A/N: Sorry it was a little longer between updates than usual. Things have been a trifle insane. I was going to wait until tomorrow to add this chapter...but a wise person just told me: "Don't put off until tomorrow what you can post today." LOL I apologize if anything seems 'off ' in this chapter, I'm still seriously fried from the last few days.

Your comments are overwhelming in their kindness and I love them all. Thank you so much for sticking with the story.

As always, all errors are mine.

Warning: There's a bit of cursing in this chapter. Amazingly enough, most of it isn't the boys this time.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

From chapter 11:

Sam shook his head and Dean's stomach dropped. "We can't keep things as they are, Dean. The constant arguments are killing us. I can't…I just don't have the energy to do that anymore. I can't do it. Something's gotta change." Sam's eyes closed, his words growing progressively softer until the last was barely a whisper.

"We'll figure something out, Sam. I promise you, we'll work something out."

Dean watched the remaining tension evaporate out of his brother's muscles as he finally allowed exhaustion to pull him under into sleep. He leaned his own head back against the wall and closed his eyes, grudgingly allowing himself a few minutes of calm before he started preparing for their escape from the valley.

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Hozho Chapter 12

A small gust of wind ruffled Dean's hair, evaporating the sweat on his forehead without cooling him off. The wind was hot and dry and carried the scent of burning brush. He glanced up at the light brown haze thickening in the sky above the valley and unconsciously increased his pace.

"Smoke's getting a little heavier," Sam said over his shoulder.

"I noticed," Dean answered sourly. "It wasn't supposed to get windy until lunchtime." He tightened the straps of Sam's backpack, wincing as it settled more snugly against the bruises on his back. It was heavy, loaded with their extra supplies and ammunition, the rifle strapped to the side. He had quickly vetoed Sam's plan to wear the pack. His brother hadn't even tried to argue the point. Not after Dean had threatened to shoot him if he touched it, anyway.

Dean looked at the valley around them and did a quick calculation. "It's less than two miles to the head of the Big Run and then we'll be climbing out of here. How you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

Gee, didn't see that reply coming. He'd let Sam lead the way along the trail so that he could keep a close eye on him. The sleep had reenergized Sam, but his left arm was clamped tight against his side and his head was hanging, shaggy hair hiding his face as he walked. Dean only allowed him to carry the weapons he needed to protect himself, and even that little bit seemed to be weighing him down. The shotgun clasped in his right hand was bumping against his leg as he walked, and he didn't even seem to notice.

Dean missed the owls. Their periodic 'hooing' may have been annoying, but it had allowed him to breathe a little easier while Sam was sleeping. The owls had maintained their position as sentries until the brothers exited the cave and began the walk down to the Big Run. They had silently taken flight at that point, wheeling off into the sky. Watching them spiral out of sight was when Dean had first noticed the smoke beginning to filter across the sky above them.

The dry brush and trees covering the slopes on either side of them swayed in the increasing wind, winding Dean's worry up another notch. It was the uncertainty that had him in a cold sweat. They didn't know where the fire was, or what direction it was being pushed. Or exactly how quickly it was moving.

Sam stopped dead and held up his hand in an obvious request for silence. He swiveled in a slow circle, his eyes searching the sky in every direction, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Dean couldn't help himself, he began to search the sky as well. He just had no idea what he was looking for. "Dude, what the—"

"Sssshh…There! Did you hear that?" There was a spark of excitement in Sam's eyes and Dean tilted his head, listening.

It took a moment, but then he heard it, almost hidden in the rustling of the trees. A low thumping sound, too rhythmic to be explained away as the wind. The sound gained strength the longer he listened.

"It's a helicopter," Sam said quietly, hope tingeing his voice and making him sound like a child who had just heard the bells of the ice cream truck.

Sam's arm shot out and he pointed to the north. A shape made indistinct by the drifting smoke came over the edge of the mountain and began to follow the line of the valley south. On its present course it would pass right over them. Sam allowed the shotgun to fall to the ground next to him and raised both arms to wave. He gave a sudden gasp of pain and dropped his left arm, pressing it against his side. His right arm stayed in the air and began to wave back and forth in wide arcs. Dean nudged the shotgun into the shadow of a bush with his foot and dropped the backpack to hide the rifle before raising his own arms to wave.

The helicopter took on detail as it came closer. White with a blue tail, it had a pointed nose and windows that looked too small in Dean's estimation. He had been hoping for one of those choppers with the huge bug eye bubble of glass on the front. The type of glass that would ensure the pilot would have to be blind not to see them. The deep thump of its rotors preceded it up the valley, gaining strength until Dean felt the rumble in his bones.

It swept over them, high enough that he couldn't even feel a wash of air from its rotors and his stomach sank. His arms dropped to his sides and he hung his head, working to hide his disappointment from Sam. His head shot up in surprise when Sam started to shout. He was about to tell his brother to save his breath when he saw the reason for Sam's enthusiasm. The helicopter had banked into a turn after passing over and was heading towards them again.

"DOWN HERE!! WE'RE DOWN HERE!" Sam's arm waved frantically and he was practically bouncing with excitement.

Dean knew he should point out to Sam that they couldn't hear him in the chopper, but he didn't have the heart to rein in his brother's delight. A huge grin found its way to Dean's face and he found himself waving his arms with just as much excitement as his brother. He consoled himself with the thought that at least HE wasn't shouting.

The helicopter dropped slightly in altitude as it came closer and the breeze pushed down by the thumping propellers sent the dead grass around their feet swirling lazily into the air. Dean could only imagine the maelstrom that would surround them if it descended any further. It circled and then hovered slightly east of them, giving them a clear view of an open doorway in the side of the chopper. A helmeted figure sat on the floor of the helicopter, their jumpsuit clad legs stretched out in front of them across the opening. Their right hand was fiddling with something near their mouth and Dean realized they were talking into a microphone attached to their helmet.

"HELP! WE NEED HELP DOWN HERE!" Geeeez…he was hanging around Sam too much. Now HE was shouting at helicopters.

A gust of wind moved down the mountain slope next to them, buffeting them far worse than anything from the helicopter. It carried the smell of burning wood with it and Dean glanced up the slope nervously. The helicopter was not immune to the wind, it rocked and slid sideways through the air for a second before the pilot regained control.

The gust of wind was a warning that the pilot couldn't ignore. The figure in the doorway gave the brothers a wave to make sure he had their attention and then pointed up the valley in the direction that they had been moving. He ended by sweeping his arm through the air several times in a 'move it along' gesture. He touched his hand to his helmet in a brief salute and then the chopper was lifting smoothly away from them, rising higher into the sky as it continued down the valley.

Sam's shoulders slumped as the chopper lifted away from them. Dean looked at the uneven surface of the valley around them as he donned the backpack. "You know they couldn't land here for us, right?" Dean spoke loudly to be heard over the retreating aircraft. If Sam answered Dean couldn't hear him, but he wasn't happy with the way his brother's head was hanging. "They know we're here now. They'll probably send somebody to pick us up." Dean nudged his brother with his arm and forced a grin. "Maybe they'll send another helicopter and then you can laugh at me when I'm afraid to climb in."

That earned a tired grin from Sam and Dean picked up the shotgun and handed it back to him. "C'mon, let's keep moving."

The sound of the helicopter faded away, replaced by the rattle of branches moving against each other as another gust of wind whipped around them. "They won't send another helicopter," Sam said quietly as he began to walk down the fire road. "They're all going to be grounded by this wind."

The gusts died down to a light breeze and Dean was amazed that a trick of the wind made it sound like there was music lilting on the air currents. Soft plaintive notes that spilled over each with an aching beauty.

Dean skidded to a stop and took a step back in surprise when Sam twirled suddenly. All traces of exhaustion were gone as his little brother smoothly swung the shotgun up into position, his right elbow braced against his hip. The pistol grip and short barrel made the gun easy to handle with one hand, and Sam took advantage of that by digging for the Beretta with his other hand.

"Whoa, Quick Draw!" Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. "What's up with you?"

Sam's face was set in stone, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like he could bite through steel. He faced into the wind, his eyes scanning the trees in back of them. "That's Betzgai," he finally bit out.

Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Playing music? Dude, that's crazy…" He trailed off when Sam turned to him with one eyebrow raised and a sardonic smile. "Oh yeah. Right. So now the crazy son of a bitch is serenading us?" Sam didn't answer, he just turned his eyes back to the trees. "Man, this guy is getting on my nerves," Dean grumbled as he pulled his own Beretta from his waist.

Sam gestured towards the trees with the shotgun. "He's over there somewhere." He took a step in that direction, cocking his head to pinpoint the location of the music. The wind pushed the hair off of his face and he narrowed his eyes against the grit being thrown into the air.

The acrid smell of smoke was heavy in the wind, and Dean cleared his throat trying not to cough. He put his hand on Sam's arm and shook his head slightly. "We can't go after him now, Sam. We don't know where the fire is. If we don't keep moving Betzgai is gonna be the least of our problems."

"Dean, if he's playing the flute he's not in a skin. He's just a man. It's our best chance to get him."

The muscles of Sam's arm were like rock under Dean's hand and he clamped down harder when he felt Sam start to pull away from him. His brother's eyes remained fixed on the trees and Dean wasn't sure Sam was even hearing him. He stepped in close and began to talk in a low voice. "I know you want to go after him. Dude, I get it. I'd like nothing better than to turn the bastard into a bear skin rug. But if we go after him now we may not make it out of the valley. The smoke is getting heavier and the wind is getting stronger, and we don't know how close the damn fire is." He gave Sam a weak grin. "I gotta tell you, it's getting me a little nervous. I'd kind of like to get us both out of here before we end up extra crispy."

Sam's arm relaxed minutely under Dean's hand. He tore his eyes away from the trees and looked down at Dean, his expression full of pain. Dean was forcefully reminded that the skinwalker had singled Sam out, had stalked him, and had held him as a helpless captive for twenty-four hours. And chances were good that if all three of them escaped from the valley, he would continue to stalk them both.

Dean's own resolve began to weaken and he released his hold on Sam's arm with a resigned sigh. "Look, Sammy, you know how I feel about it, but it's your call. If you're determined to go after Betzgai now, then I'm with you."

Sam just stared at him for a moment before his eyes softened and he shook his head slowly. "No." He lowered the shotgun. "No, you're right. We should get out of here." He kept his eyes fixed on Dean's and the corners of his mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile. "And Dean…thanks, man," he said quietly. "You know…for having my back."

Dean shrugged and gave him a little smirk. "I kind of liked the idea of the bearskin rug."

With a soft snort Sam turned and began to walk away from the music. "Jerk," he said softly, nudging Dean with his shoulder as he passed.

"Bitch." Dean glanced at the woods with his eyes narrowed and the smirk faded to a momentary look of thin lipped anger before he turned and followed his brother. "Really, I hear chicks dig bearskin rugs…"

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The music faded away as soon as the brothers turned their backs and began to walk, and a chill ran down Sam's spine. Betzgai was watching them. If Dean hadn't stopped him he'd have walked right into another trap, and taken Dean with him. The cleared space on either side of the fire road was probably the only thing staying the skinwalker from making a direct attack.

Things would get riskier when they reached the point where the foot trail diverged from the old road. In more ways than one.

Dean might not have been familiar with wildfires, but Sam was. He had been incapable of living for over three years in a state that was prone to them without learning a few things. Their raw power and their tendency to restore a balance in nature that man had knocked askew fascinated him. He knew the way they could run before the wind, and he knew that when drought, wind, and topography came together just right wildfires could 'blow up', turning into rapidly expanding infernos that had been known to catch even the most experienced firefighters unawares. A friend at Stanford had covered many school expenses by working with contract wildfire crews during the summers. Sam had spent hours listening to his stories, putting a personal face on the news stories and web sites he read regularly.

He wiped his forearm across his face, wincing at the sharp pull in his side. He was doing his best to set a brutal pace and sweat was running into his eyes. Thirst gnawed at him, but he didn't want to take the time to stop and look for water. Each time the wind gusted he could feel the minutes sliced off of the time they had left. With the way the wind was pushing from the west, it seemed likely that the fire would crest Rockytop and then come down the slope towards them.

It would probably slow down a little after it came over the crest and began moving downhill, but slower or not, there wasn't a doubt in Sam's mind that the fire would make it to the valley floor. He eyed the stream and the width of the cleared areas on either side appraisingly. With a calmer fire they might have been safe in the center, but this one was turning into a monster. Embers raining down were sure to jump the fire over the stream and the radiant heat between the two fires would turn the narrow valley into an oven.

The ache in Sam's side was constant. He held his arm tight against his ribs trying to keep pressure against the bandage under his shirt. The shirt itself was growing increasingly damp and he didn't know if it was sweat or if the bleeding had started again. He didn't want to know.

He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder as he walked, struck by a sudden inspiration. "Hey, Dean, you've seen more of this valley than I have. Are there any cleared areas?" Sam was amazed at the effort it took to get the string of words out. He had to pause to take a couple of deep breaths before he could continue. "Like the area around the streams where we were last night, only, maybe, bigger?"

"No, the drainage basin where you dropped Betzgai on his ass is the only place I've seen like that. You thinking we could find someplace to hunker down and let the fire go around us? You think we should go back to the cave?"

Dean's voice seemed unaffected by the smoke settling into the air around them and Sam felt a brief flash of annoyance at the unfairness of it. Why was the smoke making him so short of breath and sparing Dean? He startled slightly when Dean's hand came to rest on his shoulder and he realized that he must have spaced out for a second.

"You with me here, Sammy? I asked if you thought—"

"Yeah, I heard you." Sam quickened his pace, moving out from under Dean's hand. "The cave is no good. In the middle of the trees—if the heat didn't kill us the smoke would. Maybe the drainage basin…" He lost whatever he was going to say when a wave of vertigo struck and he stumbled over a nonexistent obstruction on the fire road, the shotgun dropping from his hand. He would have gone down on his knees if a strong hand hadn't clamped onto his right arm, steadying him.

"Whoa! Easy there, Slick. You okay?"

"Yeah, just give me a second." He pulled from Dean's grasp as soon as he was sure he wasn't about to plant his face in the dirt and bent at the waist with his hand braced against his thigh, taking quick breaths while he waited for the dizziness to pass.

"Sammy, come on man, just sit down for minute."

Sam shook his head 'no'. If he sat down he was going to have a tough time getting back up. He ignored the sound of Dean's grumbling about his stubbornness, intent on watching the drops of sweat that fell from the ends of his hair. They created little pockmarks when they landed on the dry dirt in front of his feet and for some reason he was finding it fascinating. The show was interrupted when Dean's hand appeared in front of his face holding another foil pack of apple juice.

"I knew there was another one in there." Dean's hand on his shoulder gently helped him upright and then the juice was pressed into his right hand. "Drink."

Sam obliged his brother, sucking at the tiny straw until the foil bag was crumpled down to nothing in his hand. The juice was followed by a bottle of water. "Don't hoover this one. Small sips."

Dean picked up the shotgun and shoved it into the pack, his worried gaze never leaving his brother. "Just sit down for a minute, catch your breath," he urged.

"I'm already slowing us down too much," Sam said, fixing his eyes on Dean, "and you know it." He tilted his head back and took a long swallow of the water, not expecting any reply from his brother. Dean couldn't deny the truth of what he'd said. He recapped the bottle and then wiped the back of his hand shakily across his mouth. "We've got to keep moving, Dean. You know Betzgai's going to get ahead of us and try to stop us."

"He doesn't have to stop us. If he slows us down the fire will stop us," Dean said quietly. "My guess is he'll try to ambush us when we're on the foot trail. The brush is thick in sections and he'll be able to get close. And if the fire hits while we're on there…" Dean trailed off with a grimace and gave a little shrug.

"Do you think we should stay on the road?" Sam looked at Dean, his eyes wide, silently asking for Dean to take the lead. His own thoughts were getting dangerously fuzzy. He didn't trust himself to make the right choice.

Dean looked at Sam in indecision. His eyes went past Sam and he went still, the muscles in his jaw tense. "I think we'll decide when we get there," Dean said tightly.

Sam turned around, following his brother's line of sight, and ice formed in the pit of his stomach. Smoke was boiling over the crest of Rockytop in back of them, banking its way down the slope in a roiling brown mass. Flames weren't visible yet, but they wouldn't be far behind.

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Things were simpler when they were children. When Sam was hurt, or afraid, Dean could scoop him up in his arms and make it all better. Chubby toddler arms would wrap around Dean's neck, a curly head would nestle against his cheek, and everything would be all right.

He remembered the feel of that warm weight in his arms, the unquestioning love and trust of little hands fisting in the shirt behind his neck and holding tight. He wished life could be that simple again.

Even if just for a little while.

He wished he could scoop his little brother up in his arms and run with him. Get him away from the danger, make him stop hurting, save him. The best he could do now was urge him to run faster. Support him when he stumbled.

A distant howl rose behind them as the fire crested the mountain. Dean glanced repeatedly over his shoulder but there was no way to see if the flames were starting to work their way down the slope. The smoke was a nearly solid mass banking down the mountainside, pushed by the increasingly gusty wind.

Sam's breath came in harsh gasps but he didn't utter a word about stopping to rest. Stubborn ass.

Dean slowed as they neared the spot where the hiking trail diverged from the old fire road, debating their choices. The fire road ascended just as steeply as the trail, but it was wider than the trail, making it harder for Betzgai to launch a surprise attack. The fire road, though, was an unknown quantity. It curved slightly around the mountain before meeting up with a newer, well maintained road, and without knowing the conditions around that curve they could be jumping from the frying pan literally into the fire.

They stopped in front of the trail and Sam bent over, breathing hard. "You with me here, Sam?" Dean gasped out, fighting to catch his own breath.

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean snorted at the obvious lie and Sam straightened up slightly, trying to square his shoulders. "Really, I'm good," he mumbled, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Dean just didn't have the energy to bust on his brother about the slight whine that was starting to tinge his voice. Sweat ran freely down the older hunter's face and he wished he could just drop the backpack. It was like a lead weight biting into his shoulders. There was no getting rid of the pack, though. They would be helpless without the supplies and ammo it held.

The wind blew hot and dry against Dean's back, giving weight to the little voice that urged him to make a decision and keep moving. If he made the wrong choice, though, there would be no turning back. Sam was nearing the end of his endurance and Dean was feeling every hour of missed sleep, every bump, bruise, and scrape that he had suffered over the past few days. Around him the day fell into a false twilight as the growing thunderhead of smoke over the valley edged across the sun.

"Dean?" Sam straightened up completely, his posture stiff, wary. "Betzgai is here somewhere. I can feel him watching us."

Dean didn't question how it was possible for his brother to sense the skinwalker's presence. It didn't pay to think about some things too closely. Not if you wanted to sleep at night. He turned away from the hiking trail and set a quick pace up the fire road. Between the fire and the skinwalker, the hiking trail would have been a death trap. They would have to just take their chances with what lay around the bend in the road. God knew they were due to catch a break.

It didn't take long before the fire road began its own climb out of the valley. The increasingly steep slope mocked them, promising an escape from the doomed valley at the same time it made them fight for every step they took. The incline took its toll on Sam and he began to falter, finally, grudgingly, accepting his brother's help. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's waist, grasping the top of his pants, as Sam rested his arm over Dean's shoulders with a mumbled apology.

Dean's head pounded from the strain, and he began to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. He didn't know how Sam was still on his feet. Every time his brother stumbled Dean's heart leapt into his throat and he silently willed Sam to hang on, just make it a little farther. Because when his brother went down, they were done. Dean had no illusions about being able to carry the younger man to safety. And leaving him was not, and would never be, an option. Whenever he could spare the breath he whispered soft words of encouragement, assuring Sam that they were almost there, that they were doing fine. The point where the road curved around the mountain was visible in front of them. It beckoned with the promise that once they reached the newer road the going would be easier. They would be home free. It might have been a false hope, but Dean clung to it.

Something crashed through the underbrush in the woods up the slope to their right and Dean swung his head to stare in that direction. He released the grip he had on Sam's right wrist and his brother's arm started to slide off of its perch on Dean's shoulders. "I need you to hold on to me Sammy, okay?" he said quietly as he pulled the Beretta free. Sam didn't answer but his arm halted its downward slide and his head lifted, cocking to the side as though he was listening. It could have been a deer fleeing the fire…but Dean didn't think so.

Sam's breathing quieted and Dean felt his brother's muscles tense as a jolt of adrenalin kicked in. "It's him." The words were so soft Dean barely heard them, just a whisper breathed out on a soft puff of air. Sam dropped his arm off of Dean and took a step away. He pulled out his own gun and held it hanging at his side.

The noise in the trees stopped abruptly and the brothers glanced at each other in silent communication. They stepped farther apart and Dean slid the backpack to the ground by his leg. His left hand hovered over the top of the bag, ready to pull the shotgun out as well. If the skinwalker was starting to stalk through the trees towards them, they couldn't hear it. The wind whistled around them, bringing the dry branches and leaves above them to noisy life. Over it all, the muted roar of the fire grew behind them.

Dean's nerves pulled taut as the moment stretched. He tightened his grasp on the Beretta as sweat made the grip slick. He swung the gun up in a short arc, his breath catching in his throat when the sound of something crashing through the underbrush suddenly started again. The brothers shared another glance, but this one was filled with confusion.

"What the hell?" Dean wondered, his hand dropping back to his side. "Maybe it wasn't him?"

"It was him," Sam replied with quiet assurance. "But where the hell is he going?"

The noises were receding as the creature continued running, heading away from them.

"Dean." Sam's voice was tired and defeated. He lifted his arm and pointed, and Dean's stomach sank.

"Oh crap." Looked like he had made the wrong choice back at the intersection. A cloud of brown smoke was making its way around the curve in front of them. Dean's eyes narrowed as he looked at the smoke. It was low to the ground, not being separated and thinned by the wind like the smoke in back of them. He looked at his brother to see if Sam was noticing the same thing. Sam wasn't noticing anything. He was standing with his shoulders slumped, his head hanging.

"Sam," Dean began tentatively. A throaty rumble grew louder by the second and Dean looked back at the approaching brown cloud. An angular shape was emerging from the billowing dirt…DIRT not SMOKE. The shape morphed into a heavy red pickup with a cage of welded metal protecting the front grill and headlights. "Sammy!" Dean met his brother's confused look with a huge grin. "Our taxi is here!"

The pickup roared towards them and Dean reached an arm out to usher Sam to the edge of the road next to him. The truck's driver seemed prepared to bowl them over if they were in the way. Both Berettas were carefully stashed out of sight and Dean took advantage of the dirt obscuring the driver's vision to unstrap the rifle from the side of the pack and slide it under a bush next to them. Safe passage out of this hellhole was worth the price of the rifle.

The truck came to an abrupt halt in front of them. It would have made an impressive skid mark on pavement, on the loose surface of the fire road it arrived in a shower of dirt. It was a Ford F350, obviously modified for use at wildland fires. In addition to the metal framework protecting the front, there was a small lightbar on the roof, and the back was fitted with a 'utility box', a variety of compartments along the sides of the truck with the doors facing out. There was some type of government emblem with a tree in the middle of it on the door. Dean didn't bother trying to decipher the agency initials before he yanked the door open.

The middle-aged woman sitting behind the wheel was garbed in what appeared to be standard wildland issue: dark green pants, a long sleeve yellow shirt, leather lace up boots, and a red bandana knotted around her neck. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she glared at them from under the brim of a dark green baseball cap.

"Get your god damned asses into the god damned truck-- NOW!" she roared at them.

Dean smirked at Sam and gestured at the bench seat. "After you, Samantha."

His brother scowled at him from under sweat drenched bangs and Dean had the sudden urge to laugh. It wasn't all that funny, it just felt like he could breathe again now that worry for his brother was lifting from his shoulders. As soon as they made it back to the Impala Dean was throwing his brother right into the car and getting him to the nearest hospital. It was going to be okay.

Dean put a hand on Sam's elbow and steadied him as he climbed into the truck. Sam slid across the bench seat with a grimace and Dean raised a foot to climb in after him.

The driver took her right hand off of the wheel and pointed at the backpack. "How 'bout you throw that in the back," she said gruffly, hooking a thumb towards the truck's bed.

"How about I don't?" Dean climbed in without waiting for an answer, resting the pack on his lap. It was a little crowded with the three of them on the seat. Sam was sitting at an angle, his legs pushed to the side by a center console that held an impressive array of switches and dials. It was topped by a built in two-way radio.

"Suit yourself." She threw the truck into gear and hit the gas as Dean was reaching to shut the door. He drew his hand back hurriedly when the door slammed shut on its own. A glare at the driver earned him an amused smile in return. "When I tell you to move your ass, you need to move your ass," she said sweetly before dropping the grin and replacing it with a scowl. "You mind telling me what the hell you pinheaded doobersnarks are even doing out here? Big fire? Closed trails? Ringing any bells here, boys?"

"We didn't—" The driver snapped her hand up palm outward, demanding silence, and Dean's mouth snapped shut. She had reached a slightly wider section of the road and pulled to the side. She kept the motor running as she grabbed the microphone of the two way radio and thumbed a button on the side.

Sam looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "pinheaded doobersnarks?" he mouthed silently, his lips curving up in a slight grin. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sliding glass window behind them with the smile still in place. Dean felt something within him start to relax at the sight.

"Div C ops from Lookout 4." She lifted her thumb and reached over to play with the volume button on the radio.

The soft hiss of static preceded the tinny reply. "Lookout 4, go ahead."

"I've got 'em. I'm heading out. What's she looking like?"

"Div D is reporting the head is over Rockytop. She's backing down the slope. Right flank is creeping toward the line. Unless the wind gets freaky it should hold there. Just get them back to base and then check in with me. I'm gonna need you in a new position. She's making a run on the left flank and Ops is getting nervous about her spotting over the line."

"Received. I'm on my way." She replaced the microphone in its cradle and allowed the truck to roll forward. She immediately jerked the wheel to the side, sending the nose of the truck sharply to the left as she executed a hasty K turn. The movement slid Dean into the door and he threw his arm up to hold Sam in place. Sam gave a soft groan and grabbed onto Dean's arm when the sudden movement jarred him. His fingers bit into Dean's flesh as he rode out a wave of pain, and Dean resumed glaring at the driver.

The driver took the tableau in with a quick glance and her expression softened. "What's up with your buddy? He don't look too good."

Dean spared her a quick frown but kept his attention on his brother. Sam's fingers were loosening their death grip on his arm and Sam opened his eyes, blinking slowly at him. "She drives like you," he said with a shaky smile.

"Dude, nobody drives like me." He gave Sam a questioning look. "You okay, Sammy?" he asked softly. Sam nodded and released Dean's arm completely. Dean patted his chest softly before pulling his arm back and rubbing his hand over his own face tiredly. He rested his arm over the backpack on his lap and turned his attention to the driver. "You heard about that cougar that killed the horses?"

She kept her eyes on the road in front of them but gave him a choppy nod.

"Well, my brother had a little run in with him."

Her eyes widened and she glanced at Sam before looking at Dean. "No shit?"

"No shit," Dean confirmed.

"He hurt bad?" She nodded her head at Sam.

"HE has a name," Sam broke in tiredly. "It's Sam."

"I'm Deb. Sorry if I was being ignorant. It's been a crazy day. You know we got a red flag warning, right?"

Dean looked at Sam, waiting for him to reply, but Sam had closed his eyes again. He was pale, sweat glistening on his face. "Uh, yeah. That's because of the winds, right?" Dean finally answered. He reached over and wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist.

Sam's eyes flew open and he yanked his arm out of Dean's grasp. "Dean, I'm fine," he said, annoyed.

In the brief moment that Dean had felt Sam's pulse it had felt too fast, and he silently willed Deb's foot to go a little heavier on the accelerator. She had slowed down when she realized that the truck's sudden movements were hurting Sam. They were just reaching the curve that had beckoned so enticingly to the boys.

"So listen, Dean," she started, obviously having caught Sam's use of his name "If anybody asks, I picked you up when you got to Madison Run Road, okay? That's the real fire road that this piece of crap road meets up with. Okay? It's right up there." She flicked her hand as they eased around the curve, indicating the intersection that they were approaching. The truck's speed had dropped to a crawl. The fire crews had not made it to this section of the old road, and it was impressively bumpy and uneven. Deb ducked her head and gave him an embarrassed grin. "They sent me there when I got relieved from my lookout post. I was supposed to stage up there and wait for you to make it to me. I got a little bored waiting so I figured I'd come just a little ways looking for you." She nodded her head at Sam. "Good thing, huh?"

Dean remembered the weight of Sam's arm over his shoulder and nodded in agreement. It was probably the sound of the approaching truck that had deterred Betzgai from attacking.

"So, I gotta ask, where'd you meet up with the cat? I mean, I'm not worried about the crews, they got over twenty people in 'em with some hefty tools. But a lot of the lookouts are alone. Should I be putting a warning out to them?"

"It happened the night before last. I don't know where the cougar is now. But your lookouts have a bigger prob—"

Deb did a double take and interrupted him. "Night before last?! Then why the hell were you still—"

At first Dean thought the truck must have hit a large rock in the road. That could explain the loud crack and the way Deb jerked the wheel. Sam's eyes popped open and he darted looks around the inside of the cab searching for the source of the noise. Both brothers spotted it at the same time. There was a small hole in the upper left corner of the windshield, small cracks radiating out from it in a starburst pattern.

Deb held the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip and the truck began to slow down. "What the—" A second crack was followed by a closer and more ominous thud. Dean could see the new hole punched into the truck's hood. He grabbed Sam's shoulder and forced his brother into a bent over position so that he would be partially protected by the dashboard. He leaned over, placing his own body over Sam's. The shooter was in front of them, somewhere near the Madison Run Road intersection.

The truck lurched forward when Deb switched her foot from the brake to the gas. She swerved to the right to give them a little more clearance and then sent them into a sliding U-turn to the left. There was a thud against the side of the truck close to Dean's door and he tensed, waiting to feel the burn of a bullet. Sam began to push against him. His breath was coming in short pants and Dean knew the position had to be incredibly painful. Dean pressed his face into the back of Sam's shoulder to quiet him. "Sammy, you've got to stay down man. Just hold on." In the back of his mind he was dismayed at how easy it was to hold his large, strong, brother in the awkward position.

The truck went off of the road but Deb didn't stop. The metal welded to the front allowed the powerful truck to push through the brush, smashing right through small saplings. They bounced wildly as they moved forward and the sound of cracking wood and branches screeching along the sides of the truck filled the cab. Joined by another screeching.

"SOMEBODY'S SHOOTING AT US?!!" The truck roared back onto the road and slewed sideways, almost going off the other side before she got it under control. Dean understood why she had driven this section slowly just a few minutes ago. At this speed the front of the truck was lifting off from every rut they hit, landing hard on the other side. Sam groaned miserably under him and Dean rested his hand on top of his brother's shaggy hair, helpless to make it less painful. A spray of dirt flew out behind the truck as it slid back around the curve, taking them out of the immediate line of fire.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Betzgai lowered the rifle from his shoulder. He was ashamed that he had been forced to use a weapon of the biligaana, but he was desperate. The power held by the brother hunters was his last chance to return to his home. It would make him strong. It would restore him. Already the witching of the hataali was taking its toll. His side and face were marked by oozing pockmarks and raw skin, reminders of the shotgun pellets that had peppered him the night before. A streak of red showed the path of the brothers' bullet and blood still trickled from gashes on his head and neck, angry wounds inflicted by the né´ éshjaa´ sent by the hataali.

It was not a surprise to find his truck disabled after he left the cave. It was inevitable that this must end in the valley. He had retrieved the powerful rifle from inside of the locked metal box and carried it south to the mouth of the valley. He was not worried that the brother hunters would attempt to escape to the north when they left the cave. They would travel the route that they knew, they would come south. The rifle was left hidden there with the skins of two of his brothers while he stalked the hunters. He had watched them, hoping for a chance to attack before he was forced to settle on his perch and take up the rifle.

He laid the rifle down on the ground at his feet with a grimace of distaste. It had served its purpose, herding his quarry in the direction he chose. His final shots had been aimed at the wide tires of their vehicle. It would not take them far.

Betzgai kneeled on the ground in front of his three brothers. He ran his fingers over their soft fur and smiled sadly. Only one would join him in this fight. The other two would be freed. This would end in the valley, surrounded by fire. If he defeated the brother hunters their power would make him whole again. Shila-moasi was mighty and swift, his legs would carry Betzgai out of the valley and he would emerge from the fire cleansed and victorious.

If he did not defeat the brother hunters, then he would die. But either way, the hunters would not survive. Their lives would pay for what they had cost him, and balance—harmony—would return. Hozho would be restored.

He picked up the battered metal can he had left on the ground near the pelts. The liquid inside sloshed from side to side and gasoline fumes spread through the air around him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

A/N: No, Deb is not me. LOL Although I have been in one of our brush trucks when it's mowing through shrubs and trees…and it's better than a Disney ride. I am not a wildland firefighter, but I have friends who are. They are a crazy, adventurous, hard working bunch and I respect and admire them greatly.

Maygin, thank you for giving me the term 'pinheaded doobersnarks'. It still makes me laugh.

biligaana – Caucasians, non-Navajo

Shilah Navajo name meaning 'brother'. There is no literal translation of the word 'brother' itself.

Moasi cat

hataali Navajo religious singer, ceremonial singer, healer

né´ éshjaa´ owl