They aren't mine, too bad, huh.

Supernatural

Sam remembered many things-it was just something he could always do even as a little kid-but the one thing he remembered in almost perfect clarity was his essay to the Stanford admissions office. He had written a five page essay on how his brother was the greatest inspiration in his life. He wrote about how Dean was his hero. How his brother was always there for him even when he'd rather be doing something else. How his brother would sacrifice everything just to make Sam happy. He just wrote how proud he was to be Dean's brother. And he meant every word. Until stuff like this happened.

He should have known something was up with his brother; Dean would never let his mind wander unless something was definitely up. Like two bullet holes in his body. Sam had caught Dean before he hit the ground, lowering him to the forest floor. He sat next to his brother, checking him for injuries. It took all of five seconds to find the leg and side wounds.

He did quick first aid on the leg wound, using his belt as a tourniquet. There wasn't much he could do with the side wound, but at least the bleeding had slowed down. Dean was shivering, shock and fever clearly kicking in. Sam pulled off his tan jacket, wrapping it around Dean's shoulders, and hurriedly pushed himself to his feet. He had to get out of that forest and get Dean help. Even a makeshift surgery in their motel room was better than letting him bleed to death out in the woods.

Sam pulled his brother to his feet, throwing Dean's left arm over his shoulder. He wrapped his right arm around his brother's waist, nearly collapsing with the full 174 pounds of his brother leaning on him, and started trekking through the woods again.

He had been walking for the better part of seventy-five minutes, Dean in and out of consciousness the whole time, when Sam really started to get pissed. Pissed because Dean was a stubborn ass, pissed because they were stuck in the frigging woods, pissed because Nina was a bitch… just pissed.

"'Oh, Dean, I see you lost a hand. Are you okay?' 'Oh, don't worry, 'tis only a flesh wound.'" Sam rolled his eyes, unable to hide a smile. He highly doubted his brother would ever say the word 'tis. "Of course I never thought you'd read a book, but every time I see you at a bookstore you have your nose deep in a Koontz novel. Dean Koontz, honestly man. He's like a Stephen King wanna be."

Dean mumbled something unintelligible, and his head rested on Sam's shoulder. Sam was solely tempted to just throw his brother over his shoulder and carry him, but the moment Dean woke up-and he would because if anyone could drag themselves to consciousness when there was no way they should it's Dean-he'd bitch that he was fully capable of walking.

Sam's back was starting to hurt, his brother's weight getting to him, and he stopped next to a tree. He settled his brother against the bark, stretching to relieve his muscles. He crouched next to Dean, loosening the makeshift tourniquet so he didn't completely cut off the circulation to the leg, and checked over the side wound. Thankfully, and Sam was not about to blame it on luck because good luck avoided everyone with the name Winchester, the bleeding had stopped. Of course, Dean's jacket was going to need to be cleaned, again.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, hoping to find a stream close by. He was sixteen steps from his brother when he fell. He let loose a strangled scream, but managed to grab the edge of the hole before he fell any deeper.

He looked down, feeling his heart slam against his ribcage. There were several wooden spikes waiting for his body to land onto them, impaling him. He tried to pull himself out of the hole, but his sneakers kept slipping in the dirt.

"Dean," he called hoping his distressed voice would arouse his brother from unconsciousness. But there was no one to grab his arm, and his hands were slipping under the dirt.

"Dean," he tried again. "Come on Dean, wake up." He was slipping further, Death almost beckoning him. How could it end like this, he thought pessimism kicking in like an unwanted wart. I hunt demons, ghost, witches, shape shifters, pretty much anything that would give people nightmares and I am about to die by impalement. Fuck.

The dirt and grass slipped, his hands unable to hold on anymore, and down he went. He couldn't help thinking; I hope Dean finds a way out of the woods without me.

SUPERNATURAL

Jefferson unlocked the storage garage, stepping back before Bobby could push past him. The older hunter wanted to check out the Impala, look for anything Jefferson might have missed. The younger hunter wanted to say something; Bobby knew the look well, both Winchester boys giving it to him periodically. But Jefferson, like Dean, was never one to say anything to piss off an older hunter. Sam, on the other hand, wouldn't have kept silent. One reason why him and his father were always fighting. Another was that they were so much alike they were bound to butt heads.

Bobby opened the door, using the sunlight and the car light to see. Besides the keys, which were residing in Jefferson's pocket, everything was where it had been when Jefferson found the Impala. Bobby slid behind the wheel, the familiar smell of the car reminding him instantly of the Winchesters. Funny how a smell could trigger so many emotions, so many memories. Both boys learned to drive in this car, Dean had lost his virginity in the backseat, and once, after many, many, many shots of tequila, John had admitted to Bobby that not one, but both boys were conceived in that car.

Bobby came back to reality, picking Dean's necklace up from the ashtray, weighing it in his hands. He remembered when Sam asked for something to give to his dad, something that John would love. Bobby had handed Sam the necklace, telling him he just had it lying around and really didn't need it. The younger Winchester flashed him a big grin, thanked him, and headed out. It shocked Bobby when they showed up a few weeks after Christmas to see Dean, not John, wearing the amulet.

He replaced the necklace, picking up the ring. Bobby never asked what the ring symbolized, just knew that Dean had started wearing it recently. All through his teen years he never wore the thing, any accessory that wasn't necessary not needed. Bobby suspected a girl had given it to him, of course with as many flings as Dean had had it was impossible to pinpoint which one.

He put the ring back, too, deciding that dwelling on stupid things such as where Dean got his ring wasn't helping them find the boys faster. His eyes slid across the money clip sitting on the dash. Bobby remembered Sam telling him that Jessica had given him that on their one year anniversary. Sam, being so immersed in finals, forgot and hadn't gotten her anything. He was so guilty that he ended up calling Dean for advice only to hang up. He had told Bobby this in confidence and the older hunter never repeated it to Dean.

Of course, if Sam would have let the phone ring at all, Dean wouldn't have answered. The older Winchester had been badly hurt in a hunt, breaking his leg in six places after receiving a major concussion. He probably wouldn't have been coherent enough to help Sam, anyway.

Too many memories, Bobby thought trying to get back to the present. He leaned over, onto his side, and opened the glove compartment, searching for anything helpful. Except a cigar box full of fake IDs, a map, a pistol, a flashlight, spare keys to the Impala-Dean making a copy after Gordon Walker stole theirs during a vampire hunt-, and John's old phone Bobby found nothing helpful. He slammed the compartment, ready to sit up, when a manila envelope caught his eye.

"What," Jefferson asked clearly noticing Bobby's hesitation.

"This," Bobby said pulling the envelope out from under the passenger seat. He sat up, eyeing the thing suspiciously. It was thick, obviously full of pages and pages of information on something.

"Let's take it back to motel," Jefferson suggested and Bobby nodded in agreement.

The Impala was locked back up, the car looking very lonely without its overly possessive owner. Both hunters spared no second glance at the car's hiding place as they trekked back to Jefferson's dodge.

Bobby slipped into the passenger seat, studying the envelope closely. Whoever left it obviously wanted the thing to be found. Was it the Winchesters' abductor playing a game with the older hunters? If so, how the hell did he/she know that anyone would come looking for the Winchesters at all? Just who are we dealing with? Bobby's mind supplied as he weighed the envelope in his hands.

It took little, if any, time for Jefferson to pull into the motel's parking lot. Both guys got out, heading toward the motel. Bobby unlocked the door, having found the motel key on top of the television earlier that morning. He crossed the threshold first, settling at the table.

Jefferson shut the door, sitting across from Bobby. Both hunters exchanged a quick glance, each awaiting the other's okay to open the envelope. Slowly, Bobby flipped it over and peeled open the tabs. He opened the flap and looked inside.

The entire envelope was full of information on the Winchesters. Bobby pulled out countless documents. Their birth certificates, their criminal records, their mother's death certificate, Dean's death certificate-granted that was a fluke, seeing as he was not dead. The Winchester's entire life lay among the two hunters, everything out in the open like a dancer pushed on stage.

"Whoever we're dealing with really did their homework," Jefferson commented picking up a copy of Sam's school records.

"You don't say," Bobby muttered a sarcastic drawl to his voice. He skimmed through John's military records, wondering who would go through all the trouble.

"Who would be this interested…?" Jefferson was cut off by a knock at the door. Bobby stood up, scowling at the documents littering the table, and walked to the door. He looked through the eyehole, eyes falling upon a nervous, thirty-something hunter. His brown hair was sticking up in a way that even Dean Winchester couldn't imitate, his blue eyes were flicking back and forth looking for unseen assailants, and he was wringing his hands like he always did when he was kept waiting.

"Joshua," Bobby said, eyebrows raised, as he opened the door. He stepped back to allow Joshua to enter the room, and closed the door behind the even younger hunter.

Bobby knew for a fact that Joshua Michaels should never have become a hunter, but he was raised that way and that was the only lifestyle he knew. After thirty-one years of hunting, the thirty-seven year old had become the most paranoid hunter out there. He was convinced that everything was evil. That everyone wanted to kill him. It surprised Bobby every single day that he trusted their small knit group at all. Of course, if he wasn't Jefferson's little brother he wouldn't have trusted them in the least.

"Hey, Bobby. Jeff," Joshua said in his small, timid voice. He sat on the edge of the bed closest to the door, clasping his hands together and letting them sit in his lap. He was quiet for a moment, just staring at the floor. Then he said, "I have news."

"Yeah, we do, too," Jefferson said gesturing to all the papers on the table. Joshua took no notice, still staring at the floor.

"What news," Bobby said his voice more gruff than he wanted. He hated evasiveness, he was sure both Michaels' brothers knew that. Hell, he was sure everyone he came across knew that. The Winchesters found that out when they first met him.

"I think I know who has the Winchesters," Joshua said finding the pea green carpet the most interesting thing in the world.

"Who," both Jefferson and Bobby said simultaneously.

"Nina Horton," Joshua replied finally looking up at Bobby and his brother. "Nina Horton's got them." Both Bobby and Jeff exchanged a quick glance and said, "Who's that?"

SUPERNATURAL

Sam was sure he was dead, was sure he had been impaled by the wooden spears sitting at the bottom of the pit, but he wasn't. Something had grabbed his hand seconds before he could become yet another victim to the real Dracula's favorite form of torture.

His eyes snapped open and he glanced up to see Dean, face bunched up in pain and exertion, trying to pull him out of the hole. Sam started to climb, tightening his own grip on Dean's hand, as his brother started backing up. Sam knew the movement had to be putting his brother's wounds through hell, knew that pure adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going, and knew that he, in fact, would probably be carrying Dean through the woods again.

Inch by, frighteningly painful, inch Sam ended up back on the ground. He laid on his back, looking up at the blue sky, listening to Dean's labored breathing. Again, without thought of his own psychical pain, Dean had saved his life. Sam scrambled up, crawling over to his brother.

If Dean was pale before, it had nothing on what he looked like now. His side wound had begun bleeding again, the blood soaking his already bloody jacket and Sam's jacket also. Sam pressed down on the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding, but weak hands pushed his away.

"'m okay," a weak voice said and a pair of green, unfocused eyes, opened to look at Sam.

"Like hell you are," Sam snapped and pressed down on the wound again. There was a small hiss from Dean, but the older hunter didn't try to stop Sam, again. They sat like that for a while, just until the bleeding slowed to a weak drip, and finally Sam stood up.

He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans, surprised at how much they were shaking, and took a look around. He didn't want a repeat of the pit incident, and he really had to get Dean out of there, so he grabbed a fallen tree branch from the ground and began searching the immediate area.

After a moment or two of searching he had found three other traps like the one he had fallen into but no others. He threw the branch aside and headed back to Dean. His brother was on the edge between consciousness and unconsciousness. Knowing it probably wasn't safe for Dean to black out, not sure if his brother would wake up again-and that scared him just thinking about it-Sam pulled Dean up and said, "You think you can walk with some help?"

"Yeah," was the expected answer, albeit weaker than usual. Sam slung his brother's arm over his shoulder, put his own arm around Dean's waist, and the both of them continued walking. Sam doing more walking than Dean.

"Remember that time, when I was ten or eleven and you decided to pull that prank war," Sam muttered hoping that if Dean kept talking he would less likely pass out.

"Yeah, you glued my ass to the toilet seat," Dean replied sounding mildly amused. His head rested on Sam's shoulder, each exhaled breath tickling Sam's neck.

"And you put Nair in my shampoo. It was the first and last time Dad got his way and I cut my hair short."

"Because you had to. Your hair kept falling out in great globs."

"I actually thought I was going prematurely bald," Sam said trying to hold back a smile. He had hated his hair for that whole term of school, Krissy Douglas calling him a freak. He had a very misshapen head, looked ridiculous without hair.

"Sorry about that, by the way," Dean said quietly sagging into Sam even more, making the younger Winchester more and more nervous.

"How's about the time Dad had convinced you that he had sold the Impala," Sam said quickly hoping to get some kind of response from Dean. "Remember, you were fifteen, seven or eight days before your sixteenth birthday. You actually thought Dad would give you the Impala, get a new vehicle. When he pulled up in that truck, the Impala nowhere to be found, you were on the verge of tears."

"No I wasn't," Dean protested and Sam could almost see him pout.

"Oh really?" Sam said a small smile playing across his lips. "That was the first time I had ever seen you and Dad come even close to a fight. You were all like, 'What the hell, Old Man? You already sick of her?' and he's like, 'What the hell are you talking about.' And you very nearly whined…"

"I did not whine," Dean whined getting a bigger smile from Sam.

"You did, too. You whined, 'Where's the Impala? You didn't sell her, did you?'"

"And Dad was like, 'Quit bitching and get in the truck, Dean.' But he was smiling, one of those smiles he rarely wore." Sam could hear Dean's smile on his face, knew his brother was seeing the memory clearly. "He told me that the Impala would be kept at Jim's until I got my license."

"Which hasn't had your real name on it since you were eighteen," Sam muttered under his breath.

"I remember my first alias," Dean said sounding almost fond of the memory. "I was David Lee Roth. That was great. Dad even let me pretend I was twenty-one. Was only ever carded once…"

"Really? Because that store clerk, a few weeks back, carded you. She must have thought you were a good for nothing teenager."

"I didn't think you saw that," Dean said sounding slightly embarrassed. He was still leaning into Sam more than the younger Winchester would have liked, but at least he was managing to move on his own. Even if he was stumbling over his own feet.

"Oh, I saw it," Sam said smiling.

"Well, she was like ninety so it doesn't count. Everyone looks like a teenager to her eyes," Dean defended himself. He always prided himself on looking older than he was. Sam understood that when Dean was sixteen and capable of getting a beer without-most of the time-getting carded. But now, when he was closer to thirty than twenty, he really was baffled. I will never fully understand you, Dean.

Sam checked his watch, realizing they had been in the woods for a good six hours. Six hours and still they weren't any closer to finding a way out. That was just depressing. They were supposed to be good trackers-Dean better than Sam by far-why was it taking forever to get out.

"That's just it, Sammy," Dean's voice cut into the younger Winchester's thoughts. "It's because I'm not helping." Sam wasn't even aware he had spoken out loud. So much for paying attention, Sam thought now knowing exactly how he had fallen in that hole.

"Well, these woods can't be that vast. We've got to be close to the exit," Sam commented looking around for any sign of a road.

"Do you honestly think Nina would have been that nice? You know, dropping us a few miles from the exit? She's insane."

"Yeah, maybe you're…" Sam cut off, a sharp pain erupting through his arm. He turned his head, glancing at his shoulder, spotting a knife protruding from his back. Shit, he thought as a few more blades flew at them. Before Sam could run he felt his brother sag completely into him, doing the one thing Sam tried to prevent. Mega shit, he thought knowing he was royally fucked.