A/N: wow, ok, sorry about the wait, i have had two very long days at work. also, this chapter ended up being pretty long. i was going to make it two seperate, longer chapters, but i wanted to get into the action so i condensed them. i also want to apologise for all the typos in the last chapter, a swear i proof read it twice, i must have just been really tired :) sorry.

again, i want to thank everyone for the reviews, i am glad you like the story, i am having alot of fun writing it. and for anyone wondering Joshua is not my character. he is one of john's contacts from the show. he is mentioned in "faith" (he's the one that told sam about the healer) and i am not sure if they mention him again. i just liked the idea of bringing some of the people from the show to life :)

well then, with out further ranting, on with the chapter.

D: i own nothing here, not even washington state or joshua (as mentioned above) :(

SHADOW STALKER

Chapter 5

Tuesday, 4.12 am

"God damn stupid, lazy, punk as little brother, throwing my stuff out of the car. Couldn't even get his ass up to help me. I should have thrown him out the window." Dean mumbled angrily as he stormed away from the car, searching the dark ground before him for any sign of his precious tape. "I should throw his stuff out of the car, see how he likes it." He continued ranting as he shuffled his feet along the ground, listening for the clatter of the plastic cassette. He knew that there was no way he was going to find it in the dark, but that wasn't going to stop him from looking. He contemplated returning to the impala for a flashlight, but quickly banished that idea. He really didn't want to face Sam again so soon.

He knew that they were lost, very lost, and the last thing he needed was to listen to his younger brother whine about it. Sam had succeeded in one thing though, he had killed his brother's caffeine buzz completely. "Great, so now I'm mad and tired, and crazy. Stupid, Dean, stop talking to yourself." He shook his head as he continued on down the road, his dying sugar rush making him just a little delusional.

He continued walking slowly through the night, every now and again kicking his feet and looking around, the search for the tape fading away with each step he took. He just needed to get away, even if it was only for an hour. He just needed to be alone. His mind invited the silence that had descended so deeply around him, the sound of his footsteps the only hint of noise. He was tired, but not just physically tired, he was tired of everything. There were times when he wanted nothing more then to just step out of his body, and walk away from it all, just for a little while. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see his father's eyes staring back, the usual hazel irises a sickening shade of yellow. And every time he tried to sleep he could hear those words carried by his father's voice. 'They don't need you, not like you need them.' He knew that, he had always known that, and until that night it hadn't really bothered him. At least that is what he told himself. But now those words were bouncing around inside his head, driving him crazy.

'What was the point?' Dean found himself asking that question a lot lately. What would his purpose be after the hunt was over? And if it was never over, well what then. It was like a double edged sword, no matter what happened, things would never be the way Dean wanted them to be. Because, no matter what happened, there was no way to return to the past. He was a grown man now, as was his brother, and the idea that they would be together as they were when they were children was far fetched, even to Dean. 'I guess you cant go home again.' He thought almost bitterly. 'This is what I have now.' He made the best of it though, and he never complained. He knew, more then the rest of his family, that the here and now was all they had, and all that there was to have. He didn't bother planning for the future, because, in his mind, there was a very real possibility that he would not have one. Dean understood that, and he accepted that. He also didn't waste copious amounts of time pining for the losses of his past, swearing revenge on everything that had wronged him. No, Dean Winchester lived in the moment, and he always would. He cherished the things he had, but he also knew that all of it could be lost in an instant. He realized how the world worked, accepted it, and moved on. Though there was always that part of his mind that held on to his long buried desire, that need to have his family by his side forever, and that was what drove him.

He had been walking for quite some time when he decided to turn around. He wanted nothing more then to remain out there alone, surrounded my the peaceful darkness, but he knew that was unwise. If not for his own safety then for Sammy's. He knew that Sam was probably worrying himself sick, wondering where his brother had gone. Dean could picture him, his younger brother sitting in the passenger seat of the impala biting his nails and squirming around, blaming himself for all his big brothers problems. His nose was probably scrunched up and his teeth were clenched, the way they also were when he was nervous. He was probably staring straight ahead, his mind jumping from one worst case scenario to another. Dean eaten by a bear, Dean fallen down a cliff, Dean abducted by a twelve year old hillbilly. He silently chuckled to himself as he turned around and made his way back to the car, if there was one thing Dean knew, it was his little brother.

Dean couldn't help but notice the shadows as he walked back along the desolate road. There was something about them, something that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. They were alive, 'no not alive', he thought, they were the shadows of things that had once been. Some looked like animals, while other looked humans. He could feel them staring at him, reaching for him as he walked and he silently quickened his pace. He didn't like the feel of them, and the way they misted in and out of his vision. He felt defenseless, and awkward. It was like they could reach into his soul. They tugged at his sanity, and floated through his mind. And they seemed to be enjoying it, some appearing far in the distance, a mirage in the dark, while others materialized in an instant, mere inches from his face, causing him to stumble in his haste as he tried to get away. They seemed to be pushing him from all directions, taunting him, laughing at him. He swatted blindly at the air, trying to push them away, keep them from him mind.

He stumbled further along the road, his walking faster and more erratic with each step. He could feel them swarming him, whispering to him, their voices like razors in the cold night.

'Alone...forgotten...left.' They chanted around him on the ever increasing winds, the forest moaned and shifted, as if making room for the influx of shadows. He could feel the wind cut deep through his jacket, gusts like arms pulling him, grabbing him. He was pushed to the right, stumbling into the think growth on the side of the road. "Get the hell away from me!" He screamed, anger and a slight hint of fear lacing his voice. "Leave me the hell alone."

'Alone...forgotten...left...unwanted.'

"Shut up. You're all lucking I'm not packing. I'd shoot you all full of salt." He continued to yell back at the night, still fighting his way from the side the road. "You just wait till I get some weapons, then we'll see how tuff your whispering ass is."

'Dean.' The wind and whispering picked up speed with that one word, as if just by naming him the forest could feel his strength. 'Dean.'

"What!" He shouted pulling himself up from where he had fallen, stumbling as the wind one again tried to push him down.

'Your lost.'

"I know that, thanks!"

'Lost to them, all of them.'

"What?"

'You're ours... You're mine.' Dean didn't have time to answer, his eyes growing wide in horror as he watched a gale wind race down the highway towards him. He had no time to react, and the next thing he knew the wind blew him back, sending him over the edge of the cliff he didn't even know he was standing on.

Pain, that was all there was, darkness and an almost unbearable pain. He stayed there, breathing heavily, willing the pain away. 'At least I'm not dead.' He thought as he continued to lay stretched across the angled ground beneath him. "Oh, god. I hate nature." Dean said aloud finally managing to pry his eyes open. His head was throbbing and he wanted nothing more then to squeeze his eyes closed again and give into unconsciousness. But he knew that wasn't an option, he had to stay focused. He had to get to Sam, make sure he was safe from the shadows. Slowly the world before him came into focus and he was relieve to see daylight. Or as much daylight as he could have hoped for. The entire forest around him was blanketed in a deep, unnatural gray fog, blocking out the sun, and cooling the ground beneath him. Dean shivered slightly and tried to pull his jacket tighter, but quickly regretted both movements. His body was killing him, even his hair hurt, and he fought to keep the pain induced nausea at bay.

He slowly turned his green eyes skyward, his gave searching for the ledge he had fallen from. There, about four hundred meter above him he saw the road. 'Great;' he thought, 'at least it wasn't that steep.' "If I had to go over a ledge at least it was one I could role down." He joked to himself as he continued to survey his surroundings, still moving nothing but his eyes. He has slid about half way down an escarpment between two plateaus, his body now laying amid boulders, grass and trees. He felt like he must have hit everything in his path on the way down.

"Crap." He laid still for another few moment, gathering all his inner strength, preparing for the agony any movement would cause him. Taking a deep breath, Dean decided he was ready and then began to lift himself up, taking in the extent of his injuries. He managed to push himself up slightly on his left elbow, his weak body shaking violently from the cold and effort. His ribs were on fire, but by the sheer grace of god, he thought, they appeared only to be bruised. His right wrist was throbbing and one look at the offending joint told him it was broken. "Great." He then continued down his body, a large pool of blood grabbing his attention. He quickly looked up the mountain and saw the cause, about one hundred meter above him sat a group of razor sharp, blood soaked rocks. "Wonderful." He pulled up his shirt to survey the damage, wincing when he saw his torso. Low to the right side of his abdomen about two inches above his hip bone was a four inch bloody gash. Lowing his tee and outer shirt back down he pushed down hard on the wound, letting a scream of pain pass his lips as he did so. The blood slowly soaked through both shirts, staining his hand a shade of crimson, but he still pressed down, only stopping when the blood flow lessened to a trickle.

"Not too bad," he moaned, "all things considered." He looked back up at the road above, for a fall like that he could have faired much worse. He gathered what strength he had left and began to push himself to his feet, he needed to get himself back up to the road.

He was halfway up on his left leg when he placed his right down for balance. But the moment he placed his weight on the leg he screamed out in agony, falling back to the rocky ground. He screamed out again as he mistakenly tried to use his right arm to break his fall. Tears stung his eyes and he lost control of his stomach, the pain pushing the contents of his stomach back to the world. Then he laid there, painful tears streaming unstoppable down his face, his body sweating from exertion and shaking from shock. His right leg was on fire, in more pain then he thought was even possible. And he knew then, he hadn't just dislocated his knee cap, he had broken it.

"Damn it." He wheezed, his body still reeling from the assaulting pain, fresh blood seeping down from a head wound he had also missed earlier. "Damn it." He breathed again through clenched teeth, his still shaking left hand covering is eyes. Dean laid there for what seemed like hours, trying to gather himself together, his mind fighting against the pain that was assaulting his body. He took a few more deep breaths, finally gaining some control over himself and looked down at his watch. "Great," his moaned angrily, it was broken. He then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He let out a long breath he didn't even know he had been holding when it flickered to life, the only damage being a cracked screen.

"At least something is going right." His joy was short lived, however, when he flipped the phone open and saw he had no signal. "Just my luck. How am I gonna call Sam now?" 'Call Sam' his inner voice reasoned, and then it dawned on him. He couldn't have been that far from the car when he had fallen, he could literally call out for Sam, he was sure the echo of the mountains could carry his voice the few hundred meters up the escarpment.

"SAM." Dean yelled as loud as his injured body would let him. "SAMMY...I NEED HELP." He laid there silently for a few moment, waiting for something, the forest around him deathly silent. 'Too silent.' Dean thought. There were no birds, no squirrels, no bears, no bugs. No anything, just lonely silence. Dean took another long breath to calm himself, bars of Metallica already drifting into his worried mind. He couldn't panic, Sam was fine, he would find him. "SAM!" He screamed again, but again only silence answered.

After another two hours of laying there, calling for his brother, he decided that if he wanted to get rescued, then he would have to do it himself. 'Sammy's gonna get an earful from me when I drag my ass back up that hill.' He laid back, taking another deep breath, and dug his elbows into the dirt, pushing his sore body into a sitting position. He then gingerly shrugged off his jacket and outer shirt, the cool fall air biting his now exposed arms, making is wrist throb. He put the jacket over his shoulders then carefully started tearing the shirt into strips. He used one strip as a kind of ace bandage for his wrist first, thankful that it helped lessen the pain. He then took another strip and wrapped it around his head, smiling at himself for a moment, he must have looked like he escaped from a bad eighties dance movie with that thing around his head. He followed that thought by wrapping another strip around his stomach, for both the cut and ribs. He then found two large sturdy sticks near by and went to work on his knee. It was no easy task, and forty five minutes, and two bouts with nausea later, he looked down at his leg with a manic pride. 'Boy scouts of America, eat your hearts out.'

Satisfied that it was the best he could do he pulled another large stick from the ground beside him, it looked like it would reach at least to his chin. He then wedged it between two rocks and wrapped his right arm around it, careful not to hit his wrist. And with a strength that would amaze anyone, Dean pulled himself to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around the stick. He then took another deep breath, and leaning almost entirely on the walking stick began to make his way through the woods.

High above this scene the shadow stood perched precariously on a ledge. At first sight he looked like a man, his long coat slapping around his knees in the breeze, but on second sight it was obvious that he was not whole. He stood there like an obscene optical illusion, misting in and out of focus, real and faded in the same moment. His cold gray eyes stared down intently at the young man struggling in the forest below, his beloved brother and car a mere six hundred meters away. He could feel the fear in the air, feel the torment and pain. He breathed in deep, savoring the aroma of chaos, and loss. He could feel his strength growing, both from the brothers and from the spirits they attracted. His forest grew with the shadows of emotions, his body a beacon for the echoes of despair, the energy on anger. This was his field, his domain, his time. He saw the dark masses of grief as they floated across the country to him, filling his forest with their darkening haze. He lifted up his arms and the winds swirled to him, carrying the emotions, the deaths, the lives, the energies of millions to him, empowering him. With another great breath he looked once more at the scene below him, his body aching for the strength it was about to entrap. He had the Winchester boys, the trophies of the supernatural world. So many would hunt them, so many would come to his forest to torment them, take them. And he would feed off all the despair and anger they brought with them. 'Yes' he whispered as he closed his steely eyes, he could already feel the powers that the two boys were unknowingly drawing to themselves. All he had to do was keep them beaten, keep them lost, and they would be his forever. He then opened his eyes and lowered his hands, ushering in the early twilight, sending the forest into an unnatural night, as he too disappeared away into the falling shadows.

TBC

next chapter probably wont be till about thursday or friday, tomorrow is another very long day of work.

until then :)