A/N: Thank you for sticking with the story and all of the kind comments. I have not been able to personally reply to some without addies, but know that I value each and every one of them.
I have assumed that people knew that a 'Run' is a stream, and then realized it might be a regional term. (Yeah, yeah, we all know what happens when you 'assume') In the context of this story 'Big Run' and 'Rocky Mountain Run' are both streams. Although at this point they are really, really shallow streams because of the drought.
Disclaimer: Still not mine, but check back with me December 26. They're on my list to Santa.
From chapter 8:
Dean squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before starting towards the position he had picked out. His movements were more graceful and stealthy than they had been just moments before. Barely visible tendrils of smoke eddied and swirled around him as he moved through the moonlight. The game was on.
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Hozho Chapter 9
A tugging on his wrists brought Sam back to the barn. He moaned low in his throat and turned his head to the side, trying to burrow deeper into the hay. "Dean…dude…quit it…"
"We have to leave soon, Samuel. You need to prepare for out little journey."
The tugging continued on Sam's wrists and he forced his eyes open. They focused on the knife in front of him and he watched it for a moment in curiosity. His eyes widened when his brain clicked into gear and he tried to yank his hands out of the big man's grip. "It'll be much easier for you to wash if I free your hands," Betzgai explained patiently. With one final swipe of the knife the ropes on Sam's wrists parted. Betzgai slid his hand under Sam's back and gently helped him to sit up. Vertigo hit as soon as he was upright and the entire barn began a slow waltz. It only lasted for a moment before things settled back into their normal, non-dancing, positions.
He felt a hell of a lot better than he did before he fell asleep. 'Fell asleep' being a euphemism for the true term, 'passed out'. Sam's memories of the time period before that were vague at best. The last thing he remembered clearly was Betzgai's revelation that he thought the hunters were the wonder duo out of legend. Things got pretty hazy after that. He had some flashes of feeling exhaustion so complete that it was an effort to breathe, feeling achy and dizzy, a headache that took away his ability to think… Sam shuddered when the rest came back to him. Betzgai had changed the bandage on his side and checked the wound. The experience made Sam appreciate the care his brother took to be gentle. Betzgai's ministrations were anything but, and the fiery burn in Sam's side had pushed him over the edge into darkness.
He definitely felt better now. The pain and exhaustion were still no picnic, but at least he no longer felt like death was imminent. Sam sat up straighter and blinked his eyes, really focusing on the barn around him for the first time. It was like a veil had been lifted and he could finally see his surroundings. The large space was only dimly lit, a couple of camping lanterns arranged to illuminate the area around them. He looked at the big man sitting next to him and realized that Betzgai was watching him with suspiciously narrowed eyes.
Soooo… He wasn't supposed to be feeling better. For the first time in days Sam felt like he could remember the hours of research he had done for this hunt, and think things through. The symptoms he'd been experiencing clicked into place. Son of bitch. He'd been witched. It was the most common form of skinwalker attack, and he'd been too hazy to think of it until now.
He didn't know how Dean had done it, he didn't even know how Dean had known it HAD to be done, but his brother had managed to counteract it in some way. And that little achievement had to be hidden from the witch sitting next to him.
Sam shook his head as though trying to clear ongoing dizziness and sagged against Betzgai's arm. It didn't take any real acting skills, he just stopped fighting the weakness that still permeated his body.
The witch nodded his head towards the back of the barn. "There is a tack room and small washroom. You must make yourself presentable before we leave here." Betzgai climbed to his feet and easily hauled Sam up next to him. A little too easily as far as Sam was concerned. The guy was like a rock, his muscles barely rippling when he lifted the solid young man up.
He held onto Sam's arm and walked him to the door of the washroom, holding the hunter upright when his shuffling feet caused him to stumble as they passed through the tack room. Sam used the opportunity to surreptitiously scan the room for anything that could be used as a weapon, but it was stripped bare. The washroom held an old pedestal sink and toilet. A threadbare rag and small towel were lying across the edge of the sink. A battery powered lantern hung from a nail.
"The water is not heated but it is clean. When you are done you may put on that shirt." He nodded at an old black T shirt hanging from a peg. "There is no way out except past me. Please do not try my patience by attempting anything foolish." He turned and walked away, back into the barn.
Sam moved to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror mounted on the wooden wall above it. It was cracked and cloudy but reflected enough for Sam to decide his appearance would scare children. And adults. Pale skin, red rimmed eyes buttressed by dark smudges, an impressive purplish bruise sneaking out past the hairline and onto his right temple, smears of blood, and of course the distinctive red finger marks on his jaw and around his throat. They would be purple in a few more hours. He looked like an actor at a haunted house attraction.
His shirt was a goner. The side was shredded and stiff with dried blood. The top of his pants on the left had also soaked up its fair share of blood, the dark blue mottled with darker stains. The pale skin and general weakness were suddenly pretty easy to understand. He gingerly pulled the shirt over his head, holding in a gasp at the burn across his ribs when he lifted his arms.
He ignored the bruises sprinkled over his chest and shoulders. Bruises were a Winchester trademark. He was more interested in the large gauze bandage over his ribs on the left, held tightly in place by wide swatches of tape. Spots had bled through the bandage in several spots, deep red fading to pink around the edges. It looked like Betzgai's newest bandaging efforts were doing the trick, though. There wasn't a lot of blood.
Sam turned the water on in the sink, allowing it to run over his hands, washing the grime away and cooling him off at the same time. He wet the rag and used it to wipe off his face and neck before running it over his chest and shoulders, shivering at the feeling of the water drops that ran down over his stomach and back. They skirted the edges of the tape before finally dampening the waist of his pants. With each drop that ran over him he felt nerve endings coming to life, brain synapses beginning to fire. To hell with Betzgai's concerns about his cleanliness. That was akin to the skinwalker wanting his food washed before eating it. Sam had his own reasons. The water was a relief after the heat of the barn. It was helping to chase the last vestiges of fog from his brain and taking the edge off of his weariness.
He turned to the toilet and was relieved that his bladder at least held something. He had downed a couple of bottles of water earlier and the dehydration seemed to be easing. The black T shirt was old but fairly clean. Sam was not a small man, but Betzgai's shirt was huge on him.
Betzgai was occupied on the other side of the barn and Sam moved quickly around the tack room, confirming that there was no way out of the barn through there. An old door in the back wall was effectively boarded shut. It would require tools, time, and a lot more energy than he currently possessed to break through the barrier. Sam moved to the room's doorway and prepared for Act Two.
His head hanging in feigned exhaustion, Sam made his way slowly across the barn. Betzgai was at the back of the truck, throwing items into boxes. Sam's bangs hid his eyes as he darted them from side to side. They finally settled on the hay bale where Betzgai had been sitting while playing the flute. Betzgai had picked up Sam's phone from the bale before calling Dean. Maybe he'd returned it to that spot. The lantern light left the top of the bale in shadows, but when Sam moved at just the right angle there was a slight reflection from something wedged between the bales. His phone? A piece of glass, anything sharp…
He headed towards the bale, keeping his gait a little stumbling, a little uncertain. Another couple of feet and he would lower himself to sit on it, seemingly too exhausted to move farther.
He was brought up short by a hand on his arm. God, he wanted so much to just lash out at this monster, take a stand here and now. Fifteen years of martial arts training should count for something… Reality was a bitch sometimes. Reality was that he might get a couple of good hits in, but the skinwalker was a tough opponent and Sam was not at his best. The fight would be a short one. And then there would be no way to warn Dean that he was next on the skinwalker hit parade.
Betzgai swung Sam to face him and checked his appearance. He gave a nod of approval before starting to wrap a length of rope securely around Sam's wrists. "I have been watching you," the witch began slowly, and Sam's stomach clenched. It relaxed when Betgai continued. "I believe that you are like Tó Bájísh Chíní, Child Born for Water. He was the younger brother. Quieter, more pensive. The thinker. His brother's conscience. Dean? I believe he is Naayéé' Neizghání, Monster Slayer. Dynamic, louder, prefers action to thought…" He looked at Sam with a small smile of anticipation. "…A more natural killer." His eyes continued to search Sam's face and he started to laugh. "I am right. I can see the truth on your face." Sam tried to school his features to reveal nothing and the witch just laughed harder.
Still chuckling he turned Sam to give him a push towards the truck. The hunter saw his opportunity and grabbed it. Sam allowed his legs to get twisted in the turn, stumbling and then falling. He threw his arms out and broke his fall against the hay bale. The cry forced from his lips when his left side hit the sturdy bale was the only legitimate thing about the fall. His vision swam at the burst of pain in his side but his hands never stopped. He ran them along the crack between the bales, his body hiding the action from Betzgai's view. His fingers closed over a smooth, cool, edge and he held tight as his arm was grabbed from behind and he was hauled to his feet.
The force of the pull from behind pulled his bound hands back against his stomach and he slipped the object onto his pocket, allowing the large T shirt to hide it from view. His fingers had recognized it at once, and he sent up a heartfelt prayer of thanks. You couldn't spend hours working and training with something and not recognize it by touch. The small stainless steel folding knife he kept at his ankle was not as vicious as his other knife, but he sure as hell was not complaining.
Betzgai made sure he was steady on his feet before walking him to the truck. "I am sorry for the discomfort I have had to cause you, brother. You can sleep as we travel." He sounded like he thought Sam should be grateful for his generosity.
Sam found he was grateful when Betzgai loaded him into the truck's back seat and helped him to lie down comfortably, trusting the chicken wire panel to keep him confined. Grateful that his position would keep him hidden from the skinwalker while he worked on the ropes around his wrists.
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Dean leaned against a tree trunk, invisible in the shadows. He was in a fringe of trees on the slope of Rockytop, watching the spot on the old fire road where Betzgai had parked the night before. The rifle was heavy in his hand and he rested the butt on the ground. He moved his head in circles and bounced his shoulders up and down, loosening the muscles of his neck and shoulders, calming himself. Preparing.
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Sam pulled the knife from his pocket as soon the truck began moving. The abandoned farm used by Betzgai was closer to the Big Run fire road than Sam expected. It seemed like it was only a few minutes before the angle of the truck changed and they were moving uphill. Fire crews might have removed the barriers used to block this access point to the park, but they sure as hell hadn't done anything about improving the newly accessible section of road. Smooth pavement gave way to a rougher surface and Sam found himself bouncing around in the back seat, struggling to keep a grip on the knife.
He worked frantically, trying to saw the small blade through the rope. The rope was thick and coarse, difficult to cut, and he had no way to wedge the knife. He held it awkwardly in one hand with the blade pointing towards his wrists and moved it back and forth in a short sawing motion, trusting the sharpness of the blade to do the job. The rope separated slowly, strand by strand. Sweat started to run down the side of Sam's face as he blocked out everything but the knife and the rope. His hand started to cramp from the awkward position and repetitive movements. The farther the knife cut into the rope the harder it was to move as the cut edges seemed to grab on to the steel blade.
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The rumble of the diesel engine heralded the truck's approach before the headlights became visible and Dean crouched behind a large tree stump. He laid his rifle across the jagged top of the stump and slowed his breathing, mentally getting ready to take the shot if it presented itself. He wasn't a master sniper, but he wasn't bad either.
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The road was getting progressively rougher as they got further up the Run and Sam knew time was running out. He pressed down hard with one final swipe and the last strands separated. The knife fell from his numb fingers and landed on the floor in back of the passenger seat. Sam worked his wrists back and forth, gradually pulling them apart until the coils wrapping him loosened enough for him to slip his hands out. He chafed his wrists, desperately trying to restore circulation and feeling to his hands.
Sam bit down on the panic working its way out of his belly when the truck started to slow down. It was dark in the truck, but a shaft of moonlight provided just enough light for him to see the pale silver of the knife on the floor. He lunged half off of the seat trying to grab the knife just as the truck went over a bone jarring bump. The nose of the truck dipped and the knife slid under the passenger seat. Sam reached his hand under, fingers scrabbling, searching, but it had gone past a little hump in the floor under the seat and now Sam couldn't feel it.
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The truck rolled down the road below him, bouncing over rough sections and then starting to slow down as the brake lights flashed red. Dean lowered his face and began to watch through the scope, keeping his breathing slow and steady, his finger light on the trigger. The truck halted in the same spot as before, bathed in moonlight. Dean smiled slightly when the truck began to move slowly forward, its front end angling towards Brown Mountain on the east of Big Run. Hopefully Betzgai was turning to face out of the valley, the same way he had parked the night before. That setup would give Dean a clear shot when Betzgai climbed out without the truck providing cover.
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The truck rolled to a stop and Sam pushed himself backwards, back up onto the seat, his heart pounding. There wasn't going to be enough time. His fingers were still stiff and clumsy and he fumbled in his attempts to slip his hands back through the coils of rope. The truck began to roll forward again and Sam sagged in relief. The rope was much easier to handle with calmer hands. He grabbed the coils off of the floor and slipped his hands back through them, holding the cut ends hidden in his fists, pulling in as much slack as he could to make the bindings look solid.
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Dean's smile faded when the truck's wheels straightened out. Betzgai wasn't turning it around, he was moving it so that he was parked underneath overhanging trees instead of in the open. Dean cursed silently when he understood the skinwalker would also be using the shadows to stay hidden in the night. He couldn't chance a shot if he couldn't see his target clearly.
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This time when the truck stopped the rumble of the motor fell silent and Betzgai climbed out of the front seat. Sam's door was pulled open and his veins turned to ice at the sound of a round being chambered into a handgun. The big man was preparing for his confrontation with Dean. Hands latched onto Sam's ankles and then he was sliding feet first out of the truck. The witch grabbed Sam's left arm and lifted him to a standing position. There was nothing feigned when Sam's knees gave out under him and he started to slide to the ground.
Betzgai's arm around his waist caught him and Sam grunted when the big man's hand put pressure on his left side as he lifted Sam back up. Sam closed his eyes and just concentrated on breathing for a few seconds until the world stopped spinning. "You seem to have reopened your wounds, brother," Betzgai said apologetically. "I'm sorry I can't rewrap them now. We don't have far to go and then you can rest."
They moved through a moonlit patch and Sam sagged backwards, letting himself come to rest against the big man's chest, and shooting quick glances down to both sides. His heart sank. He didn't see the handgun on either hip, and he didn't feel it anywhere on the front of Betzgai's waist. If it was tucked into the small of the witch's back Sam would have a much tougher time blocking his access to it. The skinwalker supported his weight easily as they began their slow walk to the meeting spot.
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It was too dark to make out movement around the truck, but Dean heard first one door open and close, and then another. There was the low murmur of a voice but Dean couldn't make out the words. Two figures appeared in the moonlight and Dean squinted through the scope looking for an opportunity to squeeze the trigger.
Betzgai was big, much bigger than Dean expected. Even with Sam sagging against him, it was easy to tell that he was not only taller than Sam, but much broader. And Sam was sagging. It looked like the witch was supporting a good bit of his weight. Not good on so many levels. There was no clearance between the two men and Dean's finger relaxed on the trigger. His eyes narrowed in concern and his stomach started to churn as he watched his brother. The two men moved together, back into the shadows of the trees on Brown Mountain, and Dean knew they were headed to the drainage basin.
His eyes remained fixed on the spot where he last saw his brother and his throat constricted with worry. Sammy didn't look good. Whether it was because of his injuries or because the witching was still affecting him… He just didn't look good. Dean waited until they'd had enough time to make it around a curve in the Run and then headed for Betzgai's truck.
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Dean moved quickly away from the truck, unconsciously crouching down to shorten his silhouette in the moonlight as he crossed back over the Run to the Rockytop side. A glance over his shoulder as he slipped his knife back into its sheath confirmed that the truck was sitting considerably lower than it had been a few minutes before. Four flat tires tended to do that. No matter what happened, Betzgai wasn't going to be able to beat a hasty retreat in the truck. A quick search of the vehicle had turned up a handgun and a shotgun. Neither had ammunition but he still decided to play it safe and threw them into the woods.
Dean glanced at the truck one last time before moving back into the trees on Rockytop. The search had turned up a few other interesting items as well. The skinwalker should have had the pelt of a packrat in his inventory. Wallets, jewelry…an empty bank bag from Harpers Ferry with a Mountainside Café deposit slip tucked inside…and that was just what was loose in the back of the truck. God knew what was locked in the metal box. A couple of items that he found now rested safely in Dean's pants pockets until they could be returned to their owner.
He looked south down the Big Run, anticipation making his heart beat faster. Sam was slowing the witch down. Dean should have no problem moving past them unseen on this side of the stream and getting into position.
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Sam stood with Betzgai in the shadows at the northern edge of the large clearing. The Rocky Mountain Run meandered in from a small valley to the east and joined with the Big Run in front of them. There were trees and bushes on the slopes surrounding the flat space, but the basin itself was devoid of vegetation. The only break to the level terrain was a scattering of boulders along the edges of the water on both sides. There was more smoke here than where they had parked, moving in small wisps from the side valley. It wasn't thick enough to make them cough, it was barely thick enough to cause a tickle in their throats. It was more a gentle reminder not to be fooled by the surface peace of the valley, to remember that the world was burning around them.
The clearing was empty of life, quiet except for the muted sound of the stream's scanty water trickling over rocks. There was no sign of Dean, but Sam didn't expect there to be. He knew his brother would bide his time, wait for the skinwalker to make the first move.
The big man at Sam's back was thrumming with excitement. His left hand was on Sam's left shoulder, alternating between clutching at Sam's T shirt and releasing it as he held the hunter against him. He grabbed the material tight with one spastic move and huffed out a quick breath and Sam knew he was about to break the silence.
"If you want to see your brother, you will show yourself," Betzgai finally called softly.
Sam held his breath, waiting to hear his brother's voice. For just a second he wavered into childhood, back to the time when his big brother was always there to save him, always knew what to do, always made everything better.
"Not gonna happen till I see Sam with my own two eyes. I've gotta see that he's okay." Dean's voice came from the southern end of the clearing.
A rush of relief closed Sam's throat at the sound of his brother's voice. Hard on its heels was fear, fear about what the witch was planning, fear because Dean didn't know that Betzgai was coming after him.
Betzgai's head began nodding in agreement, and Sam realized that this was what he wanted. He wanted to get closer to Dean. "We are going to grant your brother's wish," he whispered in Sam's ear. "You will walk with me. If you attempt to speak to him, to warn him, you will force me to kill you in front of him and then take my time killing him." His voice was calm, just stating the facts.
He kept his grip on Sam's shoulder with his left hand as his right reached into a sheath hanging behind his right hip and withdrew a large hunting knife. He held it a couple of inches from Sam's throat and began to propel the young hunter slowly forward, out of the shadows and into the moonlight. They stopped at the edge of the Rocky Mountain Run, the shallow water forming an illusory barrier between them and Dean.
There was movement at the edge of the trees on the southwest corner of the clearing, on the opposite side of the Big Run. Dean moved gracefully into view, the moonlight bathing him in a silver light. The empty ground between the two streams was a no man's land separating them. As long as Dean kept that between them, he would be safe.
"How 'bout you let him go?" Dean's voice was deceptively pleasant. Sam didn't need to see his brother's face clearly to picture the expression on it, the dangerous smirk that he got when he was really and truly pissed.
"As soon as you return the pelt that you stole from me," Betzgai replied reasonably. "You did bring it, didn't you?"
Dean's arms had been hanging at his sides. Now they moved upwards in a smooth sweep and a flashlight was clicked on. Betzgai took an involuntary step backwards and brought the knife to rest against Sam's throat.
"Oh, it's here alright."
The knife moved slightly away from Sam's skin when they realized that the light wasn't trained on them, it was pointed at the side of the mountain to their left. There was a slash across the sheer mountainside in that spot, a ledge bristling with stunted trees and bushes about forty feet above the ground. A low tree in the middle wore a thick black pelt, spread eagled and ominous looking.
Betzgai growled low in his throat and his head swung back towards Dean. The flashlight in Dean's left hand had been joined by a flare gun in his right, pointed at the pelt.
"Doesn't even matter if I hit the pelt directly," he called out in warning. "I hit any of that brush and Bagheera up there is toast. There's enough gasoline on that wood to make sure of that."
The witch took several deep breaths, each one slower and longer as he calmed himself.
"Here's how this is going to work," Dean continued. "You're going to let go of my brother and let him walk over to me. When I have him, he and I go that way." Dean jerked his head in the direction of the trees at his back. "And you can retrieve your friend."
"An interesting plan," Betzgai said with a smile, "except that I don't think your brother can make it to you unassisted." He lowered his hand from Sam's left shoulder to his side and gave it a hard jab with his fist.
Sam was completely unprepared for the move and couldn't stop the hard groan that escaped his lips as the world went white around him. His legs turned to rubber and he would have fallen if not for the big arm that wrapped around his waist. His head sagged backwards until it was resting against the muscular chest in back of him. When he forced his eyes open the moon was looping through the sky over him. Dean's cursing was mixed up with the roaring in his ears.
Get it together, Sam. You're no help if you can't get it together. Dean's gonna need you here. Get it together. He slowed his breathing by force of will, pulling in long shaky breaths, at the same time he lifted his bound hands in front of him, palms out in a calming gesture. Calm down, Dean. It's okay, I'm okay. He wondered if Dean could see the cut ends of the rope held to his palms by his bent fingers. Sam lifted his head and planted his feet to support his own weight again. He blinked owlishly at Dean and let his breathing settle back to normal. Betzgai let go of his waist and moved his hand back to Sam's shoulder, latching on to a solid fistful of the black T shirt.
"Sam?! Sammy?! You okay?"
He nodded and gave Dean a quick 'thumbs up'. He really was okay, his side had settled into a dull throb. Betzgai hadn't been trying to cause any real damage. It was the suddenness of the attack that had thrown him for a minute, not the seriousness of it. He focused on Dean and cursed silently when he saw that his brother had crossed the Big Run and was edging closer to their position. Once Betzgai had lured him far enough from the cover of the trees he would drop the knife and go for the gun. Dean was quick, even with the witch's head start it was a toss up as to who would have their weapon out first. Dean was also undoubtedly the better shot…under normal circumstances. There was nothing normal here. His brother would either hesitate or pull the shot for fear of hitting Sam.
Slowly but surely the knife was inching farther and farther away from Sam as Betzgai swung his arm forward. There was over a foot of clearance already, and Sam knew the witch was preparing himself to reach for the gun. Calling out to Dean would accomplish nothing. Sam would still be in the way of a shot. Sam took a slow breath. This was it. He wouldn't allow this SOB to hurt his brother.
Sam stoked the fire filling his belly, fueling the anger with the bone deep imperative to protect Dean. You don't get him! Not him! NOT MY BROTHER!
He swayed to the left, moving himself away from the center of Betzgai's chest. The witch's attention was fixed on Dean and he unconsciously extended his left arm out to the side to maintain his solid grip on the left shoulder of Sam's shirt. Sam stopped his sideways movement when he felt that his back was pressed up against the big man's left shoulder and extended arm.
The moonlight was bright enough to make out Dean's features, features that he knew as intimately as he knew his own. He saw the slight lowering of Dean's eyebrows and knew that his brother recognized that Sam's movements were not random. Dean stopped moving forward and his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched his brother.
Good. Now that I have your attention…
Sam dropped his hands down in front of him and prayed that Betzgai's attention stayed on Dean. He opened his fists, letting the ends of the rope drop free and wiggling his wrists to loosen the coils. There was a sudden tension in Dean's posture. His brother was ready.
Dean looked at Betzgai and gave a little smile, holding his attention. "So Wilson, how'd you—"
Sam let the ropes drop completely as soon as Dean started to talk. He slid his left foot back to balance himself and slumped down slightly, planting his right foot in front of him and bending his knee. He used his bent right leg to propel himself backwards, shoving back hard against Betzgai's left shoulder and the arm securely anchored to Sam's back. He swung his arms upward blocking the witch's right arm as Betzgai reacted by slashing the knife towards Sam.
The shove against Betzgai's left shoulder and arm broke Sam free from his grip at the same time it twisted the big man's body to the left and threw him off balance. Sam's weight was still balanced on his left leg, he smoothly brought his right leg back and slid it between Betgai's legs, hooking his foot around the back of Betzgai's right ankle. He placed all of the anger and frustration of the last day into his follow through as he swept the witch's right leg out from under him at the same time he shoved against the side of Betzgai's chest with his right elbow.
The big man fell onto his back with a bellow of rage and Sam struggled to keep his balance as he felt himself falling in the other direction. He landed on all fours and immediately pushed himself to his feet and splashed through the stream, praying that he wouldn't slip on a slick rock.
Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see the witch start to roll as soon as he hit the ground. He came up in a crouch and instantly dove into the trees with a speed and grace that took Sam's breath away. He had looked like a panther. Even without the pelt, he had moved like the big cat. For the first time, Sam started to understand the true extent of the skinwalker's abilities. Dean's bullets peppered the trees where Betzgai disappeared, but it was impossible to tell if any found their mark.
As soon as his feet reached the 'no man's land' on the other side of the first stream Sam sprinted towards Dean, careful to keep out of his line of fire. Dean turned his head towards Sam, tilting it quizzically as he bent down to pick up the discarded flare gun.
"DEAN! MOVE YOUR ASS!" Sam's shout and a gunshot were simultaneous, the bullet splitting the air where Dean had been standing a second before. The look Dean flashed Sam was an almost comical caricature of surprise, round eyed and open mouthed. It struck Sam that Dean was definitely not used to the things they hunted shooting back.
Dean scrambled away from the spot he occupied trying to throw off the witch's aim before coming to his feet at a flat out run. He slowed momentarily allowing Sam to draw even with him as they raced towards the boulders scattered on the other side of the Big Run. A bullet kicked up dirt at their feet and they moved in unison, swerving to make themselves harder targets.
Sam almost went down when they reached the Big Run, the mud along the edge of the shallow water grabbing at his feet. Dean's hand on his arm steadied him and the sound of another bullet whistling by kept him moving. They both dove when they neared the largest boulder, disappearing behind it as a bullet smacked off of it and ricocheted away.
"A gun?" Dean asked incredulously as he panted for breath, "A friggin gun? Isn't that against the Skinwalker Code of Conduct or something?"
"Guess he didn't get the memo," Sam gasped. It was dark in the shadow of the boulder. Sam couldn't make out his brother's features, but he knew Dean was straining his eyes trying to see in the dark at that moment, trying to get a look at his little brother.
"Sammy?" His voice was rough, hours of near panic and a hundred questions condensed into one word.
"I'm okay." A multi purpose phrase that the Winchester's used to describe every condition short of death.
Dean snorted in reply. "Don't bullshit me, man. 'Cause I saw those claws hit you last night, and I found blood when I was looking for you. Not to mention your voice sounds like you've been gargling glass."
Sam's hand unconsciously went to his throat and he massaged it lightly. It had been feeling better, but he was feeling some serious twinges again after yelling at Dean. "I got a couple of scratches on my side and hit my head." He swatted Dean's hand away when it instantly reached for him. They didn't have the time for Dean to play doctor. "It's fine. So what's the plan," He asked quickly, trying to distract his brother.
Dean looked at the boulders around them and leaned out slightly to see the empty area between the two streams. "The plan was to get you back, get our guns…oh…speaking of which…" Dean dug into one of the hiking pant's numerous pockets, pulling out the gun Sam had dropped on the ridge. He reached into another pocket and then presented the cell phone and folding knife he had found in Betzgai's truck. "…I believe these are yours. Anyway, we were gonna get our stuff and then go Rambo on Furby. Of course that was before I found out he'd be shooting back at us."
"He doesn't strike me as an expert marksman," Sam said wryly. "We were pretty easy targets out there."
"You're right, we were tough to miss," Dean agreed quietly, again glancing out towards the streams. "Him missing might not have just been 'cause he's a lousy shot, though."
"What do you mean?"
"Dude, there was a medicine bundle on the car. Bad jou jou," Dean said angrily. He stopped and fixed his attention on Sam. "You're feeling better, right? Navajo magic dust all worn off?"
"Yeah, I'm better." Technically, it wasn't a lie. The effects of the medicine bundle were gone. He wasn't inclined to give out any information beyond that. Dean had worried enough over the last twenty-four hours.
Dean gave a quick nod. "Yeah, well Pastor Jim set up some type of ceremony with Navajo medicine men in Arizona. They reversed the bad jou jou. If it all went according to plan our friend over there might be getting a dose of his own medicine by now."
Sam was lost in thought for a second. "We can use that. He's a psychopath, completely lost in Navajo legends. As much as he denies it, the Navajo Way has a powerful influence over… What? What's so funny?" Even in the dark between the boulders Sam could see Dean's wide grin.
"I knew you'd be in geek heaven with this guy," Dean said, shaking his head. The smile faded from sight and his head dropped. He reached a hand to Sam's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "Christ, Sammy," he said thickly. "I'm glad you're okay." He cleared his throat. "Damn smoke. Okay," he continued briskly "as fascinating as this is, we've got to get out of here. I've got some stuff we'll need, stashed about a mile up the stream. We'll get the stuff, regroup, and figure out our next move. Along the way I'll fill you in on the info I got. I'm sure you'll figure out how we can use it." He finished with a quick smirk.
Sam pushed off the lethargy that was settling over him. The immediate adrenaline boost had faded a bit and he was starting to feel as though he had come out on the losing end of an encounter with a steam roller. He pointed at the edge of trees closest to the boulders. "That way?"
"Yeah, but maybe we should give him a distraction first." Dean raised the flare gun and pointed it towards the ledge where the pelt was on display.
"Dean!" Sam slapped his hand down. "You'll set the whole damn valley on fire around us! Embers land anywhere around here and it'll all go up."
Dean sighed with disappointment. "Spoilsport." He pushed himself to a crouch and looked at Sam. "You ready?"
No, definitely not. Not a lot of choice though. Sam hoped the darkness was hiding his face as well as it was hiding Dean's. He bit his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning when he gathered his legs under him and prepared to move. His side was on fire, the bandage against it thick and heavy. He gestured his readiness, not sure his voice would work. Dean turned away and melted into the darkness as he headed toward the trees. Sam reached a hand to the boulder next to him, steadying himself as he started to sway. He took a deep breath and remembered the comforting weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder, drew strength from the memory. I can do this. He propelled himself forward, following his brother.
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Betzgai pulled himself easily from handhold to handhold until he was able to throw a leg up over the edge and haul himself onto the ledge. The air reeked of gasoline and the big man scowled in anger. It only took a minute to free his brother from the tangled branches that held him. He draped the pelt over his arm and followed the ledge to see where it lead, smiling when he realized it turned into a trail downwards.
There were things he needed in the truck. He had been ashamed when he finally understood the gun's inability to shoot true. The tool of the biligaana was not to be used on the slayers of Yé'iitsoh. It was the way of a coward, the way of an unworthy and lazy man. If he was to claim their power for himself it must be done according to the old ways. It must be done when he was one with his brothers.
It was not necessary for him to follow them immediately. They would be easy to track for the same reason that they would not make it out of the valley tonight. He could smell it now with the heightened senses he had gained through repeated communion with his brothers. Once he joined with his brother it would be irresistible.
The blood being spilled by the younger brother, Tó Bájísh Chíní, was plentiful, its scent rich and inviting.
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A/N: I have to thank my son for his help with choreographing Sam's moves when he freed himself from Betzgai's grip. He has been studying Soo Bahk Do for seven years and I am very proud to say he will be testing for his second degree black belt at the age of 15 this spring. He is also a huge fan of Supernatural.
Yé'iitsoh--- A giant, the first of the monsters killed by the hero twins with the weapons given to them by their father, the sun. His remains are still visible today. Cabezon Peak, New Mexico, is his severed head; his dried blood the lava flow outside of Grants; and petrified wood his bones
