Dean shifted the backpack further up his arms and sighed. His feet hurt.

All damned ready.

For a nationally recognized trail, this path he'd followed into the woods was pretty damned rustic. He'd fallen twice, taken down by the rocks and boulders that littered every freaking foot of the thing. He'd only been out here for about an hour, and still, he felt like he'd dug up three graves by hand.

"Dammit, Dad." he cursed to himself as he tried to simultaneously keep his eyes on the ground and on the nearby trees so as not to miss the splashes of white paint that marked the trail. He'd found out once the hard way about not paying attention when he'd followed what evidently was a deer path instead. It was only by accident that he'd heard people talking off to the left of him and had wandered back onto the trail. Now he was nursing one hell of a headache from his eyes changing focus constantly between the ground and the trees, and he stopped suddenly beside a large fallen log and sat down to dig some painkillers out of his bag. As he rummaged, he heard voices off in the distance coming toward him.

A man chuckled, followed by a kid's voice egging him on. "Come on, Dad. You know you want to."

"Not by any sense of the word "want" do I want to, Ty."

"Aw, you're missing out then."

Dean could see them now - father and son he guessed. They were smiling like everything was right in the world, and for a moment, Dean felt lonely.

He couldn't begin to imagine having a relationship like that with John Winchester.

But the kid spotted him then, and his face broke into a grin. He put an extra charge in his step and hurried forward, stopping directly in front of the older Winchester.

"I'm Ty." He piped up happily, reminding Dean for all the world of a younger, more outgoing version of Sam. Dean smiled despite the pissed-off gorilla that was bashing around inside the walls of his head.

"Dean."

Ty grinned impossibly bigger, dropping his bag practically at Dean's feet and settling down on the ground with a whump. He motioned in the direction of the approaching older man. "That's Dad. He's Carl." The boy wrestled a water bottle off the side of his pack and took a long swallow. He capped it back and turned toward the man.

"Hey Dad. This is Dean." Then the boy was up again and over the log. He crouched down on his haunches, searching the ground with a trained eye. Dean looked up to see the older man smile his son's smile as he nodded at Dean. "Nice to meet you."

Dean nodded, returning to his task at hand, and then the boy's father dropped his bag on the log beside Dean and moved to join his son. Dean tuned out as soon as he heard the boy say something about oyster mushrooms.

Plant collectors, Dean thought, tossing back two pills and chasing them with water. Then, on the down swing, his left hand brushed against the man's bag, and Dean froze.

Army green, battered, broken zipper.

And Dean would know those badges anywhere. Hell, he remembered helping Sam take care of the neighbor's dogs off and on for weeks to earn that freaking dog care badge. He felt his mouth dry up at the exact moment his heart leaped painfully within his chest. He stood slowly and turned around to face the two strangers who, for whatever reason, were carrying his missing brother's bag.

"Where's my brother?" He asked, his voice deadly, hand reaching around behind for the weapon he always kept tucked in his waistband.

Carl glanced up, smile falling away as he took in the look on Dean's face. The older man's eyes dropped to Dean's arm that was hidden behind him, and he took a half-step to the right, placing himself between his son and the man with death in his eyes. "Hold up, there, son." He began.

But Dean cut him off. "You have his bag. Tell me where he is, or I'll make you tell me." He pulled the .45 from his jeans and held it loosely by his side. Ty, sensing the sudden tension in his father, stood up and followed his line of sight to Dean. The boy's face paled.

"You're talking about Sam, right?"

Dean swallowed hard, not liking the sound his brother's name made rolling off this man's tongue. "So he told you his name. What'd you do to him? And you better hope he's okay, cause if he ain't …"

Carl put his hands out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. "Sam's fine. Or at least he was the last time we saw him. I just traded bags with him. That's all."

Dean's hand twitched at his side. "Why?"

Ty piped up then. "You gotta have your hands free out here. Otherwise you'll face-plant. Dad just traded him his old backpack. You know, so it would be easier for him. He said he didn't know if he was thru-hiking or not."

Dean stood silent, vaguely remembering his dad say something along those same lines.

"Dean. Your name is Dean. He said you were probably already looking for him." Carl added. Then he hesitated before continuing. "He's a little beaten up, your brother."

Dean's vision narrowed. "What?"

"Sam. He's … his face. Well, first he said he fell on the trail, then later he said he'd had a fight with his old man."

"Dad gave him a bottle of aspirin." Ty added. "And some food and stuff. I gave him that old thermal shirt that Aunt Mae gave me. It's itchy."

Dean stared, beginning to feel a bit foolish. "You gave him stuff?"

Carl nodded. "I swear, Dean. We just wanted to help your brother. Nothing more."

Dean stood silent, thinking. Slowly, he tucked the gun back in his waistband and nodded at the bag. "I'll need that back."

Carl breathed a sigh of relief, nodding. "Of course." He stepped back across the log and tugged the bag open.

After a moment, Dean did the same. "Here." He said. "You can take this one, it's my dad's." He began pulling snack bars and clothing from the bag.

Carl nodded. "I offered to send it back to him if it had sentimental value."

Dean paused then nodded. "It does." He upended John's backpack and handed it to the older man, grasping Sam's old Army bag in return. He hesitated as Carl began transferring his supplies.

"So … how far ahead of me is he?" He asked, feeling sheepish for having pulled a gun on two people who'd only wanted to help.

Ty shrugged. "Long way. A good hour, at least."

Carl shook his head. "He's not moving fast, though. I think his … his injuries are slowing him down a bit."

Dean looked up, anger flashing in his eyes. "How bad is it?" He felt his hands shake at the sudden mental image he had of Sam alone and injured out here in the elements.

Carl saw and his face softened. "I don't think it's anything that's going to kill him, but I'm sure he's hurting."

Dean froze, nodding, and swore silently to himself.

Ty spoke up hesitantly, "Did … did your dad really do that to him? Hit him in the face like that?"

"Ty …" Carl admonished.

"Sorry." The boy flushed and lowered his head suddenly interested in looking anywhere but at Dean.

Dean shrugged. "I wasn't there. I don't know. I should have been there." He tried to heft Sam's bag onto his shoulder, realizing too late that the strap was broken. How in the hell had the kid made it this long with such a shit bag? It was just one more item to add to the list of things he'd failed Sam on. He should have noticed the kid needed a new duffle. He let the bag settle down onto the fallen log and stood staring at it accusingly.

Ty produced a piece of nylon rope, seemingly out of nowhere, and showed it to Dean. "I can fix it for you temporarily?" He offered.

Dean's eyes narrowed, but he nodded, curious to see what the kid had in mind. He stood watching as Ty threaded the nylon cord through the one good metal ring and tied it off with a series of complicated-looking knots. Ty wrapped the other end around the width of the bag near the end and cinched it tight. When he was done, the cord formed a crude shoulder strap that was long enough for Dean to cross over his body. The older Winchester hefted the bag and smiled. It was a good job. The kid had tied a slip knot in the cinched end, so the longer Dean carried the bag by the strap, the tighter the knot would pull. He slipped the strap over his head and positioned the bag so it hung off his right hip, leaving his hands free. He took a step back and smiled at the kid.

"Let me guess. Scouts?"

Ty grinned. "I'll be an Eagle next year."

Carl stepped behind his son and placed a proud hand on his shoulder. "Ty's got his knots down to a science."

"So I see." Dean nodded. "Uh … thanks."

"Sure." Ty smiled and turned to his dad. "We should get moving, Dad."

Dean stopped them. "And uh … thanks … you know … for Sam."

Carl chuckled, "Don't have to thank us for helping your brother. Anyone would have. He's a nice kid." The older man studied Dean, then reached back into his wallet and tugged out a business card. "You know, if you two ever need a friend …" He handed the card to Dean. "My home, cell and business numbers are on there. I know some people in the family court system. You don't have to … to stay with your father if it gets … bad."

Dean took the card, nodding, knowing he would never make the call. He'd spent his life so far making sure the family courts knew nothing about him and his brother. He sure wasn't about to go begging for help now.

Carl apparently knew it too. "Just a back-up." He said, turning away. "Good luck to you and Sam."

Dean nodded, watching the two stride away down the trail. He chugged a drink of water and turned north.

A good hour, they'd said.

He had some catching up to do.