AN: Jenjoremy, ask and you shall receive! Eventually.

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Now there's only one thing left to do

And that's to find my way back to you

I'm Coming Back by Lalah Hathaway

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The owner of the voice on the phone registered maybe three seconds later than it should have.

"Bobby?" Dean sputtered. "What…uh…?" he didn't know how to form his question. He hadn't seen the older man in a few years, not since Bobby and Dad had had their, er, falling out. Dean had stayed away out of loyalty for his father, but it had been a grievous loss for him. Bobby wasn't exactly soft and fuzzy, but he had a lighter touch than Dad, that's for sure. And he had been the one to teach the Winchester boys, especially Dean, a lot of the things that were typical kid things – how to ride a bike (and he magically acquired a few that he kept at his house), how to throw a baseball, even how to swim. (Only the last was really Dad approved, as he considered it a valuable life skill.)

"Yeah, it's me, ya idjit. How come I gotta find out you're out in my back yard steppin' in it just to get you to take my call?"

Dean carefully set Grace down and sputtered to answer. "I, uh, I didn't think you…"

"You finish that sentence, and I'll slap you. Now put your moron of a father on the phone, cuz he ain't answering."

Dean lowered himself to sit next to Grace, his mind spinning. The top thought, well, just under Sammy needs help, was holy crap on a cracker, it's good to hear Bobby's voice.

"Uh, I don't know exactly where Dad is right now. We were just looking for a hunt and it never even occurred to me that we were pretty close to you."

Bobby swore for a few moments, and Dean was as always impressed by his creativity. It made him feel even more nostalgic. Then Bobby paused. "We?"

Dean sighed. He'd half hoped Bobby would have heard this, except there was nothing in the news stories about the fire that indicated anything that would attract Hunters' attention, and Sam's name wasn't mentioned. Dean had made sure of both. "Sammy's Hunting with me. His girl…uh, there was a fire, exactly like….you know. And on the same date too."

"Aw, shit. I didn't know." Bobby sounded both sympathetic and a little hurt too.

"Look, he hasn't been himself. I'm sure he would have told you on his own. But, uh, Bobby? I got a kid here who needs help. And Sammy's trapped."

Dean could picture the other Hunter snapping into work mode. "Dammit. Okay, where are you? Then I want a complete sit rep."

Dean gave Grace a smile that was probably wasted, since she was half asleep leaning against him. "Help's on the way," he told her. Then he pulled out the map and gave Bobby all of the information he could.

It turned out Bobby wasn't far at all, and he was with Irv, a Hunter close to his age that Dean know peripherally. As they drove Dean's way, Bobby explained a lot of other things, too.

He was aware of the oneiroi, and had been for years. In fact, he and an old Hunting partner had tried to kill it more than twenty years before, but hadn't been able to because of the size of what it was attached to. They did the best thing they could think of, and that was to bind it from harming others. It was a temporary fix only. Bobby had established a contact with the then undersheriff of the town, who called him every time there were signs that the creature was getting close to freeing itself.

But unbeknownst to Bobby, his contact had passed away from a stroke, so there was nobody to call him this time around before the oneiroi had completely escaped and started killing. Dad apparently knew all about it, and would have warned the boys to call Bobby and stay out of his (and the oneiroi's) way. Of course, they hadn't exactly talked to Dad lately.

Eventually, Bobby had caught wind of the killings. When he arrived in town, he'd heard that two other FBI agents were already, there. A waitress had described Dean in some detail, and Bobby had just assumed that the other "agent" was John.

They planned as Bobby got closer. Irv would take the truck and bring Grace into town. He'd return with whatever emergency services the town could provide – making sure to arrive after dawn. In the meanwhile, Bobby and Dean would hike out to Sam to protect him while they waited for search and rescue and hopefully some big ass gear for getting Sam out of his trap.

Irv's rattley old truck sounded like music to Dean. He'd gotten far enough that Irv could drive within thirty feet of them. And the sight of the two men – especially Bobby – was enough to make a more sentimental man than Dean shed a tear or two. And yeah, he hugged his surrogate uncle. Sue him. Bobby hugged him just as hard back, and may have muttered, "damn, it's good to see you, boy."

However, Bobby was less than impressed that Dean had neglected to mention his little ankle issue.

"You'll have to take this little chickadee to town," said Irv. He'd scooped up Grace like she was three rather than eleven, but she looked far from unhappy about her new situation. Irv held her with an ease and protectiveness that surprised Dean. He found the man friendlier than most Hunters, but had never imagined him to be so comfortable around kids. "Bobby an' I will go keep an eye on Sam."

"Not going to happen, Irv," said Dean levelly. "This is nothing that will keep me from my brother. Got that? Bobby can wrap it, then we'll get going."

Irv laughed, not offended. "I half forgot you're a Winchester," he said, whatever that meant. "Alright, it's your skin."

Bobby muttered uncomplimentary things about Dean's lack of intelligence and about how some things would never change, but he only argued for form's sake. He was already wrapping Dean's grapefruit of an ankle. "I oughta knock you out and leave you here," he complained. "'Cept then I'd have two o' you to babysit and Lord knows I did that enough already."

"I thought you missed me," grinned Dean to cover up just how badly the wrapping hurt. He knew he needed the support, but it didn't feel great.

"Look how long that lasted," Bobby groused, and damn was it good to have him watching Dean's back. "You fall behind, I ain't waiting."

Dean's grin didn't dim. He knew better.

None of that made the hike any easier. The map had confirmed that Dean had traveled nearly ten miles from Sam. They could go much more directly now, since they weren't trying to avoid the magnetite vein as much as possible like Dean had been, as he'd been hoping to get service as early as possible. Though the terrain was easy, it was still dark and uneven and even with the walking stick, every damn step hurt.

It didn't matter though. Dean had been telling Irv the truth; a sore ankle wasn't even close to enough to keep him from getting back to Sam. Be okay, Sammy, he exhorted silently. I'm coming.

They didn't talk much, for which Dean was grateful, since he needed his concentration to stay quiet and upright and moving forward. He was even more grateful for the ease of working with Bobby. After only Sam and Dad, Dean was most comfortable Hunting with Bobby. After all, this was a man who'd taught him a great deal about tracking in the woods. A man who'd proved he'd watch Dean's back no matter what. A man who'd evolved from pseudo father figure to mentor to friend. He was as close as you got to family without actual blood.

He was also perceptive. "Sit down a minute, kid. You're no good to Sam if you pass out before we ever get to 'im."

"I'm fine, Bobby."

"Sit your ass down and don't try an' shine me!" Bobby used the muzzle of his shotgun to push the brim of his hat up so he could glare more effectively. "It didn't work when you were tryin' to lie about shootin' out the window of that ol' F150, and it won't work now."

Dean clenched his jaw, but the fact was, Bobby was right. He needed a few minutes without pain – or at least, less pain. He'd go right through Bobby or Dad or anyone in the world if it meant keeping Sam safe, but this wasn't about winning an argument. It was about getting to Sam and being able to help him when they did. Hating the delay, Dean lowered himself to sit leaning against a tree. Bobby must have seen the struggle pass through Dean's eyes, because his own eyes softened just a little.

"We've gotta find a way to kill this thing, permanently," Dean mused, since he wasn't ready for compassion.

"I know. I been lookin' for years. Everything says you have to seriously damage whatever the fucker's tied to. Unless you got a way to dig up and melt a coupla miles worth of metal, I got nothin'." Bobby leaned against another tree, but he didn't sit, and he didn't stop watching the area around them. It reminded Dean uncomfortably of the way he and Sam had been positioned before it turned into Attack of the Giant Fir. When Dean didn't answer, Bobby asked, "Sam in Hunting shape?"

That question would have made Dean defensive if had come from almost anyone else, even maybe Dad. Pastor Jim could have pulled it off, and Bobby could, because he was asking from nothing more than concern for Sam's welfare. "Actually, yeah. He never exactly got flabby and he's worked hard to get back in shape and knock off the rust. Saved my ass already." And that was something else that was easier to admit to Bobby than it would have been to Dad.

Bobby just raised an eyebrow. That wasn't really what he'd been asking.

Dean pondered his answer. "He really is. He's…dealing better than I would've imagined. And he's mad as hell, but he's pushing it into Hunting."

This time, Bobby nodded. "Good. He couldn't do it alone, ya know. And there's just somethin' weird about you Huntin' without him. I'm damn sorry to hear about the girl, though." Sincerity coated his words.

It was Dean's turn to nod. Compassion on Sam's behalf he could accept. He lifted a hand to ask for assistance. Truth was, he wasn't sure he could get up without it. Bobby gave him a bearded bitchface that just screamed you're a first class idjit but helped without comment.

Besides taking a more direct route, they could cut out almost a mile by going down a ridge Dean hadn't been able to ascend with his bum ankle. Going down it was no picnic, but it meant they were getting close, and Dean was eager, chomping at the bit to see the big geek.

"Slow down, boy, or you're gonna end up with a broken leg instead of just a sprained ankle," scolded Bobby, struggling to keep up and keep Dean from biting it. "We gotta be smart, keep our eyes open. That SOB is strong. Before we could even bind it the first time, we had to fill it fulla railroad nails."

"How'd you manage that?" asked Dean, slowing...a little.

"PVC pipe, air compressor, and a little know-how and we had a redneck nail gun."

Dean actually stopped walking. "Holy crap, Bobby. That's awesome! Like the potato gun you helped us make once?" That thing had been almost as much fun as the miniature cannon Bobby had had...until certain boys overused it and melted the barrel.

"Same concept."

Dean contemplated how much fun it would be to have such a weapon in their arsenal, and sadly dismissed it as being impractical to haul around. "You don't still have it, do you?"

"Nope. Cannibalized it years ago to fix some plumbing."

Dean started moving again, shrugging off Bobby's arm now that the ground was more level. "So what do we do this time?"

"I got cold iron bullets in both my guns." Bobby gave a slight shrug. "When the oneiroi shows his mug, I'll fill 'im up."

"I guess we just hope that's enough," Dean complained, but really, that was how Hunting often went. "And don't you mean if, not when? Isn't it a coward? We hardly saw it."

"Uh-huh. It probably won't wanna give Sam up. Probably let go of the girl to focus on him."

Yeah, that's what Dean had been worried about. He did his best to pick up the pace. They weren't far now. If his reasoning was right, he should be able to see... "Bobby, that's the tree."

Seeing the size of the fallen pine, Bobby said something that ordinarily would have made Dean smile; the man had a true gift for swearing. But Dean was stuck in a replay of walking around the end of the tree earlier. What he'd thought at his first sight of Sam half hidden under the massive tree. He felt briefly sick, and not from the pain in his ankle. But he wasn't about to lose it now, when they were this close to Sam. He ignored the speculative look Bobby cast him and dropped his improvised crutch so he could wield his gun and an iron knife Irv had lent him simultaneously.

Bobby again eyed him, but said nothing as they went as quietly as they could. Smart man.

Dean forgot to watch for the oneiroi, forgot his bad ankle, forgot everything when Bobby's flashlight lit the spot where Sam had been. The spot that was now empty. Dean grabbed Bobby's wrist as the flashlight moved past the place. He turned the light back to them empty spot. No, not completely empty.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was a shocked whisper, but he didn't notice that either. Without thought, he was kneeling in the ground, next to Sam's head. His cheek rested on the ground, head and right arm the only parts of him...

Dean felt like his head was in a vise. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't...

The light was back, closer, and Dean saw that the rest of Sam was...buried...not gone, like it had looked. Breath punched into his lungs so hard it hurt. The hand he hadn't registered on his shoulder tightened to the point it was painful. And, oh, there were words.

"Breathe, boy! Is he...?"

Dean's hands were empty, which was wrong, but it made it easy to check for Sam's pulse. Dean's hands were shaking, too, but he easily found the jackrabbiting beat. Breaths ghosted across his hand, and Sam's eyes were bouncing frantically under his lids.

"Dean!"

Right. Bobby was watching their backs because Dean had briefly lost his shit. "He's, uh, alive. But he's out, and mostly buried. Bobby, how...?" Dean shook his head. The how of Sam getting out from under the tree didn't matter. He forced himself to focus on what did matter.

How badly was Sammy hurt? How could they get him dug out? Where was the damn ornery and what had it done to Sam? And how could they keep it off their asses long enough to get Sam out of there? The last thing they needed was a bunch of search and rescue guys seeing a monster -- and giving it a buffet of new victims.

"I need to dig him out. Bobby, can you keep watch?"

Bobby patted Dean's shoulder one last time and stood. "I got your six. Just get your brother out." It was a good feeling having a third person on their side, and Dean would enjoy that, as soon as Sam was out of the hole and opening his eyes and bitching and basically not stressing out his big brother.

To Dean's relief, whatever had caused Sam to become mostly buried had also made the dirt soft and loose. He worked as fast and carefully as he could. He first working around Sam's head so he could gently turn it to the side. He talked quietly as he worked, not really paying attention to his own words.

"I would love to hear how you got out from under that tree, dude. Not to mention getting yourself buried. Looks like you did some work to get out, huh?" Sam's nails had dirt embedded beneath them, and their edges were ragged. It painted an ugly picture, and Dean questioned again if leaving Sam behind had been the right decision.

Things got stranger the more details Dean saw. There were dead bugs, like, everywhere, even a few up Sam's sleeves. A pile of what appeared to be blown apart mice, too, plus the body of a snake half under the tree. Sam's shotgun was buried with him, next to a dead bat. It was a bizarre sandwich topped with some weird and eerie, served with a big fat side dish of strange, and what-the-hell for dessert.

"So, Sammy, time to wake up and tell me the story." As he uncovered Sam's back and other arm, Dean checked for injuries that could explain his unconsciousness. There was nothing, not even a bump on his head. Dean wanted to turn him and check his front ribs, but couldn't until his legs were out. His biggest fear was still crush injuries or internal bleeding.

Something about the oneiroi's silence was making Dean's teeth itch. He pushed himself to work faster, willing Sam to open his eyes, dammit and stop doing such a great impression of a ragdoll. Still, his hands were careful.

"This would be a lot easier if you weren't so freakishly tall. Or if you could be bothered to help a little. Maybe even tell me where it hurts. And what's going on inside that head." Sam's eyes never stopped jerking under his lids, and his heart was pounding like he was sprinting. Whatever was happening, it wasn't restful. But his breath wasn't hitching like he was in pain.

All the victims suffered from exposure, dehydration, and mild injuries, but their cause of death was myocardial infarction Sam had told him not even a full day earlier. Heart attacks caused by a living nightmare.

"Dammit, kiddo. Whatever you're seeing or experiencing, you are not letting some tar baby take you out." Dean's voice was low and fierce as he finally uncovered Sam's feet. "Are you hearing me, little brother? It is time. To. Wake. Up."

He finally rolled Sam onto his back, where he checked his pupillary response (fine), ribs (fine) and legs (not so much).

"Sit rep," said Bobby softly. "How's Sam?"

"No scary injuries," Dean reported, disappointed that Sam hadn't responded at all. "I know his hip's hurt, and his foot and ankle are all swollen, but I can't find any reason he's still out. Or figure out how the hell he got himself rolled over and buried. I couldn't dig in that damn dirt for nuthin'." He checked Sam's vitals again. "His breathing's good, but his heart is racing. Any sign of your old friend?"

"Not a whisper, and I don't like it." Bobby's voice was even quieter than Dean's. "It's close by.

"So why isn't it trying to stop us from taking him?" Dean finished the thought. "You know what? I don't care. Let's just get Sammy away from the magnet line."

"Yeah." Bobby was still scanning the area. Let's move that way." He waved a hand toward the top of the tree. "Fifty yards'll do it." He crouched next to Dean and held out the flashlight. "Help me get him up, then I'll carry 'im while you cover us."

Dean balked. "What? No. I'll get Sam."

"Dean," started Bobby, sounding impatient. Then he started again, more calmly. "This makes the most sense, Dean, and you know it. If your dad was here, you'd let him carry the kid, right?"

"I --" Dean didn't know what to say. Honestly, he always wanted to be the one to take care of Sam, even when Dad was around. Even when he'd been a kid himself. The words logjammed in his throat. "I can get him."

"It ain't a question of can, Dean. I have no doubt you could carry him up a mountain if you had to. But you know if you hurt yourself carryin' him, Sam's gonna be pissed."

The honesty in Bobby's voice reassured him. Comforted him, even. It wasn't like he was abandoning Sam (again). He was just utilizing their back up.

"Fine," he growled, checking Sam's pulse because he couldn't seem to help himself. "But don't cry to me if you slip a disc or something. He's no stringbean any more."

It was Bobby's turn to growl. "Help me get him up, smartass."

Dean did, all the while waiting for an attack that didn't materialize. He covered Bobby's back as they made their way slowly west. Bobby stared at the conjoined trees that had caught the pine and prevented it from completely crushing Sam. Dean looked at them too, but couldn't see anything special about them.

Finally, Bobby said they could stop. Dean helped him lower Sam carefully to the ground, and Bobby gave a heartfelt groan. Dean had just arranged Sam's limbs more comfortably when the back of his neck pricked. He spun to see the oneiroi undulating grossly on top of the trunk right where Sam had been pinned.

Dean raised his gun, but the thing didn't even flinch. "Still mine," it said, and its voice was as nauseating and wrong feeling as its appearance. "Still trapped." The words and the gleeful malice beneath them thrust a cold fist into Dean's roiling gut. Then it laughed like nails on a chalkboard and Dean was done.

"You can't have him," he snapped, and unloaded his gun into its center mass. The oneiroi screamed like shattering glass and melted out of sight.

But with its ominous words ringing in his ears and Sam so deathly still, it didn't even make Dean feel better.

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AN: Before y'all scold me, I know I messed with the show's timeline a little. It's not Jenjoremy's fault. She mentioned that she'd like Bobby to make an appearance, and I forgot when I started writing and set the story early in season one. So it's a little anachronistic. Forgive me, huh? Because without me tampering (admittedly, after I screwed up), we wouldn't get the bearded one, and that would be sad.

Jenjoremy: Ugh, I so didn't mean to make you wait! I'm glad you liked Sam's mental battle. Of course I did go back to Dean because I'm on that kind of on that pattern, but yay, Bobby! And the boys are back together...I hope there was enough separation angst for you in this story. :-) BTW, the peacock was in the middle of the freaking road today and I had a chance to run it over but didn't. You should be proud of me! LOLOL

MewWinx96: You're so sweet!

Long Live BRUCAS: I know -- Sam needs to stick with his strengths, right? I have a weakness for snarky boys, and that definitely comes out in my writing. And Sam went sinking under ground because it's pretty much my own worst nightmare!

Timelady66: Well, you inspired an entire little drabble with your comment! Ha! After I finished it, I realized I practically wrote it about Dr. Doofenschmirtz from Phineas and Ferb. He was even defeated by an aquatic mammal! lol (Wait...is a platypus a mammal...I think not. Oh well.) I'm glad you like the weirdo facts. I am a random font of useless information.

Christine: As the tenth doctor on Doctor Who would say: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. :-)

supernaturalsammy67: Muchas gracias!!!! Long distance and totally non creepy hugs!

Kathy: I knew that you'd like so many flashbacks! And I'm glad that you like the way I made the oneiroi appear. I wanted something very inhuman iykwim. I have a feeling that you'll be happy that it was Bibby on the phone!

JaniceC678: Oh dear, sorry to bring up an old trauma! The buried alive thing is my own personal nightmare, so I'm pushing everyone's buttons with this one. Finding the good in hard times is a special favorite thing of mine. I enjoy nature photography, and my favorite thing is beauty in unexpected places, like a wildflower in a crack in the sidewalk. So I'm super happy that you liked that too.

stedan: Thanks! You were completely right about the pattern, but the boys are back together now, though I didn't really explain what Sam's dealing with yet.

Lena: A sibilant, dark, oily mass is such a fabulous turn of phrase! That's exactly what I pictured, but without a mask. I only saw turtles from a distance today, but my ten month old great nephew did find an inchworm when we were on a blanket outside today. He was so fascinated! It was really funny.