. The motion made Dean feel dizzy and sick. He tried kicking out at the thing dragging him, but from the lack of reaction he doubted it'd even noticed.

He was really beginning to think that he wouldn't make it out of this one. He couldn't tell how long they'd been moving like this, it could be two minutes, it could be ten, it could be two hours for all he knew.

He was squirming around desperately; fear and instinct making his body kick out, grab hold, get away. But his movements were sluggish, cold and blood loss disorienting him, his body wasn't paying attention to the way his mind was screaming at him to GET AWAY! YOU HAVE TO GET AWAY!

But nothing he did had any effect; he had almost resigned himself to his no doubt grizzly fate when he found himself hoisted into the air and then dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

He hit the ground with a bang. The air was knocked out of him and for a minute he could do nothing but lie there with his face in the snow while he tried to find the strength to push himself over. The pain in his midsection had intensified. He wondered if it was possible to be more screwed than he was right now. The odds were very much stacked against him.

Eventually he managed to curl a hand around his stomach, he assumed he could feel a wetness there, but he was just guessing, his hands were cold and numb, and even if he could feel anything, it could have been either blood or snow.

Keeping his hand safely tucked where it was, Dean eased himself over so he was lying on his back. Tentatively he opened his eyes. Please please please. No claws or teeth.

He was alone.

Lying among the trees, his face stung from the cold and where branches had clawed angrily at his skin. For a few minutes he just lay there, staring at the snow, shivering, clutching his stomach, his breath coming in rattles. Death rattle Dean. He wished that little voice in his head would shut the hell up for five freaking minutes. He cleared his throat as if to prove it wrong, and decided that was a very bad idea when renewed pain erupted across his middle.

It was silent. He couldn't hear anything besides his rasping breaths and occasional grunts of pain. The snow made everything quiet and peaceful. It took him a while to fully register that it was still snowing, thick, unrelenting flakes that were steadily turning him into a human snowman.

Groaning, he used his free hand to push himself into a sitting position. The simple movement caused him to become dizzy and he spent another few minutes sitting slumped in the snow, eyes squeezed shut, legs spread out, hand still clutched protectively to his stomach. For a while he just concentrated on breathing and staying awake.

Eventually he lifted his head and took in his surroundings. He had no idea how far he'd come, he didn't even know what direction he'd come, he'd gotten disoriented when he was tossed into the air and the snow was covering all the evidence fast. Speaking of snow, he pulled his legs out from where they were disappearing under a white blanket. Mmm blanket. Sleep. He shook his head to rid himself of the desire to just lie down and go to sleep. But he was so tired and so cold. If it was possible, his head felt even fuzzier than before. There was something niggling away, something about how he ended up there in the first place.

He was getting pretty fed up of the way he kept forgetting things today. Oh well, one thing at a time. He had to find Sam, it was an instinct etched so deeply into his being that it was the one thing he could keep hold of. Sam.

Groaning he pushed himself to his feet, legs trembling with both the cold and the effort the simple movement required. He shut his eyes through another wave of dizziness and nausea. His whole body felt heavy, his soaking jeans were like lead weights hindering his movements. He suddenly felt too claustrophobic in all the layers Sam had bundled him into, but didn't have the energy to take any off.

He glanced down and in the eerie glow the snow created he saw a disturbing patch of red smeared across the bandages. He quickly covered it with his hand again, what he couldn't see couldn't hurt him.

He turned slowly on the spot, trying to gauge the way he'd come. He found the place where the snow seemed slightly more disturbed and took a few steps through the trees. He was starting to think he should have stayed put and waited for Sam, when he spotted blood, he never thought he'd be so happy at the sight of his own blood. He probably should still wait for Sam, but if he was moving then there was less chance that he'd just lay down and die.

He was making agonisingly slow progress through the trees and the path he was following seemed to be getting fainter and fainter as he went, becoming more covered by the snow. His feet were uncoordinated and more than once he tripped over his own foot and it was a miracle that he managed to stay upright. He used his free hand to push against the trees to help his progress. It didn't help that he wasn't even on a proper path, he'd just been dragged through the trees and he kept tripping over roots and branches.

He knew that he should be trying to figure out why it had dragged him here and dumped him but it was taking all his energy just to keep moving. Let Sam figure it out. He tried not to think that Sam might be hurt as well, because if Sam was hurt then they were totally done for. But even if he was then Dean had to find him so he wouldn't be alone.

A rustling in the trees to his left had him jerking his head in that direction, freezing, listening. He stood for a couple of minutes just listening, but it was silent. He figured it was just a rabbit searching for its home.

It was a few minutes later, and he'd made hardly any progress when he heard it again. The sound of snow falling from a branch with a soft thud. He was making himself paranoid, it was normal, that's what snow did.

Still, he tried to hurry his pace, hopefully Sam was looking for him and if they both followed the trail then they'd find each other before too long.

He kept trying to convince himself that the noises he was hearing were all the normal noises of nature. The rustling in the bushes was just animals, the air on the back of his neck was just a light breeze, and the moving tree limbs were just down to the weight of the snow. All these things were perfectly plausible explanations. He was more than willing to believe that he was just being paranoid.

But there was no mistaking the hushed "Deeeeean." That was whispered from the darkness.

It wasn't his brother, there was a split second that he prayed it might be Sam, but he knew, knew that it wasn't Sam. The voice was mocking, taunting, barely a voice at all.

He paused only for a moment, then pushed on. He couldn't stop; if he stopped it would take him. He wanted to believe it was his imagination, but he knew it wasn't.

He tried to ignore the searing pain in his gut, the fear that was clawing at his chest.

"Deeeeeean." It was behind him this time, he glanced back. Was it his imagination or were those branches reaching out to him? The tree roots crawling up from under the snow to snake their way towards him.

Don't think about it. Just keep moving.

"Deeeeeean." He gasped and jerked away as he felt something brush against his neck. It wasn't really a voice at all; it was weird, like something whispered on the wind. He knew now why it had just dropped him; it was playing with him, like a cat will taunt a mouse before it pounces. He knew that he was playing right into this things sick game, but he couldn't help it, he was scared damn it.

"Deeeeeean." It was in front of him now; he could sense it lurking in the darkness. It could see him, he was sure of it; it had been watching his every move, biding its time. He was being hunted.

He thought he saw a flash of cold eyes shining in the shadows ahead, but they were gone too fast for him to be sure.

His best chance was to keep going and hope that Sam found him.

He couldn't see it but he could sense it, moving around him, its movements quick and delicate, despite this, he could feel the power radiating from the darkness. Dean didn't get scared very often, but right now he was very nearly crapping himself in fear, and wouldn't that be humiliating when his body was found. Although, weren't you supposed to poop yourself when a bear was nearby? Maybe this was the same kind of deal.

That's right Dean, keep thinking stupid thoughts, distract yourself from the freaking monster following you. The woods seemed to be coming alive around him, closing in on him. Soft rustling noises seemed to come from every side now. And as if he wasn't creeped out enough, a bird decided to start shrieking somewhere in the night.

Dean recoiled as a tree branch snagged at his sleeve, it was persistent, tangling itself further the more he struggled. He forced himself to take a deep breath and used uncooperative shaking fingers to free himself. The trees weren't out to get him, it was just his imagination.

Was it though? There was something strange in these woods, something that always danced just out of his line of vision.

"Deeeeeean."

Ignore it and keep moving. Just keep moving.

"Deeeeeean."

It was taking all he had not to totally freak out, he'd have run if he could, but he could barely get his legs to move as it was.

"Deeeeeean."

The world suddenly tilted to the side and he reached out to steady himself against a tree, he closed his eyes as he waited for it to pass. When he opened them again, he didn't feel quite so panicked. The world was still there, Sam was looking for him. Everything would be ok.

A soft breeze picked up as he walked, causing the branches ahead of him to curl up one by one, as if beckoning him forward. And he was powerless not to follow. Something wasimploring him forward, he could probably stop if he wanted but part of him didn't want to stop, it was as if a sudden urge had taken over him.

He felt like he was separating from his body, like his mind was floating off somewhere nice and warm. He was so cold, and he really wanted to be warm. An odd feeling of serenity and ecstasy washed over him. He found himself turning, wandering from the bloody path he'd forged, into a different kind of darkness. He wondered vaguely why he was doing this, but he felt that everything would be ok if he just followed the trees. They were all beckoning to him now, spindly branches curling and uncurling as he walked, normal trees didn't curl that much, but these did.

It was quite mesmerizing, watching them curl their way jerkily in and out, like one of those old monster movies.

Dean couldn't feel much of anything anymore. His arm had fallen from where he'd curled it round his stomach and it now hung loosely at his side. He couldn't feel the cold or the pain he knew he must be in. All he was aware of was the compelling urge to follow the trees. He wasn't in control anymore, he could tell. And that was ok, someone else was in control, someone else could sort everything out. All he had to do was let his legs take him forward.

It felt like he was melting into a dream, nothing was real, nothing had consequence or meaning. The world was distorted, sound was fading, his vision was blurring.

The last thing Dean Winchester was aware of was a small flicker of panic as he lost himself in a pair of steely cold eyes.

Xxx

Sam couldn't decide if the figure he'd seen in the doorway was comforting or downright disturbing. Part of him still wanted to believe it was a symptom of Dean's delirium, but if he'd seen something too, then he really wasn't sure what it meant.

Either way there was no time to dwell on it now, he could figure out what it was once Dean was drugged up, stitched up and tucked up in a nice warm bed.

He shivered against the frigid night air, it had just gone two am and the snow hadn't let up for a good couple of hours. It was frustratingly deep, hindering his progress. Sam was beyond freezing now, he had discovered the hard way that his boots weren't as waterproof as he'd hoped and he'd stopped being able to feel the cold ache in his toes a while ago. He was shaking like a leaf, down to only a thin t-shirt and flannel shirt to protect him against the cold. He kept telling himself that if Dean had more clothes on then he had a better chance, but the further he followed the trail into the woods, the more he began to fear that he'd be finding a body.

He was trying to push the most recent mental image his brain had forced upon him, (of finding Dean frozen solid and being forced to use him as a sled to get back to civilisation. Never mind that it wasn't exactly hilly terrain) when he heard crunching sound somewhere in the trees. Like a footstep.

He froze, eyes darting backwards and forwards in the darkness when he spotted movement. Ahead and to his right, a figure was moving. Stealthily, Sam moved forward, all too aware of any sound he made.

It wasn't hard to get closer; the figure was moving almost painfully slowly, they seemed to be swaying gently. They reminded Sam of the way sleepwalkers were depicted in cartoons, he half expected their arms to be stretched out ahead of them.

The figure plodded on, clearly unaware of Sam's presence. Finally he managed to sneak his way close enough to make out who he was following.

"Dean?" It came out as a whisper, Sam wasn't sure why, the whole situation seemed wrong. Then it hit him, Dean was alive!

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, and started forward. Dean made no indication that he'd heard his brother.

"DEAN!" Sam was jogging now, trying to run against the snow. Why the hell wasn't Dean answering him? He hit a patch of ice and went down, wincing as his knee hit the ground with a bang.

Sam pushed himself to his feet and followed his brother, something was wrong here. Dean continued on at that slow pace, but Sam didn't seem to be catching up with him, he kept getting tangled in branches that were reluctant to release him, stumbling on tree roots that seemed to come up from nowhere and he could swear that he kept getting turned around, finding himself hurrying away from Dean instead of to him, when some obstacle seemed to rear in front of him, causing him to change direction.

He knew that it was just his overstressed imagination though; exhaustion, panic and the darkness were playing tricks on him.

Sam growled in frustration as a fallen tree loomed in front of him, leaning at such an angle that he couldn't go over it or under it. Dean was only a few feet away now and Sam was damned if he was going to let him out of his sight again.

He darted through the trees, batting away branches and debris that got in his way. A particularly stubborn branch embedded a thorn deeply in the soft flesh of his wrist, he ripped it out, spun away and suddenly he was right in front of Dean.

They were on the same path; his brother was only a few feet away, walking slowly towards him. Sam rushed forward and clamped his hands down on his brother's arms.

"Dean! Thank God man! What happened? Are you ok?"

Dean didn't answer him, just continued to try and walk forward, forcing Sam to take steps backwards.

"Dean? Hey!" Sam clicked his fingers in front of Dean's face. Nothing. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Dean didn't even acknowledge Sam's presence, he just kept walking. His eyes were staring somewhere over Sam's shoulder and Sam had to check that there was nothing behind him. It was eerily similar to his earlier behaviour in the church.

Sam took a quick inventory; Dean was soaked and freezing but he wasn't shivering anymore which was definitely a bad sign. His pupils were blown, not registering anything. Sam glanced down to his abdomen, and lifted the soaking layers of clothing, in the ghostly light of the moon he saw that the bandages were stained a sickening pale red. His brother was covered in light cuts and scratches no doubt from his recent trip through the woods, dragged by something unseen.

Something that could still be out here, watching them even now.

Sam had to get his brother out of here, gently he tried to turn him back the way they'd come, but Dean had a surprising amount of strength and just kept moving. He tried using more and more force, tried lifting him up in an effort to carry him, but Dean just pushed him away, the only sign that he was aware on some level that Sam was even there.

Sam was debating the pros and cons of knocking his brother out cold and dragging him to safety when he heard something behind him.

It sounded like the wind was whispering his name. The skin on the back of his neck began to prickle. There was someone behind him now; he knew it, something that Dean was following in his trance. Cautiously he reached for his gun in his waistband. He spun round and only had a second to wonder how he'd managed to back right up into a tree before his momentum forced his head to make contact and he sank down into a thick blackness.

Tbc. I hope this chapter was alright, I wasn't too sure about it. Thank you for reading.