Trying to think around the mental fog in his mind was nearly impossible, but there was no other way around it. Taking a step forward into the dense forest that surrounded them, Dean did not know what to expect or where to expect it from. There was no way to climb up the face of the cliff, and the area around them seemed to be caging them in on all sides, apart from the direction they were now headed. His every sense was on high alert while he and Sam navigated across unfamiliar territory. Reaching for his knife, he wondered how effective it would be against a huntsman. Swallowing thickly when that thought occurred to him, he made sure Sam stayed stuck to his side.

The sun was still high in the sky, but dipping slightly. Soon, it would be nightfall, and the child had no idea what they were supposed to do if they were still stuck. Walking felt productive, as though they were going somewhere but he had no clue where. Taking a deep breath when he decided they had covered enough ground to stop for a few minutes, he jabbed his knife in the ground and took a seat on the hard ground underneath him. Sam sat close by, and curled his arms around his legs. With the sun beginning to follow its natural course, the air had also grown colder. Blowing out a thin stream of cold air, Dean shrugged off his thin jacket when he noticed his brother shivering.

They had no shelter they could immediately see, and that meant they would have to hunt for it. Sam resisted the jacket at first, but shut up about it when his brother would not let the matter drop. He would rather his little brother be warm than himself. Standing up, Dean ignored the stabbing pain in his ribs, and somehow found the energy to continue on. With so much land to cover, he knew it would be nearly impossible to find the perfect shelter that would conceal them from potential harm. That did not bother him so much; he was trained for improvising in these kinds of situations, and just needed to find the right equipment to keep them safe. Stopping at the base of a tree that looked secure enough, he gave Sam a look before reaching for his backpack.

It was not ideal in any sense of the word, but it was what they had to deal with. Looking around for safe measure, he could see no other source of shelter that offered them coverage from an enemy. If there was such a thing, it was not around for miles. Wincing slightly when the abrupt movement pulled on his injured ribs, his fingers tore through the contents of the backpack to find what he was looking for. Exhaling in relief when his hand closed around a thick coil of rope, he carefully extracted it and turned back to the tree. It was not anything he had ever done before, but he had learned the method of it from Bobby when he had taken him out in the woods when he was younger. The problem was that he had never practiced it, and he had never had to worry about Sam.

Sam, for his part, hovered around his brother uncertainly, as though he had no clue what was going through Dean's mind. Chewing on his lip, Dean glanced at the make of the tree, and knew he would have enough leverage from the branches on the sides to make it up. Not only that, the branches would be low enough for Sam to step up and climb up to where Dean would be waiting for him. Bracing himself for Sam's objections, and also the physical pain from making the climb, Dean slung the rope over his shoulder and prepared a mental speech for Sam's benefit. His brother would want to keep going, to find a way out, and hopefully reunite with Jim and Bill, but that would be out of the question until morning light.

"Alright, Sam, I need you to stay down here, okay? I need to check the tree out."

"Check it out...for what?" Sam's eyes narrowed as he took in the enormity of the tree before him.

"Survival 101," Dean explained, already placing one foot on the bottom branch. "If there ain't a ground shelter, there'll be one up higher."

Sam seemed to understand the hidden meaning behind his brother's words, and Dean could see the unease fly through him like lightning, but he knew there was no other alternative. There was no way they were hiking out before dark, and he refused to expose his brother to anything that might think it would be cute to ambush them. Taking another step on the second branch above him, his side exploded with pain, but he would not let that stop him. If he did, he knew they would be exposed and that was the easiest way to become roadkill.

"But-but, Dean, what if we fall-"

"We won't fall, Sammy."

"How do you know?"

"Because I came prepared."

Dean gestured to the rope that was looped through his shoulder, before Sam seemed to get the message. Grateful that his brother had decided to mull over their predicament quietly, he continued his arduous climb upward. As his fingers grasped at branches, he was quickly becoming aware that the tree was not as sturdy as he once thought it was. Branches he could have sworn were rigid, were falling underneath his touch. Hoping to find one that would support his and Sam's weight, he climbed as high as he dared, and took a chance. The branch above him was thick, and it was connected to one that looked equally as promising. Hoping that was the case, he took a chance and swung himself on it. The branch held, but he was not putting his faith in anything yet.

Seating himself on it, he bounced up and down a few times, before feeling confident enough that it would hold his little brother. Staring down at Sam, who was gazing open-mouthed at him, Dean tried to figure out how he would safely coach him upward. Sam was no wimp, but he knew making a climb as high as that, would be daunting for anyone, let alone a seven-year-old. Hoping against hope the guys were hot on their trail, he hesitantly leaned over the side of the branch to face his brother. In the short amount of time it had taken him to scale the tree, the sun had dipped even further below the trees, blanketing the area in a thick haze of pinks and purples.

"Dean, what are we doing?" Sam pressed. "I want to go home. I want to go to bed."

"You and me both. Listen, we can't do that right now. Okay? We can't get out, and we have to be safe, Sammy."

"In a tree?"

"Yep, so you're gonna have to climb-"

"No!"

"Yes," Dean confirmed, trying his hardest to keep his voice light for Sam's sake. "You see that sun? It's going down. We won't be able to find anything on the ground, unless we find Snow White's cabin."

Every part of Dean hated the thought of forcing Sam to climb up something so high when he would not be able to help him, but there was no other way around it. Forcing his heart beat to return to a normal cadence, he watched intently while Sam found his footing on the bottom branch. His normally confident and outspoken brother, was shaking from head to toe as he clumsily found his footing and began a slow climb upward. Grateful for the rock climbing lessons they both had had, he hoped Sam would remember some of what he had been taught, and use it. The air was getting colder, and with it, he knew they would be exposed to the bitter air for the night. That was doable as long as they were safe.

Watching Sam climb was painstaking, especially when his fingers nearly slipped off a branch. Holding his breath until he was sure he would pass out, he extended his arm when Sam was within grabbing distance. Hoping he wouldn't pull both of them off the tree, he reached down and barely managed to snag Sam's hand. Heaving him up the last few inches until he was safely situated on the opposite branch, he was relieved to see that it was holding up under his weight. Now that the biggest obstacle had been overcome, now came the next one. Securing themselves to the tree. Not trusting himself to move more than a few inches, Dean took a big breath, and methodically wound the rope around his legs, before securing them to the tree. Testing the strength of the rope with a gentle tug, he was satisfied he had done the job and tossed the rope to Sam.

"How do you know all this stuff?" Sam asked, his voice quivering as he examined the rope.

"Bobby. And those rock climbing lessons sure didn't hurt."

"How do you tie the rope, Dean?" Sam's voice had taken on the slight whining tone that it had whenever he was tired.

Being patient with Sam was hard in that instant, but became manageable when Dean remembered how young he was, and the impossible situation they had been thrust into. Carefully leaning across to Sam's branch, Dean slowly showed Sam how to tie the rope so his legs would be secured to the tree. It was not the perfect solution, but it would keep them safe from something coming at them. Allowing that thought to soothe him, he leaned back against the trunk and wearily closed his eyes. It had been a long day of fun that had turned into a race for survival. If Jim and Bill had not stumbled upon their location, he knew they were hot on it. In the meantime, he could let his senses relax until morning when they would have to find food.

Even though his eyes felt like logs were rolled onto them, and his body ached with exhaustion and pain, sleep came harder than Dean expected it to. Not only was he trying to sleep in a tree, but he was also very aware that his little brother was exposed to anything that might try to come at them. Those factors combined made it hard for him to achieve any sort of lasting rest. Every sound he heard, could be an animal, or it could be something much more evil. Anytime a branch snapped, or a leaf rustled, his senses wondered whether it was an animal or something else. Suppressing the huge yawn that came from deep within, he looked across at Sam. He had fallen into an uneasy sleep, but even in slumber, Dean could see the worry etched on his face.

It could have been hours or minutes, and Dean would not have noticed the difference. Time seemed to slow to a cruel crawl up in that tree. Studying the watch on his wrist was useless, but he tried anyway. It was only one in the morning, and several hours until the first sign of daybreak. Shaking his head, Dean ran his tongue across his parched lips, but there was nothing that would quench his thirst apart from the water that his body was craving. It was amazing to him how many things he had taken for granted since falling off that cliff, and liquid nourishment was one of them. Not only that, but his stomach rumbled with the demand for food. That was one more thing he would have to hunt down in the morning.

Sighing deeply, he was about to give sleep another go, when he heard something that made his entire body tense. Footsteps. Judging from the way they sounded on the hard dirt ground, they did not belong to either Bill or Jim. And they were too heavy to belong to a friendly troll or two. His heart had lodged itself in his throat as he peered over the side of the tree to glimpse the thing coming at them. At first there was nothing but a shadow that had paused just out of eyeshot. Sam had woken by then, and seemed to understand that he needed to be quiet. Clenching his hunting knife, Dean waited for the thing to make its appearance. Low mumbling met his ears, letting him know the thing was human. Not relaxing his stance, Dean waited. At first, all he saw was the back of the man that emerged from the shadows. He was tall, and carried a knife that was even bigger than Dean's. His body, like Dean's, was quiet as it searched out his prey.

Swallowing hard, Dean knew they could not move from their spot. If they dropped down from the tree, the man would see them and be on top of them in nothing flat. However, if he saw them in the tree, it would take nothing for him to lunge his own knife at them. The fight-or-flight instinct was overpowering, but still Dean held his position. More than anything, he wanted to move to where Sam was, to comfort him and make sure he stayed quiet, but that would make too much noise. Sam's face was ashen, and his cheeks shone with tears that had been silently shed. Hating the man that had terrified his little brother, Dean waited for an opportunity to strike. From his limited experience tracking, he knew the huntsman had found their location and was playing a cute game of cat and mouse.

Muscles coiled for action, Dean crouched on the branch, his knife poised for use. Turning his head back to face his petrified brother, he tried to think of what to say to him that would possibly make sense to a scared, seven-year-old mind. Sam had never been exposed to violence like that, but he knew he was about to get a first taste of what had been his life for the last several years.

"Sammy," Dean mouthed, making sure Sam could read his lips that was barely below a whisper. "Close your eyes. When I tell you to, jump."

"D-" Sam whispered back, his voice shaking.

"Boys, boys," the huntsman drawled, flipping his knife between two fingers. "It's rude to make people wait, you know. I was waiting for you to come down on your own, but that clearly isn't the battle plan, is it?"

If he only knew. Tensing to strike, Dean grasped the knife so hard his fingers hurt. "Sorry, don't make a habit of running into traps." Using every bit of energy he had, he tossed the knife at the man's head.

Not pausing long enough to see if he made a fatal throw, he gestured for Sam to jump. Making the jump on his own was not nearly as painful as he thought it would be, but when his body met the ground, it was a whole other matter. Pushing aside the pain in his side for the time being, he did not have long to wait to see if Sam obeyed his orders. He came down next to him with a soft landing, and immediately sprang to his feet. Gathering his senses, he could see that the knife had implanted itself in the huntsman's eye. Not a fatal blow, but one that would knock him down a peg or two. Not waiting around to see if he would rise again, Dean grabbed Sam's hand, and moved on.

They had lost their only protection in the tree, and none of the others seemed trustworthy enough to make another resting spot. His senses were shot to hell, and his body burned with pain from his ribs, but still he kept going. Wrapping one arm around himself, Dean looked for anything that might give them an inch of peace. His sharp eyes roamed over the land, and back again. All around him, the noises of the woods at night, kept him on high alert for something that was not as innocent. Never before had he wanted to see his family as badly as he did then. He was confident in his ability to protect Sam, but he wondered for how long. His body would give out soon if he didn't get medical help, and the jump could only have exacerbated the wounds he had suffered from.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, his voice bringing Dean to a screeching halt. "You need to stop."

"What, why? We can't. If that lumberjack finds us-"

"But you're bleeding!"

So focused had he been on getting them out of the tree and to safety, that Dean had completely missed the fact that his side was covered in blood that had soaked through his shirt. Gritting his teeth now that his mind had brought him to full awareness of it, he tried to force an unassuming look on his face for Sam's benefit, and kept moving. He knew it would need medical attention, but there was no way to get that kind of aid for the time being. Up ahead, he spotted a series of small mounds that could be used to conceal a small person or two. It was their only protection, and he was not about to pass it up. Directing Sam over to it, he slowly sank his body to the ground, and leaned back. The small incline had given him a resting spot, and a chance to assess his wounds.

Ripping off his shirt, he swallowed back the vomit that wanted to come out of him when he noticed the small piece of wood that was sticking out of his side. Closing his eyes against the rush of panic he felt, he weighed his options. If he pulled the wood out, he risked unplugging whatever it was keeping from bleeding out. If he did not remove it, there was the chance of infection coursing through his body. Either way was not appealing, but it was what he had to work with. Sam was beside him, his mouth agape at the wound his brother was handling. Wishing Sam didn't have to see it at all, Dean awkwardly positioned his body so he could wrap his shirt around the exposed wood.

"Sam, listen, you're gonna have to help me, okay?" Each word was painful, every breath he took felt like his lungs were on fire. He knew that was a sign of a possible lung collapse, and it scared him more than he would ever admit out loud.

"With what?" Sam had anchored his body so it was almost covering his big brother.

Gritting his teeth, he bit back the scream that wanted to come from him when he moved the wrong way. His breathing was not even, and he knew there was something very wrong with him. It almost made him regret jumping from the tree when it only made his broken ribs worse, but there had been no other option. If he had missed the toss, the huntsman would have found a way to extract them from the tree, and they would have both been slaughtered.

"I need...I need you to take this friggin' piece of wood out of me, okay?"

Sam's eyes almost shot out of his head when he was given those instructions. In any other situation, Dean would have teased him mercilessly for the look on his face, but this was not any other situation. Hesitantly unwrapping his shirt from around the piece of wood, he braced himself for the impact this would have on his body. In that moment, he wanted Caleb there to coach them through what needed to happen. When he paused, he could almost hear Caleb's soothing tone in his mind, and could feel his gentle touch that always induced calm. If something were to find them now, they would be vulnerable, and that was why Dean needed his brother to hurry.

"Dean, what if something bad happens? What if you bleed too much?"

"I can't...I can't have this thing in here, Sammy. I need you to get it out now!"

"But...but how?"

"Just pull it out. Nice and easy."

Preparing himself as much as he could, Dean closed his eyes when he saw Sam cautiously place his hand around the wood. It was small, but he knew it had caused considerable damage to his body. Inhaling a deep breath, Dean tried to transport his mind to a place that was not all over the map with worries about his lungs, and about his side. The impalement was bad, but not nearly as bad as figuring out how to survive in a strange land. It would have been comical in any other circumstance. Sam stared at the piece of wood, his fingers alternating between getting a good grip and falling short. Wishing he would hurry up and get it over with, Dean moved Sam's hand back to where it needed to be.

That seemed to give Sam the mental fortitude to do the task assigned to him. With bravery that seemed wrong on a child so young, Sam gripped the small piece of wood and pulled it out. The act of that was enough to shake loose a (barely) muffed scream from Dean, but it was out. Now that it had been taken care of, his next priority was stifling the bleeding that resulted from the act. Breathlessly instructing Sam on how to apply pressure, his free hands dug in his backpack for another shirt. The temperature was still freezing, even though the sun had started to come up.

"Dean, you probably need stitches."

"Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock."

"And," Sam added, critically inspecting Dean's chest. "Your breathing sounds different on this side."

Of course it did. That was one of the hallmark signs of a full or partially collapsed lung. The human body had limitations, and Dean was starting to realize that. It had been way too much for him to endure broken ribs from the fall, and then put more pressure on those ribs by jumping from the tree and landing the way he did. The impalement also could not have helped his cause. He was about to respond to Sam, when a scuffling sort of noise met their ears. Giving Sam a look, he straightened up, and gripped the extra knife he found in his bag.

He knew not to expect the huntsman, but that was the only thing he could be assured of. Steeling himself for just about anything, he was not prepared for what came scuttling out of a small pair of bushes.

"Trolls?"

Solitary confinement was a special kind of hell within the county jail that Caleb had not been prepared for. When he was not having meetings with Dawn, which he came to rely upon as though his life depended on it, he was forced to sit in his cell for twenty-three hours out of the day. The only time he could come out was for one hour of rec time in an area that was connected to his cell. Showers were only a few days a week, and he was shackled when he was transported to the showers. For all of his confidence that he would beat the murder charge, it was hard to keep his spirits up as he stared at the locked door in front of him.

The way he saw it, he only had two options in solitary: Sleep, or pace. Pacing was good; it gave him exercise. Sleep was even better because it took him away from the mental anguish that was worming its way through his mind. At least in the general population he could move somewhat freely, and interact with other people. Now that had also been stripped from him as though he was not worthy of having even the most basic rights. Gritting his teeth hard, he sank down into the hard bed until the springs dug into his skin. Washing away as much of the pressure as he could behind his eyes, he tried to envision a better outcome than his mind was taunting him with. His prelim hearing was coming up, and with that, he would know where he stood.

Standing up again once his nerves got the better of him, he absently rubbed his wrist in one hand while he walked. Wincing when his motions dug into the sensitive skin that had been cut by the spirit, he tried to think of something that would not only get him out of solitary, but also a way to deal with the spirit that had gotten into the county jail. It did not take a genius to know who it was: The same spirit that murdered Lexa and her parents. The same one that was supposed to have been taken care of by his friend in the life. Why it would follow him to the county jail had been a mystery until he realized that he had landed in the same spot as Lexa's brother, the same man he had gone to see not long before Lexa was murdered.

Having his friendship while the two of them were serving time in the same unit was an unexpected blessing. They were not able to see each other, but their cells were right next to each other, allowing for fairly quiet conversation. Sitting down on the bed once his legs finally gave him the hint that they were tired, he palmed his face and turned his thoughts toward happier subjects. Dawn was due to arrive soon, and from what she had told him during their last visit, she would have crucial blood evidence to go over with him. Whether that would be good or bad, remained to be seen. And he also could not help but think about the boys. He knew they were likely having fun with Bill and Ellen, and he prayed that good feeling would last for awhile to come.

He could not wait to (hopefully) escape from solitary so he could have visits with someone other than Dawn. When in solitary, it was awhile until privileges such as visitation was allowed. That kind of right was only reserved for the inmate's counsel. It was hard to believe the situation he had found himself in, and yet he knew there was no other way around it. The spirit had landed in the jail, and had messed up everything that he had slowly been getting used to. Not only that, Caleb knew it was only a matter of time before the spirit managed to kill someone else. The first victim had been one of the new guards on staff, and his death had been ruled a homicide by one of the rogue inmates in the unit.

If it came for him again? He did not know what he would do. The injuries he got from the spirit the first time, had come while he was still in general population. At the time, the staff thought he had been trying to hurt himself, and had placed him in the medical unit. The move did not stop the spirit from getting to him there, either, and that was where his issues had quickly spiraled out of control.

Looking up when he heard a familiar pair of footsteps, he braced himself for the humiliating process all over again. Placing his hands through the slot reserved for food, the guard cuffed him and opened the door to shackle him. Swallowing the bile in the back of his throat, he wondered what it would feel like to walk as a free man and not someone so dehumanized by the system that he hardly recognized himself sometimes. The one constant that kept him grounded to earth, was the two boys he had fought tooth and nail for for so long. They were the ones he was fighting to get home to, and that was why he was determined to get out with his sanity still intact.

Grateful for small mercies when the guard led him to the same small room he and Dawn had been conducting their meetings in, he saw an imperceptible wince when she took in the restraints, but she quickly got over it in time to put on her best game face when the guard sat him down at the table, before leaving the room. Taking a moment to put a muzzle over his inner voice, he stared at the stack of papers he had come to expect from Dawn. She was nothing if not meticulous. Needing any distraction from the thought of going back to that cell for so many hours, he could not wait to get their conversation going.

"What...what the hell happened to you?" Dawn demanded, staring at him open-mouthed as she took in the scars on his wrist.

"It's...it's a long story."

That was the most truthful explanation he could afford to give her.

"Okay, so do you mind explaining why the CO's think you need to be in solitary?"

"I...they thought I was trying to hurt myself, and so they took me to medical. Well, in medical, things went crazy, and here I am."

In the confines of the medical unit, the spirit had made another appearance, and had not only gone after Caleb, but had gone after a doctor. The doctor had survived, but without another viable explanation as to who could have attacked the medical professional, the blame had been placed on Caleb's shoulders. No amount of argument could have swayed the opinion of the officers who had a duty to protect the rest of the population.

Although Caleb knew Dawn had a soft heart for her clients, he had still never seen the rare look of sympathy that crossed her face as she broke protocol to squeeze his hand. The touch was brief, but it was enough to warm his mind in a way it had not been in a very long time. Just that one touch was enough to bring him back to earth, and give him hope. For once, the contact he was receiving from the outside world, was positive and not negative. Unfortunately, it could not last long. With the rules in the jail, she had to immediately withdraw her hand before getting caught.

"They said you attacked a guard?" Back to business, and that was how he preferred it.

"They say a lot of things in here, Dawn, and it's not true."

Giving him a look, Dawn slid a single piece of paper over to him. Staring down at it, Caleb's stomach did a series of complicated twists and turns as he took in the gravity of the words that were printed on the paper. Not able to stop the single tear that slid down his face, he tried to control his emotions before they spilled out.

"They want to keep you in solitary until your preliminary hearing. I'm sorry, but there's likely not much I'll be able to do to change it. I filed an appeal of this ruling, but there's no guarantee it will even be heard."

"You know," Caleb started to say, not able to stop the influx of tears that leaked from his eyes. "I...I had hope before, right? I thought I would be getting out. And now? I just...they shackle me like I'm some kind of animal. They even do that when they take me to the showers. I used to be able to get away from that when I was in gen pop, and now it's just never-ending. And I sit in that cell for so many freakin' hours every day, and I hear people screaming and clawing at the walls. And I wonder, if that will be me one day."

It terrified him how low his mind had gotten in such a short amount of time. It was true: Before being thrown into solitary, he had managed to scrape by with some iota of positivity. It was gone now, and he wondered when he would get it back.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Caleb. You don't deserve this. Not one bit of it."

Caleb shook his head, closing his eyes against the influx of tears he could feel coming again. "Please tell me you have something. Please."

Even if it was small, he needed something to hold onto in order to give him hope. He didn't care what it was at that point, but he was willing to give anything for a reminder that the world was still spinning.

"I'm still waiting on your weather reports and the other stuff, but I did get the forensics report back. And, well, I really think the prelim hearing might be the only hearing in this case, to be honest with you."

That was the news he would have given anything to hear. Feeling his heart rise far above anything it had been since before he went into the jail, he waited while Dawn sorted through the various reports in the case, before coming to the right one. Grabbing the paper with trembling fingers, he stared down at the numbers that did not make one lick of sense to him. However, for the grin that was on Dawn's face to be there, he knew it had to be a victory for him.

"What does this mean?"

"Your blood was on the knife, yes. However, it was not anywhere at the crime scene. That scene was a hot mess. There was so much blood that it was impossible to clean up for a few days, and yet the only blood that could reliably be found, was Lexa Branch's."

AN:

Wow. My heart broke for Caleb when I was writing his part.