AN: Hello! Anybody remember me? Well, the canning is actually done, unless we do some soup starter or something, which is no big deal. The bulbs aren't in yet, but that is a LOT less time consuming than everything else, so I hope and believe that chapters will come out much faster going forward. Thank you so much for your patience!

Speaking of patience, Janice once again did the beta work for me, and she is endlessly patient with me. Thanks, Janice.

* * *

Sam stared at the man pointing a gun at him. It was getting hard to focus but having someone threaten your life had a way of claiming your attention. "Whatever it is that brings you out here, Dan," he said carefully, hoping he got the name right. "Is it worth murdering for? Do you really want to shoot me and have to live with that for the rest of your life?" He was pretty sure there were tears in the man's eyes, and he didn't give off the killer vibe despite the gun.

"Yes, they are worth it!" Dan answered, his voice getting higher pitched with every word. "It's not fair. It should've been me."

His answer made Sam think about the origins of the lapsae again. Despite the imminent danger, he squinted at the markings he'd noticed. Between the poor lighting and his disorientation, he was having a hard time grasping what they meant. "I didn't mean to hurt her," he said, hoping he was taking the right tack with the distraught man. "I was trying to get away."

"Why you?" Dan demanded, rolling right over Sam's words. He took a deep breath and steadied his shaking weapon with his other hand.

This was it, Sam realized. Even in his condition, he could see that Dan was about to pull the trigger.

But instead of a gunshot, a very different sound blared through the cave. It was high pitched and ear-bleedingly loud. Dan startled badly, and Sam didn't waste the distraction. Though the angle was terrible and he was weak and couldn't really get a good wind-up, Sam threw his knife as hard as he could. The only things he had going for him were that the knife was well-weighted for throwing, and he had years of practice, often under less than ideal circumstances.

An anguished scream rang out, and a gunshot.

Sam's body jerked and he gasped in pain as he fell off his ledge.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean reacted almost the split second he realized that the lapsae had them trapped. He dove forward, driving Chet to the ground beneath him. At the same time, Dean reached into an inner pocket of his coat where he'd secreted several treasures taken from the kidnappers' SUV. He pushed the button of the air horn and held it, hoping that the reason they kept such a thing was because it was mothman deterrent.

Darkness fell as they went down, the penlight lost somewhere, but that meant that Dean could see some faint light in the direction they were headed. They had to be almost out of this blasted bottleneck. Dean crawled over and past Chet, basically dragging the man behind him. There were grunts and the sound of claws hitting rock coming from what felt like every direction, but they didn't run into any bodies. Suddenly, there was a scream and a gunshot almost simultaneously.

It gave Dean a shot of adrenaline and a subsequent burst of energy. He propelled both of them forward, landing on his knees just beyond the nightmare of a tunnel, Chet on his stomach next to him. He probably should have left him to be eaten by his Nosferatic buddies, but that damn protective instinct had kicked in. He just didn't have it in him to deliberately leave another human to be shredded by monsters no matter how undeserving they might be.

Dean blinked in the sudden light, trying to see the source of the gunshot and watch for an attack from the rear at the same time. Two blinks and he could make out a guy standing about thirty feet away on the other side of a small chasm just past some monstrous stalagmites. There was a small knife buried in the man's thigh and a gun at his feet. He was clutching his leg. He didn't even look at the new arrivals, his hate-filled gaze focused down into the crevice.

A bad feeling in his gut bordering on panic, Dean stood and moved forward to see what exactly the dude (the bartender, Dan, he thought) was looking at. He should have kept his head on a swivel to watch for Bartender Dan in case he went for his gun, make sure Chet didn't get any ideas, and keep an eye out for any mothmen coming from either behind him or out of another opening in the warren of caves that apparently made up this part of the bluff, but he was mostly focused on finding out who or what Dan was staring at so hatefully...and why he had Sam's knife stuck in his leg. Which kind of answered the first question.

Dean finally got a look down into the split in the rock. Across from him maybe eight feet down was a small lapsae, writhing and broken. A little farther down and on Dean's side of the crevice was..."Sam!"

Sam was crammed into an extra narrow space between the rock walls. He was a mess, covered in scrapes and cuts, and one entire pantleg was dark with blood. His eyes were closed, and it looked like if he slipped just a little sideways, he'd end up falling all the way to the bottom of the fissure, which Dean couldn't even see because the sunlight didn't reach that far down. "Sam!" Dean screamed again.

Below him, Sam twitched. "Careful," Dean warned, relief hitting him so strongly that his knees felt like water. "Don't move, Sam. I mean it. Stay perfectly still. I've gotta figure out how to get you up here safely."

"Look what he did, Uncle Chet!" The bartender guy yelled, sounding near tears and ignoring Dean completely. Still clutching his leg, he reached for his gun. "He – he ruined her!"

"Touch that gun and I'll blow your head off," Dean promised, aiming his own weapon at the man's head.

"Dan, you can't kill him," Chet cut in. "He's been chosen. And if the Ngueneavis was weak enough to be injured by her prey, she will be culled."

"How can they choose him?" Dan whined. "When we've been so faithful? Given so much?" He suddenly stared at Chet, his eyes burning. "It's our birthright, you said. Grandfather was chosen, and if we're worthy..." He paused. "Where is my father?"

Dean growled, reminding the two stuck in the middle of their little drama that hello, the guy with the gun here. "One of your god-monsters ate him, asshole," he snapped, having put together where Dan fit into the twisted family tree. Yeah, it was mean, but at very least, the guy had shot at Sam, so he was lucky not to have his face blown off. Dean refused to feel guilty about throwing the harsh truth at him.

"Sam?" he called louder. "You awake? Can you give me a sit rep? Did this asshat shoot you?"

"D-dean?" Sam called back, weaker than Dean would have liked. "Not shot. He missed. I assume the air horn was you? It was a good distraction." His words were a little slurred, but he was obviously coherent and aware of his surroundings. "Little banged up from fighting the lapsae and falling down here. Could, uh, use a hand."

Dean appreciated the little bit of humor, Sam's way of saying he was fine even when he clearly wasn't. "Figures," Dean answered in kind, his eyes constantly darting around to watch all possible threats while simultaneously working to figure out a way to get Sam out of the hole in the ground. He was loath to move where he couldn't physically see Sam, but he needed the wall at his back. "Think you can hang on a couple more minutes?" It was a valid question, and Sam answered seriously.

"Yeah, I can."

"Okay, you chill and do that. I got this." Dean quickly made up a plan...or at least, the start of one.

Dan was back to staring at the hopefully dying mothman (mothwoman?) below him. "Dan!" Dean barked. He pulled Chet backwards by his collar until his own back was against the wall a ways down from the opening they had come out of and made the older man kneel in front of him. "I will not hesitate to decorate the cave with your uncle's brains, then yours, then the lapsae's if you don't do a couple things for me. You understand?" He put as much menace in the words as he could, and Dan blinked as if startled by it. He nodded, though his gaze went back to the pathetic creature below him.

"Good." Chet stirred at the word and Dean nudged him. "Not a word outta you," he warned under his breath. Louder, he said, "See that hook on the floor straight behind you? Untie the cable it's attached to from the ring in the wall and bring the whole thing back over here." Unlike the chains that festooned the walls in various places, at least the ones within reach, the cable was both whole and plenty long enough to reach Sam. Dean didn't trust the ring that anchored it to the wall, however, not without being able to test it. He had the old-fashioned piton from one of the booby traps on the way to the cave and should be able to work with that. (He had the cord, too, but it was nowhere nearly strong enough to pull up a human being, much less one that was Sasquatch-sized.)

Dan obeyed, limping pitifully, the knife still embedded in his thigh, though not deep. The Winchesters wouldn't even have bothered to stitch such a wound most likely. Dean barely refrained from yelling at him to hurry up. He knew the reprieve from the remaining monsters couldn't last forever.

Panting and hardly using his bad leg, Dan made it back to his side of the crevice.

"Toss the hook by my feet," Dean directed.

Dan moved to obey, but at the last second, he instead dropped to one knee and lowered the hook down to the lapsae. "C'mon, I'll save you," he called.

"Dammit!" Dean snarled, but either Dan didn't believe he'd shoot Chet in cold blood or he didn't care. "Get that – "

That was all he had a chance to say. As the hook moved in front of the lapsae, she grabbed at it with one claw and her untorn wing. The sudden weight jerked Dan forward until most of his body was hanging over the side of the fissure. The desperate monster swung the other clawed hand up to dig deep into the meat of Dan's back just below the shoulder. Letting go of the hook, she dug those claws into the small of the man's back as if she intended to climb him right out of the hole. Dan screamed horribly and pitched even farther forward. Before Dean could draw another breath, Dan and the monster he'd tried to save had fallen together, wailing, out of sight.

"Shit!" Dean yelled in surprise and horror. Dragging Chet with him, he hurried to the edge of the crevice to make sure that the two who'd fallen hadn't knocked Sam down with them. To his immense relief, Sam looked steadily back up at him, still wedged into his previous position. And, wonder of wonders, the hook rested on his hand, the cable hanging down from it. All of the air seemed to be missing, and Dean would have liked to have enough of it back to tell Sam that he was amazing and he'd be fine and Dean would never let him fall. Or maybe acknowledge that someone had just died and the guilt he felt and he bet Sam was feeling too...whether or not they could have actually saved Dan's life. Instead, all that came out was, "Nice catch."

Sam smiled wearily, even sadly. "Wish I could throw it to you," he answered.

"I have an idea about that," Dean promised. He pulled out the cord he'd scavenged earlier and tucked his gun away. He was standing to the side of Chet far enough that he should be able to get it out again before the man could make a move. He hadn't tried to get away so far, even after watching two of his family members die in front of him, but Dean wasn't going to trust the psycho for anything.

Dean securely tied the piton in the cord and leaned over, giving Sam the most reassuring smile he could dredge up. It didn't help that Sam barely seemed to be able to focus on his face. "Sammy, hey, got an idea here. He showed Sam what he'd done. "I'm gonna go fishing for a pain in my ass. If I can get this right next to your body, do you think you can reach under with your good arm and put the hook around this pin?" He could tell just by the way Sam was holding his casted arm against himself that he probably couldn't use it much if at all.

Sam blinked twice before answering, which was so not encouraging. "Yeah. Yeah, of course," he said finally. "But, uh, I can't get it tied around me or pull myself out, I don't think." He looked downright embarrassed to admit it, as if Dean couldn't see his condition – the blood on his pants and the broken-doll way he was lying that said he barely had the strength to move.

"I'll do all the work, as usual," Dean smirked, not really sure who he was trying to reassure. He'd started lowering the piton already, the clock in his head still ticking down that an attack had to be imminent. "Be sure to keep some of the cable in your hand after you put the hook in place."

"He does not need your help," Chet spoke out of nowhere.

"Yeah, sure," Dean muttered. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why he'd take advice from someone who had watched the deaths of his own family members so stoically. Instead, he focused on putting the piton in the best position for Sam to reach it with as little motion as possible. "Okay, Sam, I just want a little extra insurance to keep you from falling. I'm going to have to climb down to you." And hope to hell Winchester shitty luck isn't at work and no lapsae show up while I'm at it.

Watching Sam struggle to reach the hook beneath himself was an exercise in self-restraint for Dean. Sam was in obvious pain, and Dean was silently terrified that any movement would cause him to fall.

"He won't –" Chet started.

"Shut up," Dean snarled, not wanting to hear it. "Good. Good job, Sam," he praised when Sam finally managed it. Though Sam was in the shadows from the shoulders up, he could still tell that his brother was breathing hard just from that, but Dean wanted at least a little bit of a safety net in place for Sam.

Dean pulled up gently until the piton with the hook hanging from it was just above Sam's chest. "One more thing, dude," he urged, trying to sound encouraging and not impatient. He didn't like having his hands busy with Chet right there, and he really hated not knowing where the other lapsae were. "Get the cable through the hook, take the hook off my fishing line there, and put the cable over it instead."

That took even longer, Sam's dexterity was definitely suffering, but he followed the directions perfectly. The thought that he might bleed out before Dean ever got him up to (relative) safety was haunting.

The hook and cable, almost certainly liberated from a tow truck, had a mechanism that would allow the hook to snap shut around the cable in order to pull something straight up, and to Dean's surprise, Sam managed to engage it before getting the cable over the piton. "Nice," Dean muttered under his breath, raising his "fishing line" up until he had the end of the cable in his hand. "I'm going to find a place to anchor this." Dean glanced at Chet. "And take care of a couple other things, then I'm climbing down to get you."

"Just...just pull me up," Sam said, sounding resigned.

"What? No!" Dean called back even as he was pulling Chet to his feet. Even uninjured, being suspended by a narrow rope around your chest would be agonizingly painful.

Keeping the end of the cable under his arm, Dean used the smaller line that he'd used for his fishing to bind Chet's wrists to a stalagmite that was twice as tall as he was.

"It's faster, and I'll pass out anyway," Sam answered tiredly.

"But...shit." Dean started to argue but didn't have any compelling reasons other than it'll really suck and you're already so hurt.

"Are you feeding me to the Ngueneavis?" Chet interrupted, his eyes wide.

"Not on purpose," Dean answered, making sure the man wasn't going anywhere. "Though if you get a taste of your own medicine, I won't lose any sleep over it considering you were going to do that exact thing to us." Ignoring the protests, he pulled the heavy cable around an even larger stalagmite and tugged on it experimentally to make certain it was as hard and solid as it looked. He knew Sam was right, but he hated hurting him even more. He went back to the edge of the ravine and looked down. He didn't bother to ask Sam if he was sure. His expression said he knew exactly what he was in for. "You ready?" he asked instead, seeing that Sam had managed to cinch the cable tighter around his chest just under his armpits. Sam used his good arm to hold the broken one steady against himself, took a deep breath, and nodded.

Dean cursed creatively in his head and took his place with one more glance around. (Where were the lapsae, anyway?) Chet was talking, but Dean shut him out, knowing that the dead lift would take everything he had. He pulled on the heavy gloves he'd stolen from Chet's SUV and wrapped the cable around his forearms a few times and once around his lower back, put his feet against the stalagmite, and heaved. He couldn't ignore the pained sound Sam made, but he didn't let it stop him. After a couple feet, it got just a little easier and he figured that his impossible brother had not only not passed out, he was helping as much as he could, maybe bracing a foot against the wall or holding on with his good hand.

When Dean could no longer push against the stalagmite and he had to reset with his feet on the ground, his boots slid a little, losing him a few inches, but he quickly stopped it and moved a step back toward the crevice. The cable dug painfully into his back and arms, but he knew it had to be a thousand times worse for Sam.

That was, naturally, when one of the mothmen appeared. It snarled at Dean but, like before, seemed reluctant to attack him outright. Instead, it slashed at the cable. "Oh hell no!" Dean snarled right back. With his lapse in concentration, he lost two whole feet of progress and his motions put him within reach of the deadly claws. "Hang on, Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Got a little situation here!" That was putting it mildly. How was he supposed to fight with both his hands and all of his strength taken up in pulling Sam up?

The monster didn't slash at Dean but launched a spray of spit at him worthy of a couple camels which he was barely able to dodge, bogged down as he was. He lost another six inches, then the pressure lightened significantly. Wait to go, little brother! Dean took half a step toward the lapsae and flipped the cable over it, then threw his weight backwards. The stiff line landed exactly where he'd wanted it to – around Ugly's neck, trapping it against the pillar.

The monster made a choking noise as its face slammed into the rock and Chet started yelling, but Dean just pulled harder. The line suddenly pulled harder than before, and it galvanized him even further. Bellowing out in effort and anger, Dean turned around and threw his weight into the cable and walked forward, his body at a forty-five degree angle to the ground. There was a nasty squishing sound behind him but he didn't turn. One more step, and a mop of dark hair appeared at the edge of the ravine. With one last heave, Dean was there and tugging Sam's limp body up over the side.

Exhausted, Dean loosed the cable from around Sam's chest and made sure he was breathing, then slumped next to him, gun in hand, trying to catch his breath. "Just a – just a sec, Sam. And I'll – I'll get you more comfy," Dean promised, panting. He registered the horror on Chet's face and followed his gaze. The lapsae's body was lying there in a pool of blood, twitching slightly, completely beheaded by the cable. "Huh."

Sam started stirring as Dean checked him over. He used his own overshirt to wrap Sam's thigh as tightly as he could. The amount of blood that he'd lost already made the situation critical, though the slash marks inexplicably weren't bleeding anymore. Given how deep they looked to be Sam should already be...well, Dean wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, that actually wasn't his biggest worry at the moment.

By the time he was binding Sam's busted arm to his chest, his brother was swearing through clenched teeth. "Sorry, man," Dean offered. He took a quick glance at Sam's pupils, pleased that they were at least the same size. "What, uh, is going on with your neck?" In addition to all of his other injuries, Sam had something dark all over the skin of his neck and up his face almost to his cheekbone. When he'd been in the ravine, Dean had thought the darkness there was just shadow, but when he'd touched whatever it was, he couldn't get it off Sam's skin.

Sam blinked watery eyes, glazed with pain but more aware than Dean had dared hope. "Lapsae spit on me." Suddenly, his eyes filled with remembrance. "Dean, I know why the lapsae are scared of you," he said, ignoring the other question. "There are petrographs down there. Cave drawings. People used to know how to protect themselves from the lapsae. A lot better than trying to chain them to the walls or bringing them humans to eat so they weren't seen in town." He said the last part while glaring past Dean at Chet. The effort was weak, but Dean appreciated the sentiment. Chet merely stared at Sam, a strange light in his eyes. Or using stuff like air horns and super-charged tasers, Dean thought, getting a better understanding of some of the things he'd found in the SUV.

"People used to mark themselves with depictions of the lapsae," Sam continued when Chet didn't comment.

"And?" Dean poked at Sam's neck again but stopped when Sam weakly slapped his hand away.

"And your amulet sort of looks like them with its horns. Dad and Bobby always thought it was kind of apotropaic." Sam drew in a breath, obviously hurting badly but trying to hide it and get his thoughts out. "Anyway, I think people used to just wear depictions of the lap – lapsae, or maybe even get tattoos of them." In his eagerness to say everything he wanted to, Sam had lifted his head. Now, out of breath, he let it drop. He closed his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean asked, worried that he'd passed out again. They had to get out of here and to a hospital. Somehow.

"'M okay," Sam whispered. "Jus' dizzy."

"One more sec and we gotta get up and find a way out of here," Dean answered, his worry dial cranked as far as it would go. He began to review in his mind what had to be done.

Step one: get back to the land side of the bluff. Not that hard, except that Dean was exhausted, Sam was barely conscious, and apotro-whatever or not, the last lapsae could attack at any time. Step two: get down the hill at least to the SUV, or ideally to the Impala. Same problems as item one. Step three: get Sam to a hospital and come up with a good reason for his injuries. (Bear, maybe. Bear attack was a tried-and-true option.) While navigating all three steps, Dean had to account for Chet and any of his accomplices who were still alive. He might like the idea of leaving the man tied up and hoisted by his own petard, but Dean knew he couldn't make himself do it. Step four, of course, would be to come back and finish the rest of the monsters off, but that was a problem for later. There were plenty of "right now" problems to deal with first.

Dean touched Sam's neck once more, deeply disturbed by the fact that it looked and felt more like Sam's very skin was changing color and texture rather than just had something splashed on it.

"He faced the Ngueneavis without fear. It has begun," said Chet solemnly, because he apparently loved to spout cryptic shit.

"What?!" Dean demanded. "What exactly has begun?" Sam opened his eyes and looked startled, then horrified, as if he'd suddenly figured something else out. Dean's mind had an explanation too, but he pushed it aside, not wanting it to be possible even if it made a bunch of puzzle pieces make sense.

"He has been chosen. He is being changed," Chet said in his infuriating way. "He is becoming a Ngueneavis."

"Well, stop it!" Dean burst out.

Chet shook his head. "It cannot be stopped."

* * *

AN: I know some of you saw that coming! And if I played fast and loose with physics, well, I'm just a former fine arts major!

muffinroo: You liked those cliffies? Then here's another for you. One and a half even. The "uncanny" comment was brilliant! How do you like Chet's craziness growing even more? I love the show and tell thing too. Good call on the monsters being dangerous to keep...Dan found that out the hard way.

Colby's girl: Thank you so much! It's so much fun that my readers catch all the little things I try to sneak into the stories. It was beautiful here for a while, but it suddenly got cold and nasty here now. My sister saw white stuff in the air yesterday. *barf, gag, puke* And my poor garden is all empty except for some carrots and two little cabbages. So sad!

Christine: LOL. Janice said basically the same thing! She actually said something like she suspected I rub my hands together and laugh evilly every time I write a cliffie. (I can neither confirm nor deny.) In this story, the humans are definitely scarier than the monsters! I'm with you on the rabid dog over a psychopath!

ScealaiTheRakker: Oh, wow! I don't know why you haven't seen notifications!It's so good to see your name. Sorry you came back right when the writing speed really slowed down. Hopefully, it will pick up again now. I'm glad the thought of John with a poorly placed bullet wound (is there a good place for one?) made you chuckle!

ncsupnatfan: I like to let Dean have explosives sometimes, especially since I beat up on his little brother so often. You are so very smart about what's happening to Sam! Every time they solve one problem, they find more. Poor Winchesters.

Natylop: I'm afraid you're absolutely right about me loving to make poor Sam suffer. At least he's not stuck in the hole any longer. Of course, there's a lot more still going wrong. LOL

BruisedBloodyBroken: Aw, that made me smile! I love to see your name in the comments!

Anne: You are just the sweetest! I have so much fun with both guys' POV's. I'm hooked on going back and forth between them. "Also, ew" made me laugh out loud, because that's something I say quite often. I find the lapsae quite creepy personally. It makes me happy that you consider the memory with John in your headcannon now. You can always tell me things I messed up on! And for whatever reason, I always spell lightning wrong. It is fixed now, finally. I'm really sorry that you had to wait so long for the next part of the story.

MewWinx96: Thank you so much!

Kathy: I'm glad you liked smart Dean figuring out where Sam would be. And the ricochet shot is something I love so much. As soon as I had bullets bouncing off themothmen, I wanted to fit that in somewhere.

stedan: I hope it's starting to make a little more sense. There will be more details about the mothman groupies later in the story too, I promise. And, yeah, the people are at least as "monstrous" as the actual monsters.

sfaulkenberry: It went well, thanks you. I just did way too much canning! But yes, we will definitely enjoy it. In fact, I probably should have made more jam than I did based on how fast it's disappearing. I'm glad you like the dark humor. You'll have to wait a while yet for Sam to be out of the woods, but I guarantee that there will be bro moments.