AN: Today was good and bad. I felt icky (bad) so I spent all day reading and writing (good), so there's a buttload coming at you today. Then my internet wouldn't work (bad) so I sucked it up and went to use the wifi at my favorite coffee shop and had a delicious latte (good). So brace yourselves for a billion chapters, give or take.

BitterSweetJoy: Captivating? You are just the sweetest!! Badass Sam, you say? Possibly some teeny tiny injuries? You got it!

Lena: Lots of Dean here for ya! I love both the boys but admit I lean toward Sam. And you are for too kind and helpful for me to ever be offended. Why would I be when 90% of what you say is positive and 100% of it is helpful? :-)

immertreu: I hope you enjoyed your vacation time! And you are certainly not an idjit. What a lovely, long, helpful comment! I'm glad you like the pacing. And I LOVE Revelations. It's so insightful. I really do need to make work of figuring out PMs...some time. Now relax and no more being a headless chicken! bwahaha!

"Dean, have you completely lost your mind? You're an absolute idjit!" Bobby whisper-yelled, trying to sit up. "You can't let that off in here! Why the hell are you even carrying grenades?"

"Always be prepared," grinned Dean, unfazed by the other's ire. "Besides, our last hunt required dynamite and I kind of thought grenades might be helpful since we didn't know how to kill gwi – gwill – big wolves."

"You put something alkali on your blade and stab 'em in the brain, dumbass. You don't blow yourself up and hope it works."

Dean made a huh face. "They aren't even real grenades, Bobby. They're flash-bang. You said that they don't like it when we make noise? I say we make a lot of noise, get their attention."

"And then what?!"

"And then I convince them to get us out of here." Dean grinned like he'd just said something brilliant. "Besides, you have a better idea?"

Bobby didn't, but he still wasn't happy. "I think you hit your head too many times when you were a kid."

They did an inventory of the people and weapons they had. Most of them were weak from too little food and water, some were elderly. And all four of the hunters – Dean, Bobby, Jim and Leslie Marovic – were injured. Jim was barely conscious and Dean wasn't sure Bobby could even stand. Leslie and Dean had two good arms between them, and the latter knew he was losing more blood than he could afford. The strongest of the civilians seemed to be Matt Haardt, and athletic-looking 30-something. But he had been there a long time, and he had a little girl to protect. His mind wouldn't be focused on a fight. The sheriff and his two deputies would be assets, though they had used up every bit of ammunition in their guns.

As for weapons, there were a few small blades and pocket knives, six guns with a grand total of two bullets ("not that they did a damn thing," Bobby complained), three flash bang grenades, Dean's Bowie and three other long knives, a couple billy clubs and a taser. And from Leslie, "A Tibetan skull knife?" asked Dean with an impressed whistle. It had a three-sided blade and Dean thought it looked like a magic wand with an arrow head on the end. It was about two feet long and surprisingly heavy given its narrow haft, and Dean would be the blade was iron, something a lot of supernatural beings couldn't tolerate. It was a unique and impressive weapon. "Awesome!"

Leslie, a compact woman in her forties with much older eyes gave a nod/shrug. "Works really well on ghouls."

Dean was even more impressed. Destroying a ghoul's brain stem killed it, but they were fast and strong, and you'd have to get dangerously close to use this weapon. Still, even filthy and worried and with one arm in a makeshift sling, Leslie gave of an air of competence. Dean had little doubt that she was capable. "I bet."

A skinny, dark-haired teenage boy named Darren brought over some bulbous roots that smelled vaguely like root beer and began to rub them on Dean's blades. Bobby had already taught the other prisoners that sassafras could be harmful to the gwyllgis.

Then Dean called everyone over, feeling foolish. He wasn't really the one to give a rah-rah speech, but Bobby had (rightly) said nobody wanted to be led by a guy who was flat on his back. Leslie flat-out refused to lead anything ("not on your life, junior") and the sheriff shook his head. "You are obviously the one that knows the most about these things. Dean did wish he could at least stand up or pace while he talked, but the low ceiling wouldn't allow it. They'd set Dean's and the sheriff's flashlights up like lamps, and Dean took a long look at the faces around him. They reminded him of pictures from refuge camps: streaked with dirt, gaunt, tired, scared, yet resolute, and he silently promised himself that he would get them to safety or die trying.

"My name is Dean," he began, trying to sound confident. "The creatures that brought us here are called gwyllgis. Now, I've got a guy topside and he and I know how to fight them. But the first thing we've got to do is get out of here, and get all of you out of the woods. I understand they don't like it when we make too much noise. But I'm going to make some noise." He pulled one of the grenades out of his pocket. "This makes a loud bang and a flash of light. I'm going to bury one and we'll close our eyes and cover our ears. And when they come, I'm going to convince them that they have to bring us to the surface. Once we're there, Matt, Darren, Sheriff Braun and his people, and a few others are going to help the rest of you get out of here. Leslie and I and my guy Sam are going to kill and trap these things. And I'm going to need you to trust me once the gwyllgis come in here, okay?"

"I'm going to fight too," interrupted the sheriff. "The others can get the wounded out."

Dean wanted to argue, but he didn't want to take the time. There were some questions, some resistance from frightened people, but in the end they all agreed, though some with visible trepidation. It helped that they already trusted Bobby and Leslie. These were good people, Dean thought, feeling a bit heartened. In all honesty, it was a crap plan, but it was the only way he could think of to get everyone out of their underground prison.

"How you gonna bury the grenade?" asked Darren. "We been trying to dig through the ceiling for days. It's like rock."

"I know we can't get through the ceiling or walls," Dean admitted. "But we can dig into the floor. You've been able to bury your sh – " he caught sight of Kelly. "Um, waste."

"And it's so icky!" Kelly told her father in a stage whisper, breaking the tension.

Dean directed everyone to one end of the long chamber and told those who were going to fight to arm themselves. The rest, under Bobby's direction, assigned several able-bodied people to everyone who was too young or injured to get themselves out of the woods. As he steeled himself for what was coming and went over the plan in his head, a small hand tapped his elbow. When he turned and greeted Kelly, she climbed in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Dean reasoned that the trapped people must have all worked together to take care of her, and she was putting him that same category.

"Um, hi, Kelly."

"Hi, Dean. I'm glad you and your friend and my daddy are going to get us out of here.'

"Yes, we are. The guy out there is actually my little brother, and he's real smart. He knows how to ki – uh – fight these things." Dean wasn't sure if he was doing a good job of reassuring the child, not having spent much time around small people. But she seemed to appreciate it, because she snuggled against his chest. Dean felt a pang. He hadn't cuddled a child like this since…Sam was this small.

"Dean? I don't like those big mean doggies."

"Me neither."

The child was silent for a moment, and Dean wondered what he was supposed to do. There was a warmth in his chest that he wasn't used to, but also a primal fear at the thought of this little ball of sunshine getting hurt. "Dean, how little is your brother? Is he big enough to help us?"

Dean chuckled despite himself. "I have a secret for you, Kelly. I call Sammy my little brother because I'm older than he is, but he's actually bigger than me."

Kelly's laughter pealed out. Then she hopped up. "I'm going to go see if Bobby needs anything. I'm Fay's nurse helper!" She put her lips right next to his ear and whispered. "Sometimes I kiss his cheek. He pretends he doesn't like it, but really he does."

"Then you better go do that." Dean smiled. He couldn't help it.

All too soon, it was time to enact the plan. The most vulnerable people were up against the far wall, with the stronger, healthier people in a half ring around them. Everyone had their ears covered in anticipation. Bobby clasped Dean's arm without a word, and the latter nodded. He went to the "potty side" of the room (Kelly's name for it) and dug a shallow hole with his Bowie knife.

"Close your eyes," he ordered. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled the pin, dumped the dirt on top of the grenade and scrambled back toward the others. He made it most of the way before it went off, making his ears ring.

Gwyllgis burst into the room from above and below, growling and snarling words Dean didn't know. Now crouched in front of the rest of the people and feeling the crushing weight of needing to protect 20 people, Dean waved a second grenade and fought against coughing. "If you don't bring us to the surface, I'll let this off and kill every single one of us. And I know you need us alive for whatever spell you're doing."

Fay came to his side and said something in a language that seemed to match the gwyllgis'. The creatures conferred among themselves, then two sank straight down and disappeared. "They're speaking Welsh," the retired nurse explained. "I know a little because my grandparents taught me. I think they said they need to check with their mother?"

"That'd be the alpha," offered Bobby from behind them. The standoff stretched, but the remaining gwyllgis did nothing but watch them and growl. Then two came back into the room, said something, then suddenly gwyllgis were grabbing people and disappearing upwards. "Remember, no fighting until we're all there!" Dean yelled, then he was grabbed too.

The fun was about to begin.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Sam could almost hear Bobby's voice telling him that his plan was stupid and he was an idjit. But he could also imagine Dean doing this very thing. He was very nearly to the edge of the wood when Lori texted that she was at the first tree and ready.

Wait 5 mins he sent back. And be careful.

K U 2

Sam took a deep breath and fired his handgun at the ground three times, trying to make maximum noise. He let his worry and anger surge. "You missed a Winchester, assholes!" he yelled. "Come and get me, you slobbering cowards!" He emptied the clip into the ground, replaced it without looking, and tucked the gun away, its purpose complete. Now he held his shotgun and Dean's machete, his back against the biggest tree he could find. For a moment, he thought nothing was going to happen, then the earth exploded around him. It was a good thing he'd expected it, because while it was still terrifying, he didn't freeze. The gwyllgis emerged standing on their back feet, towering over him. Sam shot one straight in front of him, which knocked it back but seemed to make it more angry than hurt. Another rushed from his left on all fours, and he slashed hard with the machete, catching it across its upper chest. In stark contrast to the one that had been shot, the cut gwyllgi screamed and fell back, rolling around on the ground as if trying to put out a fire. The deep cut steamed, Sam noted in satisfaction.

This seemed to infuriate the other four, and they rushed in. One blundered right through a sassafras bush and fell back, hissing, and another fell over a tripwire Sam had hastily put in place. He dove forward and stabbed it in the back of the neck, and it fell still. But one of its companions raked claws down Sam's back, and he ended up rolling away. The claws didn't make it through his jacket, but he couldn't afford many hits from his oversized opponents.

Regaining his feet, Sam found one gwyllgi too close to bring either weapon to bear, so he kicked out. It was like kicking a wall, and the gwyllgi grabbed his leg, tips of its claws digging into the skin. Sam slashed out at whatever he could reach and surprised himself by striking hard enough to nearly sever its right wrist. It tightened the other claw, pulling him closer. That was a mistake. Despite his awkward position, Sam sliced its throat open, nearly decapitating it.

The sudden loss of pressure on his leg threw Sam off balance, but it worked to his advantage initially, because a strike that would have taken off his head instead took a chunk out of a tree. Unfortunately, the fall put Sam within reach of the first gwyllgi that he'd injured. It rolled on top of him, pushing him down with its front paws and incredible weight. Sam's knife hand was trapped and the great maw descended. Seeing no other alternative, he brought up the shotgun, shoved it into the gaping mouth and fired point blank.

Turned out while the hides of the gwyllgis were like Kevlar, their insides were not. The shot didn't exit the top of the skull, but it made mincemeat of the inside of the head. Gore splattered Sam and the monster collapsed on top of him. He gasped from the weight, struggling to breathe and push the body off of him. He quickly, gratefully discovered that the gwyllgis weren't the brightest fighters, because they probably could have killed him simply by leaving him like that. Instead, the body disappeared, taking the shotgun with it, and a new opponent pounced. Sam acted on instinct and was half sitting, twisting away and had his long knife in his hand by the time it struck him. He went flying backward from the impact and, in the clarity of fighting for your life, had time to be grateful that he only landed on the ground instead of bouncing off a tree.

Sam climbed to his feet as fast as he could get his body to move, looking for the knife he'd lost. It turned out to be in the chest of the gwyllgi that had just attacked him. And the fifth gwyllgi was nowhere in sight. Sam pulled his knife free, evaluating the area and trying to find the last gwyllgi. He was breathing hard, but there were four dead on the ground, and he wasn't one of them.

Then he heard a loud bang, and a very familiar voice yelling, then gunshots. And he was running.