I have a terrible case of the nerves on this chapter. I do hope you like it.

The Walking Dead

Chapter 7

The leaves crunched loudly under Dean's feet. It seemed that no matter how quietly he tried to walk, the damn things gave him away. Stupid, traitorous, leaves. How could wet, damp dead things sound so crunchy?

I hate nature, he mentally groused, his eyes keenly sweeping the area, his ears sharp for any noise. He absently wondered again what Sam was hunting and why he'd track something so far off-road without any backup. Well, at least Dean assumed he was hunting alone, but as he had nothing more than unanswered calls and a towed car to go on, he really had no idea. Hell, there could be a whole bevy of hunters out here with his brother and Sam could, at this very moment, be partying it up with them in some weird ass freaky sneaky hunter hideaway, complete with slutty hunter groupies and beer. Lots and lots of beer. Probably be moonshine and everything.

Dean didn't actually believe that for one second, but it helped keep his mind off all the other more realistic reasons for his brother's incoherency and lack of response, the first aid kit a reassuring weight on his back. He just hoped he didn't have to use it.

It took Dean the better part of two hours to do the five mile trek. He was hot, tired and sweaty and appreciated the grey October chill as he slowed down and listened, hoping to hear something that would lead him to his brother.

The forest around him was quiet, there wasn't even a breeze to rustle the leaves on the tall trees and it unnerved him. Where are you, bro?

Something prickled at the back of his neck and Dean knew he was being watched.

Turning slowly, he lowered the duffle to the ground and pulled out a large knife with a serrated and curved edge. Crouching, he waited, his heart starting to pound in anticipation -

And then a small rabbit scattered cover and shot across the trail in front of him making Dean curse loudly and jump back. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, the hand holding the knife pressed firmly against his chest as he heaved hard to take in oxygen, the other hand reaching up to rub across his sweaty forehead. "Stalker bunny."

Shaking his head at his own jumpiness, Dean waited a few more moments just to be sure, in case good old Monty Python had been onto something in that Holy Grail movie with the murdering little rabbit, and then continued on. I could really use a Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch right about now, he mused.

The path in front of him suddenly diverted to the side and Dean frowned, his hazel green eyes narrowed as he visually followed a small landslide that both blocked the trail in front of him and pushed the rest of it down the side and into a deep gully.

Pursing his lips, Dean glanced behind him for a second and then looked back at the blockage. "Hmmm…" he mused noticing that the leaves that had been such a nuisance to him so far, didn't cover the debris the same way as the undisturbed part of the trail. "Something recent then," he decided already carefully moving to peer over the edge. He didn't believe in coincidences.

The landslide had cleared a dirt path through the foliage and towards a cluster of larger boulders at the bottom. It was hard to see very well but closer to the one of the larger rocks, something caught his attention. A hint of white against dark brown.

Dean frowned. It could be frost… It was late enough in the year for it, but –

Ah, what the hell...

Cupping his hands over his mouth, he yelled, "Sam? Sammy?"

His voice echoed around him.

Side stepping, Dean moved further down the enfacement, gravel skittered under his feet, his gaze focused on the white.

It looked like –

Oh. My. God.

"Sam," the word breathed out all the air in his lungs and then Dean was running, slipping and sliding towards the still form almost completely buried under trail and rock. "No!"

Falling by Sam, his knees smacking hard as he dropped the duffle bag and reached out with a shaking hand, Dean's eyes frantically scanned his brother. "Sam? Sammy?"

Warm fingers pressed against a cold throat.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean chanted then pressed harder, desperate. Tears burned, his chest felt too tight. Sam looked dead. "No!" he barked. This couldn't be it. Sam did not come back from hell to die like this. Moving his fingers a little lower, Dean tried again and almost sobbed when he felt the flutter, faint and thready but there.

Sam was alive but in serious trouble.

"Sam? Bro?" he tried to wake Sam. His hands twitched to give him a little shake but, without any idea of how badly his brother was injured, Dean settled for rubbing at the side of Sam's throat, just beneath the pulse point. "C'mon, man, wakey, wakey." Sam didn't even twitch. "Damnit, Sam. Don't do this – c'mon!"

The stillness settled heavy and churned new fear.

"Okay, buddy, just take it easy then, okay, Sammy? I'm gonna get you out of here… You're going to be just fine." Dean rambled as he fumbled out his cell phone to call for help. There was no way he was going to be able to get Sam out of here by himself. His brother needed more help than he could give him.

Quickly barking out the necessary information to the 9-1-1 operator, Dean waited for her assurance that help was on the way, rolled his eyes when she told him not to move his brother and then hung up.

Still kneeling next to his brother, Dean yanked off his coat. "Help's on the way, Sam, just hold on, okay?" Gently he lay it over Sam's exposed upper body careful not to jar the injured man. He had no idea how badly his brother was hurt. Except for one arm and shoulder, his neck, and head, Sam was completely covered in dirt and debris, having been shoved up against and under a large boulder.

Panic pounded Dean's heart and he was forced to close his eyes and take a couple of deep breaths. He opened his eyes again. Freaking out wasn't going to help anything.

"What the hell were you doing out here by yourself, huh?" he asked gruffly as he re-checked Sam's pulse and winced at the ugly gash on his brother's forehead and the vivid bruises purpling his temple. "What were you hunting?" The memory of his brother's slurred words had Dean bowing his head. "Oh God, bro," he whispered, his voice thick. "I thought – I thought you were drunk."

And that might be the last time you ever talk to him. The thought ghosted Dean as a hot tear burned his face. "No, god-damnit! No!" Hurling himself to his feet, Dean started to yell, "Cas! Castiel! Get down here! We need you! Cas!"

He waited a few moments and tried again. "Cas! C'mon. Castiel!"

But there was whooshing of air. No angel in a rumpled suit. Nothing.

"Damnit, Cas," he whispered then turned back to his brother. Sorry, Sammy, he thought as he crouched back down.

He saw the cell phone lying next Sam's lax fingers… and a leaf.

A mangled, crushed leaf.

It didn't fit it among the rest of the debris, a spot of color that had him shaking his head sadly. It didn't belong here, as out of place among the granite and dirt as his brother.

Scrubbing at his wet face, Dean twisted around and pulled the duffle bag closer. He needed to do something to try and help.

His hands trembled, but not from the cold, as Dean struggled with the zipper on the first aid kit. "What the hell?" he growled when he finally managed to yank it open, and then stared blankly at the contents inside. He looked back at his brother, unsure, his mind fumbling as badly as his fingers had only moments before as he struggled to remember basic first aid. Shivering slightly, Dean dug through the kit until he found the foil blanket. Quickly opening it, he added that as an extra layer over his brother unmindful of his own discomfort. Sam was a hell of a lot colder than him.

He checked Sam's pulse again. Still there. Then sat on his ass next to his brother, his legs bent up as he leaned over. Dean whispered, "Sammy…" He kept his fingers against his brother's cold throat this time, needing to feel, to know Sam was still alive. He didn't look alive.

Hair stuck to the blood on the side of Sam's white face and Dean reached out with his other hand to gently tug it away. "I don't know how to help you." It hurt to admit. "But if you want to wake up any time now… well, that'd be real good."

Dean swallowed hard. How long had Sammy been here? Hurting and needing help? Remorse burned a new path down his face. Hastily he scrubbed it away. The smell of stale vomit and urine made his stomach churn. "Oh, Sam…"

Time counted in heartbeats.

Sam's.

"What's taking them so long?" he muttered as he shifted, the cold of the ground seeping through his jeans. Sam's body felt as cold and Dean was absurdly tempted to lie down next to him but settled for stroking the clammy skin on his brother's neck instead. "C'mon, bro, just keep hanging in, okay?"

Sam's hand was filthy, the fingers bloody and Dean wondered about that for a moment. Had the kid tried to dig himself out? Was that what he was doing while Lisa was warming Dean's bed?

It tore something inside him and he had to look away.

The sound of ATV's had Dean standing. Reluctant to leave his brother, he settled for yelling and waving his arms when he saw a man standing on the top of the gully. The guy returned the yell and Dean was almost giddy with relief – help was here.

Turning back to Sam, Dean crouched back down. "Just a bit longer, Sammy, I promise. We're gonna get you out. I swear to God, little brother, you aren't dying today."

And then the rescue team converged on them.


It took them a lot longer to get Sam uncovered than Dean liked. He paced, helpless and anxious as the EMT's worked on stabilizing Sam while other rescuers finished clearing the dirt away. He got as close as he dared, not wanting to interfere as the team, a young black man and an older Hispanic dude, started an IV but needing to be there. It took three tries but they finally got a line in. Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when they did.

"How are we going to get him out of here?" He wanted to know as he crouched back down next to Sam and brushed a hand along his brother's thigh, brushed at the dirt that still clung to Sam. Even his untrained eye could see how badly the younger hunter was messed up. Dislocated shoulder for sure, Dean winced in sympathy, probable broken ribs, and that was just at a glance. There was no way that Sam was riding an ATV out.

"Medi-evac," the Hispanic guy said as they secured Sam's neck.

"There's a clearing about a half a mile from here," the other medic added, closely watching Sam's vitals as they prepared to move him onto the back board they'd carried down with them. "Chopper'll meet us."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay," he licked his lips worriedly, not keen on the idea of flying but when Sam's vitals suddenly bottomed out and the two medics started yelling that it was time to go, they couldn't get him onto that flight fast enough. There was no way Sam was going anywhere without Dean right now.

Following as his brother's stretcher was carefully but quickly moved from the gully, Dean spared one final glance back over his shoulder. A splash of red caught his attention but then he blinked it away and hurried to catch up to Sam.

tbc