AAU 14 A Helping Hand and Paw

Dean stood at the edge of the meadow his brows furrowed in concentration. It happened here, he could feel it. The backpack, filled with various weapons and whatever else he thought he might need, sat snug and heavy against his shoulder.

The sight before him was nearly overwhelming. Row after row of mountains waited. The climb would be difficult even if he were all in one piece. However, with a bum knee and bruised ribs…well the journey was going to be a little more than difficult. It didn't matter that it might just be a nightmare for him. He didn't care, Sam was out there and he would find him even if it took the last breath in his body, he would find him and bring him home.

Gently he shifted his backpack over his injured shoulder testing the weight carefully before limping off into the field. A pile of debris on the east side of the valley caught his attention. A shiver of something he couldn't quite understand shot through him. He sucked in a deep breath and stared at the ravaged ground. A deep gouge in the valley floor – twenty feet wide and over a hundred feet long was a blight that now covered the once serene meadow.

Where memory failed, instinct prevailed and he knew this was where it happened. This was where Sam had gone missing and he had failed; failed to protect his brother. Staring at the mound of debris he winced and closed his eyes, a brief flash of memory streaking through his mind. He felt himself tumbling his body scraping against the ground as he rolled and bounced across the valley.

With a gasp, he stumbled sideways, his knees giving way. He fell catching himself before he planted his face into the dirt. Dean shook his head to clear the memory regretting it immediately as the pounding behind his eyes increased. It took him a moment to catch his breath and let the clamoring in his skull settle. Agonizingly slow the dizziness faded and the pain tearing at his skull eased. It was long moments before he pushed himself to his feet and stood once more on wobbly legs. Gritting his teeth his jaw clenched in remembered pain he stared across the valley.

Memories flared again, but this time he stood his ground. Memories of Sam lying on the ground, his body being battered by some unseen force flashed in his mind. A strangled cry escaped him and he moved toward the site. Limping strides broke into a stumbling run as he crossed the meadow. He slid to the ground his fingers hovering above the grass.

This was it; this is where Sam had stood bathed in the light of the rainbow. A choking sob escaped the hunter. Blades of grass were darkened by his brother's blood. Fear and confusion tore through him. Sam was hurt, he'd know in his heart, but his head just didn't want to believe. On hands and knees he searched the area looking for anything that would put him on his brother's trail.

Probing fingers found tiny wooden splinters, the wood darkened with age. Raising a piece to his nose he smelled the faint scent of fine wine. Rolling the splinter over in his hand his fingers traced the golden design etched in the surface. So Sam had been right, it wasn't a Leprechaun but a Clurichaun that had lived in the little valley. Now the nasty little creature had Sam.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Standing in the tree line a few hundred feet away Krista watched as Dean limped across the valley. It hurt to watch him, his pain tore a hole in her heart. Swiping at the tears she growled low in her throat at the emotions running rampant inside her. Something was driving her to help him. She was a park ranger, it was her job to help others but this… this was different and it confused the hell out of her. She was drawn to this man and his tortured soul. She felt a warm flare of heat against her chest and sighed.

Behind her one of the horses moved restlessly rubbing his nose against her arm. "I'm going, I'm going," she growled affectionately.

The two horses followed her as she stepped out of the trees. One was a sleek chestnut gelding, the other a tall powerfully built paint. Their bulk hiding the third animal, a little mule. All were packed and ready for a long hike into the mountains.

Standing a few feet away stood an Irish wolfhound. Her broad head raised high her eyes bright with anticipation as she sniffed the air. Normally, a sight and speed hunter the Irish wolfhound lifted her head at the hated scent wafting through the valley. Still as a statue she stared into the mountains, she would hunt today. A hunt she had dreamed of for many years. She had watched and bided her time, and that time was now.

Swinging into the saddle, Krista nudged the paint into a ground-eating trot toward Dean. The wolfhound veered off toward the pile of debris, Krista watched but didn't call her back, focusing instead on the man standing forlornly at the far end of the valley. Dark memories of her own past drew her to him, giving her a greater understanding of his anguish. Then, those same memories flashed unbidden in her mind….

Five years ago she'd lost her family to these mountains. A rescue on the far side of the park had kept her from her family that day. Mom, Dad, and a baby sister had come for a visit and a quiet stroll in the park. That morning she had waved goodbye from the cab of her truck. That was the last she had seen of them.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she swiped angrily at it, growling under her breath at the weakness the memories produced. That had been a long time ago. Pushing away the pain, she took a deep breath knowing she faced an uphill battle with Dean. He wouldn't want her help but she wasn't going to take no for an answer. This was something she needed to do for herself as well as for him.

Lost in thought, Dean didn't immediately hear the sounds of thundering hooves. When he did he whirled to face them, his hand reaching for the shotgun strapped to his back. Recognition flared and Dean quickly dropped his hand to rest at his side as the rider approached.

Instead of her uniform, she wore a pair of worn jeans, a dark forest green T-shirt and faded baseball cap. Back straight, she moved easily and in rhythm with her mount; an easy confidence that spoke of years and skill in the saddle.

Krista stopped her horse a few feet away and swung out of the saddle.

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Did you come to laugh at the crazy guy?" he challenged.

"No." Narrowing her eyes she took a deep breath to rein in her temper, "I came to help the crazy guy find his brother," she challenged back.

A crinkle of amusement lit Dean's eyes. "Why, you don't believe me?"

Sighing in frustration she answered calmly, "I told you at the hospital I believed you. I want to find out what's happening here as much as you want to find your brother. I'm going with you."

"No," Dean ground out flatly, "You're not."

Krista notched her chin in defiance, "Yes. I. Am."

At that moment the running Wolfhound skidded to halt almost crashing into Dean in the process.

"Shit," Krista mumbled beneath her breath. She'd forgotten about the dog for a moment. The oversized canine didn't like people very much, "Duchess no," she shouted ready to spring forward if the Wolfhound took exception to Dean.

Duchess swung her head to face Krista and tilted it to one side as if to scold her mistress.

Krista stopped dead in her tracks; it was unusual for the Wolfhound to go up to a stranger. She avoided most people at all costs, growling in warning if they got too close. She wasn't afraid – she just didn't like them, much like Krista herself.

Dean too stood his ground as the big dog looked up at him and shook her head. He saw it then, the shine of metal from inside her mouth. Gingerly, he kneeled down and held out his hand. Krista tensed for fear of how the Wolfhound would react.

The big dog immediately dropped her prize into his hand. Dean's eyes widened in surprise, "My cell," he whispered reverently.

Flipping the phone open he turned it on noticing two things. One – it was almost out of juice and two he had a message. Praying the phone had enough battery life to enable a connection, he dialed and listened.

Relief flooded through him, his hand reached out to caress the Wolfhounds' head as he listened to the message. The words were broken and slightly distorted, but his brother's voice was all he needed to hear. Sam was alive and his words reinforced his conclusion as he listened. "It's a Clurichaun Dean. I'm in some stinking cave in the mountains. I found Charlie. Where the hell are you?" Sam's voice paused and he heard the worry laced in the words when his brother spoke again. "Dean, I hope you're ok. I don't know where I am, but I found Charlie…," only silence greeted his words. "You'd better not be dead ya big jerk," Dean swore when he heard his brother's howl of pain just before the connection was severed.

Staring at the phone he whispered his brother's name softly.

Krista stared at Dean in surprise. She heard snippets of the conversation and her brows furrowed in confusion – wondering what the heck a Clurichaun was plus the fact that her loner dog was letting some stranger pet her was amazing.

Of their own accord Dean's fingers scratched behind the big dog's ears.

The Wolfhound groaned with pleasure leaning into his hand.

Turning back to the hunter, Krista studied him carefully knowing he wouldn't stop now – his brother was alive and she knew beyond all reason that Dean would find him.

Dean dropped to the ground and stared at the phone in his hand. Quickly he dialed his brother's number waiting for it to ring. He swore when the connection went immediately to voice mail. "I'm coming Sammy," he screamed before the power in the phone died, severing the connection.

His body language was heartbreaking his eyes lost and filled with an emotion rarely seen on the hunter's face, pure terror and for a short time an all encompassing fear that he would not reach his brother in time. Quickly he wiped it away, growling beneath his breath. Taking a deep breath he gathered his strength and pushed the emotions away.

The mountain before him, Dean climbed to his feet. The Wolfhound, pressed against his leg in silent solidarity as a low growl escaped her throat. One hand rested against the animal's shoulder. Resolute and determined, Dean lifted his head into the air and whispered, "I'm coming Sam, I'll find you I promise."

Around the valley the wind gathered his desperation, carrying his words on the breeze - Brother to brother, Warrior to Seer.

Echoing his promise, the Wolfhound lifted her head into the wind and howled a challenge.

Across the miles a promise made found its mark.

Sam struggled to pull the over laden wagon up the hill when it hit. The Seer gasped and turned facing east – facing his brother. He felt it, his heart thumped in his chest. Shamus was wrong, his brother was alive he was coming for him.

Relief overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes he whispered softly, "Dean."

The relief was short lived as a blow struck him in the back. The impact sent him to his knees, the rocky ground tearing through his jeans to scrape the skin below.

Engulfed in pain, he didn't hear the sound of the carts wheels as they crunched on the gravel. Ever so slowly, the cart started to slide backwards, dragging Sam with it. Chained to the cart he scrambled for a hold his hands scraping against rock as the heavy cart pulled him back.

Behind him he heard Charlie's scream.

Shamus screeched in terror, at the visions of his precious wine being dashed against the rock. He whispered a word and stopped the cart dead in its tracks.

"Git ta yer feet runt," he yelled. He lifted the whip he held in his hand, but he stayed the blow, for once realizing that beating his captive would only cause more trouble. Instead he contented himself with kicking dirt at Sam's ankles and yelling," Git movin runt it be a long way to me new home."

Slowly Sam climbed to his feet. Dean was coming that's all that mattered. New energy flooded his tired, pain wracked body.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The last two days had been a living nightmare for the two captives. Heavily laden carts moved slowly. The rolling foothills had turned to steeper mountain trails. Shamus mumbled beneath his breath, his magic flowing over the carts easing Sam and Charlie's burden. Two days after leaving the little cave they were exhausted, even with Shamus's magic lightening their load.

Charlie was the first to stumble from exhaustion; he went to his knees and stayed there.

"Get ye movin boy-o," Shamus snapped.

Sam was furious, chained as he was he couldn't reach the boy to help him up so he turned on Shamus instead. "Stop Shamus!" he yelled. "Can't you see he's tired? If you'd bothered to feed him this morning, he might have had the energy to pull your stupid wine."

Shamus' ruddy face went beet red, how dare the runt challenge him. It didn't matter that he was right. The stick in his hand struck hard and fast catching Sam in the side, not once but twice the little Clurichaun hit him.

The blows tore the breath from his body. Again, Sam hit his knees, scraping his already abused skin and drawing blood.

Sam gasped and groaned unable to keep the hurt hidden anymore. His body ached almost beyond bearing. His eyes searched the ground around him hoping to find the one thing that could render the little bastards magic useless, but his search for a four-leaf clover was in vain. Dark pain filled eyes searched the ground, Goldenrod, daisies, buttercup; everything except clover grew on the side of the hill. Flat on the ground, eyes closed he lay still, ignoring the furious Clurichaun ravings.

"Get up, ya filthy gob," Shamus screamed.

Charlie slowly rolled over preparing to climb to his feet.

"Stay down Charlie," the young hunter ordered. "We need to rest."

Charlie stared at him for a few seconds, fear of the Clurichaun overcome by his exhausted state. Hunger and thirst warred with his spent muscles; he knew he wasn't going to go much farther without nourishment.

"Get up!" Shamus yelled again.

The young hunter wanted desperately to put his hands around the little creature's neck and choke the life out of him. He'd learned that lesson early; Shamus' magic protected him. He shot to a sitting position and returned the Clurichaun's scream, "No Shamus, give us something to eat and drink and an hours rest, then maybe we'll get up."

Shamus was on the loosing end of this battle and he knew it. In the blink of an eye his anger faded. The runt was right, but he wasn't going to admit it. With a huge yawn he shuffled away.

"I'm hungry," he grumbled beneath his breath. Rifling through the back of Charlie's cart, Shamus pulled out a bundle of food and a pot of water and tossed them to his captives. "Eat up runtling!"

Relief flooded the young hunter; rebellion had worked - this time!

Quickly the Clurichaun moved to stand in front of Sam.

"Just remember, if'n ya don't want to pull me cart ya stinkin gob, then I have no use for ya," Shamus threatened.

The young hunter knew Shamus needed him to pull his lousy cart – but the evil little monster wouldn't hesitate to kill him when his usefulness was at an end.

Staring at the Clurichaun Sam felt his own hate and rage simmering just beneath the surface. The creature was nasty – evil to the core – thinking only of himself and his precious wine and ale. He didn't give a thought to the boy he'd stolen from his family or the punishment he inflicted. In fact, the little monster enjoyed punishing them. His eyes flew to Charlie's wishing there was something more he could do for him.

Somehow Sam knew he had to stay alive long enough for Dean to find him. His brother was out there, and headed this way. Time was all they needed; he just hoped he had it to give.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I hope you are still enjoying this little bit of insanity, Hugs, another chap coming soon.