WILDERNESS TIPS

By Allegra

See Part 1 for disclaimers etc.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : As always, thank you to everyone who has reviewed. It never ceases to astound and thrill me how many people have followed the story so far & I appreciate every word that you guys take the time to write. This chapter is a little on the short side but it felt like a logical place to leave yet another cliffhanger (!) so I hope you enjoy it. Plus, I thought people would appreciate a more speedy update rather than a 20-pager in about a decade's time!

Sorry I didn't get around to PM-ing my gorgeous reviewers this time, but I promise I will with the next chapter (which I'm working on right now).

PART 14 : CAN YOU SEE ME?

Ridley was feeling increasingly nervous about having Dean upstairs and, despite his reservations about the young man's health, he decided it was time to take the hostage back down to the basement. He drugged the hunter's water and Dean drank it obligingly but knowingly. As much as the old man wanted his captive healthy, he also wanted him weak enough to manipulate and move whenever the need arose.

Dean needed water and the suspicion of what was pulped up in the bottom did not outweigh his thirst. He had all but given up on rescue or escape. After all, how many days had it been? Long enough. Dean knew that Sam would never give up on him but he could be dead. As much as the hunter hated to admit it, the outlook didn't look good.

Ridley hovered over Dean's bed, looking for some sign of feigned sleep. He listened to the young man's deep and even breathing, the dark lashes that did not flutter. Ridley was not fool enough to risk losing his prize a second time though. Leaning forwards, he pressed down hard on the deepest laceration on Dean's chest. The hunter's brow furrowed and he grunted in pain but did not wake. That was proof enough for Ridley.

He untied the knots holding Dean fast to the bed frame then rolled him onto his side while he drew the young man's hands behind his back and bound them together once more. Ridley ran another rope between Dean's ankles, loose enough to allow him to walk but short enough to entangle him in should he try anything untoward. He would wait another hour or so then ply his victim with smelling salts. That would leave him groggy enough to lead safely back down to the basement.

Ellen had tried to insist Sam rest while she and Bobby checked out Ridley Miller's address but she had met a brick wall. There was absolutely no way Sam was being left out of the trip. "Sam, listen to me. I know you want to find Dean but you are not ready for this. Honey, you can hardly walk ten paces, let alone…"

"That's not true!" Sam retaliated. "You haven't seen me at therapy. The only reason I don't walk more than ten paces is because this damned apartment is too small!" To make his point, he moved closer to Ellen and towered deliberately over her. "You're not my mother and as much as I appreciate you taking care of me, Dean is my brother and I'm going to be there when we find him."

Bobby had stayed well out of the argument. He knew better than to stand in the way of an angry Winchester but perhaps it was time he put his oar in. "Ellen, I hear ya, but Sam's his own boss. 'Sides, last Dean saw, Sam was at death's door. Seeing his little brother alive and well might help him…". He paused, realising he had given away more of his thoughts than were advisable. He was probably only saying what the others had thought, too, but Bobby wasn't expecting to find Dean in good shape if he was alive. A couple of weeks out in the wilderness, alone with a demonic creature, was hardly a recipe for wellbeing. If he was right, Sam might be the only thing Dean could cling to and keep himself alive.

Facing down Ellen's steely gaze, Bobby attempted a placating smile. "I'll look out for him."

Sam grinned at Bobby then turned his winning smile on Ellen. Confronted with the eager faces of both men, Ellen had no choice but to relent. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Fine, fine, have it your way. I'm not going to stand in the way of you killing yourself if that's what you really want." She wagged a finger in Bobby's direction. "Don't let him push himself too hard."

"Hey! Standing right here!" Sam protested, but his heart was leaping in his chest.

Bobby tossed the young Winchester his jacket. "We'll give you a call when we get there, just in case…". Ellen nodded, grateful that at least one of the men was still thinking straight. "I'll bring the car around."

Alone with Ellen, Sam softened his tone. "Ellen. Thank you for looking out for me. I really do appreciate it but…I've got to do this. I can't not be a part of Dean's rescue."

Ellen nodded. "I know, honey, I know. Just stay safe, okay. I don't want to be sitting by your bedside again, you hear?"

"Scout's honour," Sam promised. Pulling on his jacket, he went to join Bobby in the car.

"Get up," the voice commanded. Dean understood the words but something told him not to heed them. "Get up," came the voice again, more insistent this time. Dean felt groggy and disoriented. Even with his eyes closed, the world seemed to be spinning like he was on a carousel. "I know you're awake," came the irritable voice once more. This time though it was accompanied by a sharp nudge in the ribs that almost took Dean's breath away. The creature's feedings left his body more and more vulnerable, until even the slightest rough handling left bruises and brought pain.

The hunter's eyes snapped open in alarm, immediately meeting Ridley's impatient stare. Reality came rushing back into his mind and he prayed that the old man only wanted him to eat something. He couldn't bear the thought of being drugged again. His head pounded almost constantly, whether from the after-effects of the pharmaceuticals or some kind of withdrawal when they weren't plaguing his system, Dean couldn't be sure. The only thing worse than the prospect of being drugged was that of a feeding. Somehow he knew that the creature's next feeding would be his last. Ridley might try and keep him fed and relatively warm but Dean could feel how fragile his body had become. It was almost like his bones and organs were turning to ash beneath his skin. He had danced with Death long enough. Now it was time to embrace it.

To his surprise, Ridley yanked hard on Dean's arm, bodily lifting him off the bed. The young hunter woozily drew himself up into a seated position, blinking through the dizziness and only belatedly realising that he wasn't tethered to the bed anymore.

As if reading his mind, Ridley warned, "Don't go getting any ideas. You might be conscious but you're weak as a kitten. Come on."

Dean had long since given up on the smart replies. He just followed Ridley's instructions obediently, unable and now strangely unwilling to do anything else. Whatever put an end to this slow decomposition from the man he was into a breathing skeleton was his only wish.

At first, Dean found it hard to gain his balance with his hands tied behind his back and the sedative still coursing through his system. He reluctantly had to lean into Ridley as the old man guided him through the bedroom door. Woozily, the hunter tried to take in his surroundings, unable to suppress the training in him that always taught him to know his exits. Sadly, it wouldn't have mattered if every door in the house opened onto freedom, Dean Winchester was the walking dead.

The staircase leading to the ground floor seemed impossible, each step hazing in and out of focus. Ridley was pushing at his back but Dean was hesitant. He stumbled on the first step but the old man held fast to his pinioned arms. The force of the drop jarred the young man's arms half out of their sockets and he gasped in pain. "Be careful," Ridley commanded. He moved to Dean's side and steered the hunter down each step until they made it safely to the bottom.

Dean was panting hard by the time they paused, sweat beading on his forehead. Ridley pushed him on, refusing to pause even for a moment. He forced Dean down the basement stairs, his touch growing increasingly hard and careless. Even in his drugged state, Dean recognised the signs. Ridley always seemed more ruthless and detached when he was about to summon the creature for a feed. It was as if the old man couldn't stand what he was doing and tried to divorce himself from his own heinous actions.

Dean momentarily considered one last burst for freedom before he was chained back to the wall, but he could conjure neither the will nor the strength to do so. He wouldn't make it two steps before Ridley would stop him. No, it was better to just face Death with courage.

Dean watched numbly as Ridley fastened him against the cold, stone wall. He felt the heavy familiarity of the manacles against his bruised wrists and felt tears prickle behind his eyes. After everything he had seen and faced, it was incredible to think his life was going to end like this. Sam's face was all he could see – his warm, brown eyes and open smile, studious frown and hurt, puppy dog face. Dean had always known he wouldn't die peacefully in bed but he had been sure whatever violent end came his way, it would be protecting his loved ones. His only comfort now was the hope that perhaps he would meet his little brother on the other side.

Ridley stepped back, carefully avoiding eye contact with his prisoner. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, "I'll get you some water, perhaps something to eat."

"No," Dean whispered, shaking his head wearily. "I don't want it."

Ridley's face registered something bordering on shame. "Fine," he said, tersely. "As you wish." He mounted the basement steps and closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Dean to his own morbid thoughts.

"We must've gone wrong somewhere," Bobby said, peering out at the dead end of dirt track leading into the middle of the woods.

"I'm telling you, this is exactly where we're supposed to be." Sam folded the map until it showed their exact location and pointed out the last few turns they had made to Bobby. "See. This isn't exactly a sprawling metropolis, Bobby. I know we came the right way." He was trying hard to hold on to his patience but it was slipping away rapidly and the older hunter's even keel did nothing to make him feel more sane. Sam retraced their steps carefully on the map before checking the date on the document. It was the most recent map they could get ahold of, about a decade old, and the gas station attendant had assured them nothing had changed since its publication.

"Maybe the place got torn down. The ground looks pretty hard packed," Bobby offered. "Could have been a demolition job. You know how basic these old clapboard houses can be."

Sam clenched his jaw and fought the urge to punch something. "Maybe," he conceded through gritted teeth. "C'mon," he said, opening the car door.

"Where?" Bobby asked in surprise.

"Well, I'm not going to just sit here and believe my eyes. It could be just beyond the first line of trees!" Sam didn't wait for a reply but got out and slammed the door behind him. A moment later, Bobby was at his side and the pair walked closer to the densely packed forest where the track trailed off.

Sam took a step into the brush, struggling to find his footing in the boggy, uneven ground. Bobby gripped his arm and rolled his eyes. "You got a death wish?"

"What?" Sam asked. "No."

"A death wish for me, I mean. Ellen'll strip my hide if you so much as a graze yourself. Wait here for me." Sam opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He sighed and stepped back to let Bobby pass. Perhaps it was better to leave this part to the older hunter anyway, save his strength for the final burst when they had Dean in their sights.

Sam watched Bobby's back receding into the shadows of the woods, surprised by how quickly the hunter disappeared completely from view. He listened carefully to the snapping twigs and rustling branches, occasionally hearing Bobby's colourful swearing washing back to him on the wind. Finally, the grizzled hunter emerged, his cap askew and leaves adorning his shoulders. Sam stifled a grin. "Anything?" he asked as seriously as he could.

"Nah," Bobby grumbled. "Not even so much as a pedestrian track to follow."

"So I see," Sam said, failing to keep his grin suppressed.

Bobby shot him a withering look and brushed angrily at the foliage sticking to his clothes. Tugging on the peak of his cap, he gestured to the map. "Let me look at that thing." He scanned the fold marking where they were standing. "There." He pointed a stubby finger at a symbol bordering on a small lake.

"What's that?" Sam asked, peering closer.

"It's a licensed fishing spot. In a place like this, chances are there's some local in that spot almost every day of the year."

"You think they might know where Ridley Miller's house is?"

Bobby shrugged, "We've come this far. It's worth a try." He turned back to the map, narrowing his eyes as he traced the path they would need to follow. He looked sheepishly up at Sam. "Maybe you should wait in the car."

"What?! Why?" Sam protested.

"It's a good fifteen minute walk, Sam, over uneven terrain," Bobby stated, bluntly.

"So? I can do it, Bobby. I didn't come on this trip to wait in the car," he said forcefully. "I'm coming with you."

"Sam…"

"Save it, Bobby, 'cos you're not changing my mind and that's final." He levelled his gaze at the old hunter just to make it quite clear how serious he was about this.

"Fine…but we're taking it slow," Bobby grumbled and pointed his finger in the direction they needed to go.

Five minutes into the walk, Sam was starting to feel an unwelcome twinge in his lower spine. At first, he shoved the sensation aside in mild irritation at how useless he had become. Then, as he continued to follow Bobby's lead and twinge grew more localised, Sam started to feel a bit worried.

Over the past weeks, he had pieced together moments of his time in the wilderness after the crash. He could vividly recall his older brother watching over him, remember the sensations of cold and hunger. Sam desperately wanted to save Dean but now it was clear to him that he didn't want to repeat that experience in the forest either. It wasn't so much for his own sake as for that of the others it affected. If he collapsed now, Bobby would either have to leave him to avoid risk of paralysis or carry him back to the car, neither of which Sam wanted. He would have wasted more time in the race to find Dean as well as risk living out the rest of his days in a wheelchair.

The young Winchester swiped at the beads of sweat on his upper lip and ran a hand through his hair. His hands were trembling and Sam clenched his fists to try and stop his rebellious body but it did no good. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't notice Bobby dodge to the left of the path to avoid a boggy puddle. Sam's foot plunged ankle deep into the bog, catching him off guard and dragging a yelp of pain from his throat.

Bobby was at his side in an instant. "Sam!" His alarm only grew as the young man leaned heavily on him, his breath coming in short pants. "Breathe through it, Sam. Come on." Assured that Sam's foot was free of the bog, he supported the limping hunter to a fallen tree trunk. Bobby took in the sudden paleness in Sam's skin and the sheen of sweat covering his face and neck. "That's it. You're staying put!"

To Bobby's surprise and great relief, Sam nodded sadly. "Okay."

"Oh, well…that was easier than I expected," Bobby admitted, although in truth Sam's quick defeat gave him as much cause to worry as to be grateful. "How's your back?" he asked in concern.

Sam rubbed his eyes and sniffed. "Hurts a bit, I guess." He looked up at Bobby's anxious face. "I'll be okay, just need to rest for a bit." It was such a relief to be sitting down and the pain in his back was receding enough for him to think straight again.

Bobby didn't like to leave Sam alone but he knew it would be pointless suggesting they return to the apartment. "Wait right here and don't move an inch, okay."

"I might start heading back along the path, take it slow, you know?" Sam said, dejectedly. He didn't like the idea of someone scrutinising his every step and, truth be told, he didn't think even Bobby's slowest pace could match the speed he needed right now.

Bobby pondered the idea for a moment. "And you won't move even a step off the path we came on?"

"I promise," Sam breathed, then pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "You got any reception? I got a few bars."

Bobby dug his phone out and nodded. "Okay. You need anything, and I mean anything, just call me right away." He hoped he sounded convincingly severe. Sam might be all grown up and independent but he was also ashen and unable to walk properly so the older hunter wasn't about to back down and play nice. His fight was already won since Sam seemed to agree and Bobby carried on along the path alone.

Ellen was starting to feel at a bit of a loose end. She was used to managing and tending a bar single-handedly while still keeping her ear to the ground about demon business. She hadn't taken a day off since her husband died and, to her shame, she had even baulked at the idea of coming all the way out here for the Winchesters.

It had been Jo who had forced her to come with promises of looking after the Roadhouse in Ellen's absence and even consenting to her mom's choice of temporary manager. The young Harvelle's crush on Dean Winchester hadn't been lost on anyone, least of all Ellen, who had listened to endless questions about hunting, most of which ended with a Winchester related one. As much as she understood her daughter's feelings, it caused her pain to think about the history between the two families.

For so long, she had clung to her disappointment in John Winchester, her insatiable anger towards him for coming home alive when her Bill had not. She hated herself for her own weakness but hated John more for his life and vitality. If he had been a real man, he would have died at his friend's side instead of turning his back. For a long time, the hatred had poisoned her thoughts about the whole Winchester family. Sam and Dean had grown up with John as their only role model and, in their early teens, Ellen had seen his work in them in a way she didn't like. Before long, both boys had been tarnished with the same brush and she wanted nothing to do with them.

Still, they say time heals all wounds, but in this case, it was more a bolt of lightning out of the blue. The mother in her had considered the worst for Jo. Her daughter was ignorant to the provisions Ellen had put in her place for her should anything happen to leave Jo alone.

Many a night, Ellen had lain awake in bed, replaying the nights Bill had come home broken and bleeding, filled with stories of the close shave he had experienced with one demon after another. Sometimes, they had been together in the fray and, even after Jo changed their world, Ellen considered herself a hunter along with the best. She was all too aware of how close they ran to death and it would take only an instant for their lives to slip away from them.

Now, Sam and Dean had watched her nightmare come true. They had lost their mother, their father, a girlfriend. Could life he cruel enough to take a brother, too? Perhaps the Fates would not be content until all the Winchesters were nothing but ash in the ground.

So, Ellen had relented and traveled hundreds of miles to be at the bedside of traitorous blood. She had told herself she was doing it for Bobby and, for the journey to Whitehorse, she had meant it. The true extent of the situation had not hit her until she entered Sam's hospital room. Seeing him battered and almost beyond recognition beneath the machines keeping him alive, Ellen had felt her heart swell with affection. Sam and Dean were no more than orphaned boys, brought up in a twisted reality where asking for help was a sign of weakness. Jo might have ended up like them, relentlessly hard, playing at being an adult so the world wouldn't hurt them any more or ask the tough questions.

She prayed that Bobby and Sam would find Dean alive but, even if they did, there was no telling what kind of shape he'd be in. If there was one thing she could do to keep herself busy, it was preparing poultices and potions that would scarify any trace of demonic toxins. On top of that, they would undoubtedly need plenty of the usual household medical kit supplies. Seating herself at the formica table, Ellen wrote a list. She tried to consider every possible harm that might have befallen Dean, things that a hospital might not fully understand. By the time she had planned for every eventuality, the list filled both sides of the paper and she forced herself to stop. It was time to head for the store and see if the local one-stop stocked even a tenth of the items.

Sam rested on the tree stump for a good few minutes before starting the journey back to the rental car. He knew Bobby would hurry and he wanted to go back alone. He gingerly placed one foot in front of the other, bracing himself with each step for the pain it brought in his back. It didn't help that everything his doctor had told him kept replaying in his mind. Pain when you didn't know the cause was somehow better than when you could perfectly imagine the barely healed bone fragments wobbling together, just waiting for the force that snapped them apart again. Sam suddenly felt overwhelmingly fragile and found himself prodding the ground ahead of him with a stick before putting his foot forward. It made the trip agonisingly slow but he was ignorant to the passage of time. His sole focus was keeping his body steady and his eyes on the path until he saw the glint of metal and the sanctuary of four wheels in the distance.

Pausing again on the path, Sam set aside his stick and massaged the sore spot at the base of his spine. He was surprised and a bit concerned at the heat that was emanating from the site. He prayed he hadn't inflicted any lasting damage on himself, that it was just the exertion. His fingers moved over the soft flesh, carefully seeking out something that told him how bad it was. No knobbly bits were sticking out in the wrong place, that was definitely a good sign. Besides, he couldn't just sit on a tree stump all day and wait for Bobby to rescue him. He just had to get on with it and make it back to the car in one piece.

Taking it at a snail's pace worked wonders and, by the time the car came into sight, Sam was feeling much better. Apparently, he had also just got there in time as Bobby's voice sailed out to him from behind. "Sam!"

Sam waited until he had set foot on the hard packed ground beside the car before turning round. He tried to sound nonchalant, as if he had actually been hanging around the area for ages. "Hey, Bobby. What did you find?"

"We're in the right vicinity. They say there's a place hidden quite a long way into the woods, just a bit further to the east." Bobby jerked his head in the direction beyond the car and Sam followed his gaze, half expecting to see wisps of smoke curling out of a fairytale chimney. "Apparently, it used to have a track all the way up to it but it is completely overgrown now."

"Well, from the dates on Naughton's file, he's probably no spring chicken anymore," Sam noted.

"Let's hope he's not senile though," Bobby added, suddenly considering for the first time quite how useless that could make Miller.

Despite Dean's protests against food, Ridley brought down a plate almost fit for a king. He eyed the food suspiciously, his body strangely immune to any pangs of hunger. Ridley went to chop a piece of cold steak but just watching him cut into the chewy meat made Dean feel sick. "Don't I get to choose my own last meal?" he asked, wryly.

Ridley didn't answer. He had hardened himself to his task and he was determined to stay on track. Sympathy was a weakness he couldn't afford to possess. Instead, he continued cutting the food and presented a mouthful to Dean who did not take it. "You must eat something," Ridley insisted.

Dean kept his mouth firmly shut, jaw tensed in case the old man attempted to prise it open and force feed him. The two men glared at each other, although the young hunter was lacking the energy to do much more than watch his captor warily.

It was somewhere in the midst of their silent tussle that voices could suddenly be heard outside the house, followed by a sharp knock at the door. Dean could hardly believe his ears. He would recognise the tone of those voices anywhere, even the rhythm of the knocking against the heavy wooden door. Sam. His eyes latched onto Ridley's for a split second, polar opposite emotions running through both faces, Ridley looked horrified but Dean showed relief and even a shard of happiness. Sam was alive and perhaps he was about to be saved.

There was only one thing he could do, knowing how predictable it was. Dean opened his mouth to holler as loudly as he could. No sooner had he opened his mouth than Ridley delivered a blow to his cheek that sent Dean reeling. He refused to succumb to the encroaching haze and opened his mouth to shout again. Sam was his only hope. This time, it was the stool that hit him hard across the head and Dean slumped, unconscious, against the wall. Blood oozed lazily from the open wound and trickled down the side of his head into his ear.

Ridley straightened himself up and took a deep, steadying breath. Gathering his wits about him, he slowly ascended the stairs and his guests beyond.

END OF PART 14