Hey folks. I know, I'm early again. But due to some family festivities tomorrow I thought it might cheer you up when I post today...

Okay, let's check out who that ominous guy is, shall we? Bet you're all curious. This chapter is one of my favourites, I hope you see it that way, too.

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, you all rule!

And a special wink and wave to MeAzrael, my lovely Beta – it wouldn't be the same without you, hun! Writing, Supernatural, working, life – it would be just a boring sterile piece of dry bread. Love ya, sis!

As always: SPN and it's characters belong to the CW and Chief Kripke, but Hel and Patrick an the ominous guy we get to meet in this chappy belong to meeeeeeeee **huaraaaahahhahaha**

Chapter 10

He knew that it wouldn't help to lose it now. Like Bobby had said, he needed to keep a cool head. Only that it was easier said than done.

The thrill of anticipation had spurred him on, had given him strength were nothing had been left and had made him race to the cave where his brother was supposed to be. He wanted to hold Dean, check him over, ignore any witty comments on being a girl, wanted to tell him that he was sorry, for his selfish behavior, for his escape, for letting Dean drop like a hot potato.

It all shattered to pieces when he rounded the corner and found nothing. The cold ashes of a died fire to his feet seemed to laugh at him, mocking him, 'See, you're too late, Sam. Again!' But what brought him to his knees was the blood on the ground, not the amount of someone bleeding to death, but enough to make Sam want to bawl like a baby.

He heard Hel and Patrick arrive behind him, slowing down and taking in the scene. While Hel took position right behind Sam, touching the small of his back with his shins like a brace if necessary, seeming to say 'I'm here for you', Patrick stepped into the small cave and let his gaze wander around, shaking his head.

"I don't understand", he said, his voice trembling, "he should have stayed here. He was in no condition to go anywhere..." His voice trailed off when Hel cleared his throat, signaling Patrick to keep those thoughts to himself for the time being.

"Sam? You okay?" the older hunter asked, crouching down beside Sam. The young man looked up with glistening eyes and for a second it occurred to him that Dean was right, that he might be a girl after all, getting all bleary eyed the whole time. He nodded and curled his fingers into fists. He needed to stay focused. And Hel seemed to understand.

The dark haired man stood and clapped his hands together. "Okay then. We still have a job to do. Dean's not here which doesn't mean anything. The way I see it we have tons of hints here, we just have to analyze them right. And then we're going to rest."

Sam opened his mouth but Hel held his hand up. "I know, Sam. But it's getting dark and we all need sleep and food."

"No", Sam protested and jumped forcefully to his feet, "I won't sit here like a bump on a log and..." He stopped his rant and ran a hand over his face. Suddenly all the fight in him was gone. Of course Hel was right. What was he suppose to do? Walk on into the night? Wandering around in the woods with a flashlight and no clue where to look for Dean? That would be absolutely pointless. They had to find out what had happened first.

And he needed to trust Hel in this. Had to confide in the native American's gift to keep a clear head and to motivate people like this. He had done it at the Roadhouse, were Sam had been ready to rip Seth apart for leaving Dean. Had managed to calm him down and arrange the disordered thoughts then. And it seemed to work again now, getting all the agitated ducks in one row to focus and hopefully solve the problem at hand.

Once again Sam tried to concentrate and push his worries back. "Listen. I'm sorry..." he muttered, tired eyes meeting sympathetic ones. "You're right, we need to check the traces first."

Hel gave him a smile and a single nod before he turned to Patrick, who still stood unmoving in the corner of the cave, eyeing the two older hunters. "I want you to fill us in", Hel said, his eyes on the youngest member of the group, "we need to know what happened when that Thunderbird attacked you on that vantage point..."

"Thunderbird? You mean...Jesus Christ...", Patrick gasped and went down on his haunches.

"Yeah, believe me, I was as wonderstruck as you are." Suddenly his tone changed from commanding to caring. "We also need to know how Dean is, so we can get proper help for him. His condition, his injuries..." His dark eyes met Sam's for a second and he fell silent.

Sam closed his eyes briefly before he glanced at Patrick, who was still staring into nothing. "How bad is it, Patrick?" he asked, his voice steady despite his emotions.

The youngest of the group lowered his gaze again. He started to fidget with his fingers. "When that creature attacked us, Jason got killed. Or, I think he got killed. I don't know about Seth, but I doubt that he's still alive."

"He is", Hel interrupted, "he's the reason we're here. If Seth wouldn't have come back and get us from the Roadhouse we wouldn't know about what had happened here."

Patrick's face lit up and he threw his head back with joy, "Oh thank god!"

A pained smile appeared on Sam's lips, unable to join the kid in his delight. went silent again and gave the men with him a leveled look. "Did you...was there another...have you seen Jason, by any chance?"

The young Winchester's smile died and before Hel or he had the chance to open their mouths, Patrick looked away and swallowed. "Yeah. I thought so", he choked out. The three of them lapsed into silence again. For the briefest moment Sam felt like sitting in a book club. Hel had sat down opposite them against the stone wall, his arms dangling over his knees. He was sharpening a huge knife while listening to what Patrick had to say.

Sam and Patrick were sitting on the other side, up against the rocks, too, their postures mirroring the older hunter. Sam's gaze fell on the ashes of the fire and he couldn't help but think that there was something odd about it. He just couldn't put a finger on it yet.

"Anyway", Patrick went on, "Dean and me, we were trying to kill it with our guns. But they were useless against that thing. At some point it concentrated on Dean, got him real good with it's talons on his shoulder. He tried to get away from it and somehow fell from the cliff. I thought he wouldn't survive this fall." The young man told Hel and Sam about his escape from the Thunderbird's claws and how he had wandered through the woods afterwards, only to found Dean at the riverside. "At first he seemed okay, but I got to check his shoulder. It's bad. When I found him, it was already infected. He also has some broken ribs of which some have punctured a lung, maybe both. I guess that's from the fall."

When Patrick paused, Sam noticed that he had bitten into his bottom lip too hard and he was tasting blood. Even his jaw hurt from the tension his body had built up. Hel had stopped to sharpen his knife and looked as if he contemplated a way to get Dean out after they found him.

"How bad was Dean when you left him here?"

The question asked by the eldest of them was the question of which the answer Sam dreaded the most. He closed his eyes and listened to Patrick.

"He...uh...was running a high fever. Had collapsed and passed out before, that's why we took a break in the first place. It was hard for him to breathe and he was coughing up blood the whole time. From what I saw...well..." He glanced sadly up at Sam, "...I don't know how long he can go on. When I left him here, I thought that no matter how fast I would be and how fast I would get help, it'd be too late for Dean." With that, Patrick looked down again and started to bite his fingernails.

Sam nodded and blinked, his jaw still clenched. He had assumed the worst from what he had witnessed during their fight against the massive creature. Had wondered how injured his brother really was. Had hoped that when Dean had been able to come this far, his condition wouldn't be too bad.

Listening to Patrick's words sent his body into some kind of rigor and his ever present sinking feeling since all this had started turn into a petrifying quake of fear, dread and hopelessness.

When Dean had been this bad a few hours ago, in which condition were they suppose to find him after what heaven knows had happened now? How could you be in time when time had been up from the beginning?

He barely failed to hear Hel's whispered "Okay." When Sam searched the ever confident face of his friend he paled when he found nothing of the sort. Tired, dark eyes seemed to avoid eye contact and were directed on the freshly sharpened blade of the knife.

The oppressive silence was only disturbed by the bawl of the river. And for the first time Sam was very truly bugged by the ever present rushing of water. Being in that cave made matters even worse as the sound reverberated from the close walls. He stood and turned his back to his fellow hunters, watching the rain sheet down outside and the day being alternated with night.

"I will find my brother", he stated quietly with a trembling voice, "It's okay if you want to give up and head home." He turned again and faced Hel. "You've been a great help, you did more then someone can ask for. I owe you. We owe you."

Hel stared back at him from his position on the ground and for a moment, Sam couldn't read the expression on the man's benign features. With his face totally void of any expression, Sam didn't know what to expect.

With a sigh, Hel raised his knife and pointed with it to the place Sam had sat before. "Sit back down, you jerk", he commanded and thrust the weapon beside him into the soft ground.

Stunned, the young Winchester raised his brows but remained standing. Hel craned his neck to look into watery hazel eyes. "Sam. I could be offended that you think of me like that. Like I would just get up and march away, like, 'There's no hope, so see you!' I promised to bring Dean back and I'm a man who keeps his promise." He got to his feet and closed the gap between the tall Winchester and him. A calloused, yet soft hand gripped Sam at the back of his neck and pulled him close so that their foreheads were touching. "We're in this together, you hear me? You won't get rid of me so fast." With that, Hel let go of Sam's neck and clapped him on the shoulder. He turned and faced Patrick.

"How about you, can you hold on until tomorrow morning? We're going to contact someone to get you out of here."

The long-haired boy's eyes widened and he shook his head jerkily. "No way", he protested, "I'm in this, too."

It was Sam who answered. "Patrick, really, I appreciate this, but you must be exhausted and it's okay when..."

"No. I gave a promise, too, you know?" Then Patrick smiled. "Besides, I like your brother. He's a nice guy. And somehow I know he would do the same if it were me gone missing. No matter how exhausted or injured."

Sam had to smile himself at the statement. Patrick had no idea how right he was.

And again he noticed the wetness in his eyes and his smile got even bigger when he thought about what Dean would have to say if he knew of his ever blubbering kid brother.

"Okay then", he choked and gave a little cough, "Thank you. I...well...thanks."

" You're very welcome, Sam", Hel said, smiling, and took a look around the now nearly darkened cave and nodded toward a pile of twigs and branches in a corner. "I see we have wood. Let's get that fire start again. I'll go on a hunt, see if I can get us a proper meal tonight. Sam, I want you to take a look at the footprints and traces on the ground, see if you can find out anything."

Sam nodded and inspected the fireplace again. What was bugging him with that spot? He needed to check the embers properly before it went completely dark and the new fire would destroy every trace of Dean's whereabouts. And then he would check the footprints he made out during earlier inspections. Because as long as there was a trail, there would always be hope.

The crackling of a fire penetrated Dean's mind as he clawed his way out of an unpleasant fever dream. For a second he wondered where the river with his unnerving whooshing had gone, because except for the fire he couldn't hear a thing. After an unsuccessful try to open his eyes he decided to let his other senses take over.

He was lying on his back on something soft, a bed or a couch maybe. The fire had to be at the other side of wherever he was. As there were no other sounds of nature and from the sound of the crackling he assumed that he was in some kind of room. The smell of herbs was in the air, masking the odor of wood and mustiness.

With Dean's senses the pain returned. The pressure on his chest, the throbbing of his shoulder in time with his head. To his amazement he felt slightly better then before his nap. Still like shit and still like a horse you better shoot dead before it get's expensive, but he had the feeling that his condition had taken a turn to the better.

Shifting and carefully sitting up, he suppressed the arising urge to cough because he didn't want to call attention to himself yet. First he needed to get his freakin' eyes open and check out where the heck he was.

It was then when he realized that the blanket draped over him was itchy. Very. And after a short moment of wondering why that itchy blanket was making him want to scratch his belly, he noticed the absence of his clothes.

All of them.

Oh, come on.

Dean pulled the blanket up to his chin as fast as he could, which was still very slow, and blinked his eyes open. When the haze subsided he found that his assumptions hadn't been very wrong.

He found himself indeed in a cabin of some sort, with an open fireplace at the other end of the room. The dancing flames bathed the chamber in orange light and gave the room a cosy atmosphere. Yet there were no signs that someone was living here. No kitchen, no proper furniture. There was just the couch he was lying on and a huge wooden table with loads of herbs placed on it. In another corner were pillows and native american style blankets on the ground, seemingly serving as a seating area. Glancing at the ceiling, Dean couldn't see a lamp or even a light bulb. What he saw made him want to jump off his sleeping place immediately. Whoever lived here had no problems with spiderwebs or their residents. Every corner was cobwebbed and inhabited at least one spider.

"Don't be scared, they will not harm you."

With a gasp, Dean turned his head to where the voice had sounded. Beside the fireplace stood a man, maybe in his late 50s. He was dressed in black, his long, despite his age raven hair tied to a queue. One of his eyes was covered with a black eye patch.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you", he apologized and held his hands up.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I...", he rasped and cleared his throat, "I know you're voice. You've...been out there. In the woods, right?" He remembered now. The feeling of dying. Drowning. And the stench that had gotten him back. The voice of someone beside him, holding him.

"I was." The man put his hands down and walked up to the couch. Slightly uncomfortable with him being naked and all, Dean shrank slightly back and eyed the tall man suspiciously.

"May I?" the stranger asked and pointed at Dean's shoulder, which was, to the Winchester's surprise wrapped in a fresh white bandage. Swallowing, Dean nodded, let the blanket fall down slightly and watched as his saviour carefully unwrapped the dressing.

"Do you have a name, son?" the man asked and Dean had to look away when his wound got exposed.

"Dean", he hissed, staring straight ahead and clenching his jaw against the pain the administrations were causing. He wished he could put his sense of smell off, too, so he wouldn't have to endure that mixture of stenches wafting off his shoulder. The acrid odor of herbs combined with the scent of festered flesh made his eyes water.

"Well, Dean. I am Tahkeome. I'm glad to have you here."

With a grunt of pain Dean fisted the blanket, unable to respond. God, that hurt. Whatever that guy was doing, it might be more pleasant with a good anesthesia. Unaffected by his guest's suffering, Tahkeome spoke on.

"You were nearly gone when I found you last night, but thanks to some special leafs and herbs I was able to grab you and pull you back from the brink." The older man reached for a fresh bandage and started to wrap it around Dean's shoulder.

With the agony fading, Dean was able to breathe and think again. He remembered that smell and how he had woken up. And he remembered the pain he had suddenly felt before he had passed out, right after some muddy stuff had been rubbed on his shoulder wound.

"That stuff...", he began, but was interrupted by coughing.

"It's a mixture of medicinal herbs, the formula is passed down by members of my tribe since man knows how to talk. I apologize for the pain it causes, but it helps a lot. And to be honest, I am not sure how I would have had brought you here when you would have been awake." He smiled and gripped Deans upper arm. "You should rest, son."

Dean ran a hand over his face, noticing the beads of sweat on his forehead. The fifteen minutes he had been awake had drained him already and he was eager to get some more sleep. But first things first.

"Hey, uh...do you have a phone somewhere?"

Tahkeome looked at the young Winchester guiltily. "I'm afraid I don't. I am a man of nature, I don't believe in such modern technology."

Dean frowned at the man, partly in disbelief, partly in exertion. Super. From all people in the world I must have been saved by Tarzan the ape man.

He blinked heavily, his mind racing but succumbing to fatigue. He would get his strength back first. And then he could find a way to contact Ellen or Bobby. Maybe even Sam...

Sam had really tried to rest. But after a few hours of fitful sleep he had given up and was now sitting in front of the cave, staring through the canopy into the sky.

The rain had stopped and the clouds had given way to a starlit night. Once in a while Sam got up and fed the flames of the fire that was crackling behind him, warming his back. Hel and Patrick were fast asleep, huddled around the warmth.

The tall Winchester was engrossed in thought of what they would do next. Before Hell had returned with two dead rabbits Sam and Patrick had been able to identify the footprints around the cave. Three pairs were, of course, their own. Patrick's prints were virtually everywhere. When Sam hadn't found any of Dean's footprints, he got into panic once more, until he learned from Patrick that Dean hadn't been able to walk anymore to the time they had found the cave and had been dragged by him.

A detail Sam hadn't want to know. Just more oil into the fire of worry raging inside him.

And then there was a footprint that had gotten their attention. Human, definitely. But the imprint was blank, like somebody had worn only socks. No sign of a typical imprint made by a hiking boot or an ordinary sneaker.

Plus, Sam had found out what had bothered him with the died fire. It hadn't been died alone. It had been extinguished. The carbonized remains of wood had been covered with sand, earth and gravel. There had even been a disturbed spot beside the fireplace, the spot were Sam assumed the debris to extinguish the fire had come from.

That made clear that someone had been here and had found his brother. Which was actually good news and Sam could strike wild animals from his list. And after calling Bobby and mandate him to call the nearest hospitals and, because it had to be, morgues, the glimmer of hope in Sam's heart and mind had increased to a ray.

But that left the trio once again grasp at straws at where to go next. How ever that person had managed to get Dean away, they had no traces on the ground left because of the rain. Which meant that neither of them had a clue as where to go next.

Back to square one. But now including knowledge that didn't got well with Sam. The knowledge of Dean's injuries. He was glad that he hadn't his laptop with him, otherwise he would have researched the internet for "punctured lungs" and everything he could learn from it. Infections were nothing new to him, he and Dean had suffered many of them and knew how to deal with it. But then again they had never dealt alone with an infected wound. In the woods. Without a first aid kit.

So Sam did the only thing he could at the moment, he held onto that ray of hope that whoever had found Dean had taken him to the next hospital. And the whole nightmare would be put to an end.

To be continued...