Title: Hunter's Crossing

Author: Signs Of Sun

Note: Thanks for the reviews everyone. Much appreciated!

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Hunter's Crossing

Chapter 3

The lighter fell from Dean's grasp, landing on his faded green shirt. The heavy fabric ignited instantly, but no movement came from his body. The hungry flames latched on to anything within its reach, engulfing both the right sleeve of Dean's button down shirt and the wooden chest he limply rested against.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, scrambling from his seat at the bottom of the stairs a few feet away. Diving at his brother he outstretched both arms in front of him and they connected with Dean's left shoulder and arm which were untouched by the flames. Dean's body toppled to the right, roughly impacting the dirt floor, but for the most part clearing him of the torch that the wooden chest had become.

"Dean! Wake up!" Sam's voice cried out desperately. The dirt had contributed just barely to reigning in the fire, but the wooden chest at Dean's back was fully engulfed now and the flames lapped out, growing, and the back of Dean's shirt was suddenly ablaze.

"God, Dean wake up!" Sam screamed again, tearing off his own jacket and frantically using it in a panicked attempt to beat out the fire attacking his brother.

There was scarcely a fraction of second between Dean's eyes flying open and the agonizing scream his voice sent out, filling ever inch of air in the room.

"Roll Dean!" Sam commanded his freshly conscious brother. Sam had just been about to start rolling Dean's body along the dirt floor, but the depth of Dean's scream had stalled him just of a fraction of a second. Sam's mind registered the sound and found it was saturated with panic more than pain. Laying on his right side and still dazed Dean went into a roll. His left arm came back slightly, using it to propel his body into motion and his left forearm connected with the burning wooden chest at his back. The fire easily devoured through the thickness of the green fabric covering his arm and found skin.

The heart wrenching cry that tore out of Dean's body sent Sam into overdrive. He tossed the jacket in his hands over Dean and with adrenaline enhanced strength rapidly rolled Dean over and over on his side across the cellar's dirt floor. Finally after his eyes rapidly surveyed his brother from head to toe and found not a single ember left simmering with fire he stopped.

"Oh, god, Dean! Dean? Dean, answer me! Dean! Answer me Dean!" Sam begged out. His voice was only able to create the words at the volume of a whisper, but the tone was demanding. And the rambling pace kept time with the frantic beat of Sam using both hands to pat down his brother's body, checking that there weren't any dangers left unattended.

"Dude, a little personal space," Dean hoarsely choked out. He was lying flat on his back, what portions of his body weren't covered with Sam's coat were filthy with the grime his body had collected from the cellar floor. Sam sat back on his heels and looked down at his brother's face. Dean's eyes were closed and his head was rested back against the dirt floor. The strain in his jaw line told the story, single focus on controlling the pain.

"Can you make it out of here?" Sam asked, glancing across the cellar to where the wooden chest was furiously being consumed by flames and the fire was crawling steadily across the collection of other assorted items piled next to it.

"It's not that bad," Dean mumbled while using his right elbow to prop himself up. The grunt that immediately followed the movement negated the words he'd just spoken. He forced his eyes open halfway and stole a peek at Sam who was glancing around the room. Sam hadn't believed his lie so the grunt had not phased him.

"What ya looking for?" Dean continued gruffly in an attempt to divert Sam's attention away longer. He started the slow progress of pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Water. There's none here though. We need to get out of here before this place burns to the ground." Sam looked back to his brother, finding him now trying to get up from his seat in the dirt. Sam instantly reacted by starting to reach out both hands to him to assist, but Dean shot up his hand out in front of him, telling him to stop.

"Touching me right now. Not such a good idea," Dean hissed out.

"Sorry," Sam responded and stood up himself. Dean had managed his own way to his feet, but was standing still with his head bowed. Sam could tell he was determinedly trying to collect himself, needed, wanting, to bury as much of physical pain and emotion as possible.

"Where the hell did that son of a bitch go?" Dean cursed. His head was still bowed and Sam knew it was more of an instruction for Sam to look around than an actual question to be responded to. It prompted Sam's gaze to methodically scan every corner of the cellar. Spotting nothing on the first pass he reluctantly moved away from his brother and back across the room to where the shotgun lay discarded in the dirt. The cellar was surprisingly large for the age of the building and the fire had only taken over the northeast corner. Sam noted the stairs were still clear, but probably not for long.

Shotgun in hand, Sam turned back towards his brother. Dean very slowly and careful working to peel off the button down shirt that had caught fire. For the first time Sam's mind really registered the condition of the shirt itself. The right sleeve was mostly charred away, leaving black areas covering most of it. The right collar and right front were in slightly better shape, the fire having been extinguished before it spread too far. The left front appeared intact and the left sleeve was blackened from Dean's upper forearm to his elbow.

The images sunk into Sam, sending his gaze away from his brother. One of the flashlights he had been carrying now lay darkened on the floor a few feet away. Sam stepped over and scooped it up in his left hand. He tried to click it on but no light arrived. He gave it a solid smack on its side, jarring the connections to fall in line, and the bulb flickered to life. The beam of the flashlight ended up illuminating Dean who now stood, rather unsteadily, with his head thrown back and the button down shirt only slipped part way down his shoulders. The task had been harder than first anticipated and Sam could see the frustration on Dean's face. Suddenly cold splashed through Sam, shaking him from the dazed fog that had captured him in the aftermath of what had happened. Their situation crashed in upon him. They were in a cellar where a fire was spreading, there was spirit hiding somewhere, and his brother needed a hospital. Somehow the realization triggered Sam's body into awareness too and he was seized by a coughing fit for a few long seconds. Smoke was taking over the cellar and stealing air from them.

"We gotta go!" his voice had stated before he even knew he had opened his mouth. Dean didn't respond in words. Lowering his head to look at Sam he nodded slightly and began to trudge across the dirt floor towards the stairs. The soreness from Sam's fall was beginning to creep up in his muscles but he managed to keep the shotgun and flashlight raised while he trailed his brother up the stairs. Every dozen breaths or so Sam would hear some version of pained noise from ahead of him. Dean would let out a hiss or a grunt or choice curse word under his breath as they navigated back through the house and out into the faint moonlight. Halfway across the yard Dean slowed his strides considerably and Sam caught up to his left side. His brother's stance was now hunched over a little and Sam could see how tenderly he treated his left arm. Sam was pulled desperately to assist Dean but simultaneously afraid to touch him for fear of inflicting further pain. Asking Dean would be pointless since Sam knew perfectly well the offer would be rejected fiercely. He had noted the back of Dean's shirt had only been burned on the shirt tail and the upper portion was untouched. After tucking the flashlight securely under his arm, braced between his body and his inner arm he offered what little he could by placing a steadying hand of Dean's back. His brother surprisingly and silently accepted the offer and it remained there the rest of the way to the car. Slowly retrieving the keys from his jeans pocket Dean turned them over to his brother who unlocked the passenger side door. Dean dropped down onto the edge of it with his legs still outside the car, bowed his head to his chest, and stopped moving. A sound halfway between a hum and a growl emanated from his softly. Sam crouched down in front of him, discarding the shotgun on the ground and leveling the flashlight near Dean's chest.

"Dean?" he begged. Dean's head remained tucked down and by moving so he was crouched a little lower Sam could see why. Dean's eyelids were squeezed closed but the corners of his eyes and his eyelids were watery. Tears were forming there.

"Dean, I'm going to take you to the hospital."

"No."

"Yes Dean."

"No hospital. It's not that bad."

"Uh, Dean you were on fire."

"My shirt was on fire…mostly."

"I can't believe you. You had actual flames coming off of you Dean."

"Off my clothing Sammy. I just need to get this damn shirt off me and I'll be better."

"Unbelievable," Sam grumbled and carefully assisted Dean in shedding the shirt. Once his brother was free of it Sam surveyed the damage. Dean's black t-shirt was in unexpectedly good shape, sporting only a few areas of scorched cotton. Dean's right arm from his wrist all the way up to his bicep was a brilliant shade of red. A second degree burn that resembled an intensely severe sunburn, but would hurt like there was no tomorrow. The right side of Dean's neck was a similar color and the far right side of his cheek an unhealthy pink. Sam's gaze traveled to his brother's left side. Dean's own eyes were focused there too on the spot on his upper forearm. The memory of Dean's left arm going back and connecting with the burning wood chest rushed back to Sam's thoughts. The skin in a small area just below the elbow was the worse of it, verging close to the edge of being a third degree burn.

"Damn Dean. You need to have that looked at."

"We'll take care at the cabin."

"Dean."

"We'll take care of it at the cabin Sam. End of story."

Sadness filtered into Sam as he realized short of driving to the hospital with Dean hostage in the passenger seat there would be no professional help for his brother. Anger chased in after the sadness, but he bit down on it and stood up. There had been pleading in Dean's eyes, a brotherly request that probably Dean hadn't even realized was there. There was so little Sam could think of to offer Dean at that moment so honoring his stubborn assed wishes would have to do, like it or not. He could always take his brother hostage and deliver him to the ER if Dean's condition worsened. Or even maybe if it didn't. He could honor the request by taking Dean to the cabin then heading right back out to the hospital. Probably not the best route to go down though so Sam settled on the original plan. If Dean worsened his brother was going to the emergency room like it or not.

"Yeah alright," he mumbled out as Dean gingerly twisted around so he was facing forward in the car and pulled his legs inside in the same motion. Sam slammed to door closed, scooped up the shotgun and after storing it back in the trunk, made his way to the drivers side. By the time he had put the key in the ignition and started the engine Dean sat motionless beside him. If Sam hadn't known better he would have guessed his brother was asleep, but that half hum half growl had returned. He realized Dean was creating it deliberately as focus or distraction or some odd combination of both.

Reaching the entranceway to the cemetery Sam finally spoke and only out of necessity.

"Uh Dean. I have no idea where I'm going."

"Turn left and go back to Route 7. Then a mile and half back there's a private road on the right."

"I'll never understand how you do that."

Dean let out a half grunt half laugh. Sam could sense him shift a little in the seat, straightening up.

"How you doin', man?"

"Survivin'."

"You're insane you know that, right?"

"It's strange that that thing didn't come after us again," Dean commented, ignoring Sam's last words regarding the refusal of a hospital visit completely. But Dean seemed a bit more animated now and Sam allowed himself the thought that maybe the burns weren't as bad as they looked. It was immediately rebutted though by the knowledge that it was more likely just Dean being Dean, covering with everything he had.

"It was kinda odd wasn't it?"

"Don't miss the turn man. Oops, too late." Dean said, watching their turn towards the cabin go by outside his window. Sam laid on the brake, jerking the car to a halt.

"Damn Sam!" Dean threw out angrily. The sudden motion had jolted him forward and irritated his damaged skin with impact into the door handle.

"Sorry about that," Sam replied, throwing the Impala into reverse on the empty road until they were back at the entrance to the road. He shifted and made the right and two bumpy minutes later they were climbing out of the car. Sam was already around the hood and at the passenger side before Dean even stood up, but Dean seemed to be moving alright unassisted. And that comforting thought from earlier crept back in, maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked.

"Nice place," Sam commented, finding a subject that would distract them both.

"You can say that again! I told you Sam sweet deal." Sam looked up at the building before them. The two story structure was a modern custom made log home with a wrap around porch, huge windows, and expensive detailing.

"Holy crap!" he added, studying it more in depth. Just the location overlooking the lake would have earned the place a price tag with a number followed by a long string of zeroes.

"Yeah the guy who owns it works on Wall street or somethin'," Dean replied, lethargically climbing the stairs. He poked around the moonlit porch for a few seconds squatting down beside one of the huge Adirondack chairs. Reaching underneath it he retrieved a key from the bottom side of the seat.

"You comin' or you just gonna stand there with your mouth hanging open?" Dean inquired and headed for the door. Sam could just make out the very edges of a grin on Dean's face when he looked back over his shoulder while unlocking the door. Relief spread through Sam. If Dean could manage that grin he was holding his own.

"I'm going to grab our stuff!" Sam called back.

"Okay!" was Dean's clearly audible response. But as Sam headed around to the trunk to retrieve their bags he heard Dean's mumbled addition, one not intended for Sam's ears.

"And I'm going to grab water, very very cold water."

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Dean had already been stretched out in a chair, his upper body covered in cool damp cloths by the time Sam entered through the front door of the cottage. His black t-shirt had been stripped off and lay forgotten on the floor beside the chair. His feet were propped up on the table out in front of him. Other than appearing to have the world's most painful looking sunburn he was sprawled out like he was napping. And he had stayed there quiet and oblivious while Sam had sorted out their stuff, dropping Dean's bag just inside the bedroom off the living room to the right and his own in the one on the left. The main upstairs bedroom was left for their father. Dean had finally moved from the seemingly content position only when Sam delivered several Advil to him along with a tall icy cold glass of water. He had swallowed them both down in scarcely a gulp and managed his way back to his feet, tossing the towels in the bowl of water that sat on the coffee table. After an apologetic comment about having nothing stronger right at the moment than ibuprofen Sam had trailed behind when Dean headed off into his bedroom.

"How in the world, Sam, could you not have learned by now?" Dean spat out in disbelief from his position in front of the dresser. The large rectangular mirror hanging directly above it allowed him sight of both himself and his younger brother. Sam had seated himself in a slouched exhaustion on the end of the bed to his right. His gaze was downward, studying the faded and swirled emerald design in the tan carpeting. Dean turned his head as far as he could to the left, running the fingertips and palm of his right hand over his short hair, then turned his head all the way to the right and repeated the process. Satisfied that his hair wasn't seriously singed he sluggishly grabbed his duffle bag from the floor just inside the doorway and plopped it in the chair by the window.

"Learned what?" Sam inquired and finally lifted his attention from the floor to the reflection of Dean in the mirror.

"Uh. Creepy building. Freaky ass spirit out front. Suspicious orange glow. Hmmm? Might not want to go inside alone and unarmed," Dean smart mouthed out. The tone, Sam knew, was caused by the physical pain Dean was in, but frustration was creeping through Sam's body anyway, demanding for everything else to be ignored.

"It looked like it was on fire. I had to make sure there wasn't anyone inside Dean. I can handle myself."

"You were face down in the dirt at the bottom of the stairs, Sam. You got a freaky idea of handling yourself."

"You were right behind me Dean."

"Yeah, lucky for you," Dean grumbled back while he sorted through his duffle bag. In do so he inadvertently bumped the zipper with his right arm, scraping the burned area near his wrist. There was a long beat while Dean looked off towards the door, away from Sam. But the younger man caught the deep wince that seized Dean's features for several heartbeats. Finally suppressing the pain back down below the surface Dean's voice returned.

"What if I hadn't been?"

"But you were."

"What if I wasn't? I was all the way down at the car. A lot can happen real fast, Sammy. Don't do it again."

"I'm sorry Dean."

"Don't go all wishy washy on me. Apologizin' and shit. Just don't do it again."

"I guess I knew you were behind me."

"Next time just wait for me."

"I'm not five anymore, Dean. I survived just fine on my own in Palo Alto."

"No, Sam, you're not five anymore. So I figured you knew we worked as a team. Besides in Palo Alto you were battling textbooks not evil son of bitches looking to tear you into dozens of pieces."

"So it was okay when you worked jobs solo, but when it's me, it's not okay."

"I've been hunting longer Sam. And it was a real long time before I hunted solo."

"Man, you don't get it at all, do you?"

"I'm not in the mood for one of your free shrink sessions right now, Sam."

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"No, you know what Sam, forget it. Go ahead next time and get your ass kicked."

"You were the one with the shotgun and you ended up getting your ass kicked anyway."

"All I want to do right now is lie down. If we really have to have this discussion, and please say we don't, I'm not havin' it tonight."

"Fine. Have it your way. Go to bed and pretend nothing happened like you always do!" Sam tossed back and glared at his older brother.

"Well, I would but you're sitting on my bed."

Wordlessly, Sam stood up, only finding the strength to do so by pushing his clenched fists down into the mattress underneath him. He exchanged a passing glare with his brother as he moved towards the door and Dean trudged for the bed.

"You're not always right, Dean."

"Go to sleep Sam! NOW!"

The anger inside Dean's voice was fueled almost entirely by physical pain. The knowledge of that truth was wandering the far corners of Sam's mind, but the long stockpiled frustration was overwhelming and irresistible.

"Yes SIR!" Sam smart mouthed out. He saluted his brother, about faced, and loudly stormed off into the living room. He stopped abruptly halfway between Dean's bedroom and his own and exhaled the breath he'd been keeping hostage to his anger. The sound of footsteps at his back drew him to glance back over his shoulder. Dean was at the doorway to his room, right hand positioned on the doorknob and his left arm held protectively in near his stomach.

Their eyes locked inside a glare for just a breath, but that was all the time Sam needed to witness the conflicted expression on his brother's face. Anger was embedded into the stern set of his jaw. The presence of the emotion was so strong that although intangible it had fused itself into Dean physical form, creating a near emotional fortress out of him. Sam could see though that Dean's eyes betrayed him, as they often did. The hurt residing in them was so razor sharp it stabbed into Sam mercilessly. The "Yes Sir" comment had been short in the number of words but held great unspoken insult in it. Both of them knew the words represented a summary of all the negatives about their father's militaristic parenting style and hurling the phrase at Dean had been assigning them to his brother too.

"Dean…" he started the apology softly, but the other man rejected it before it even really began, roughly shutting the door. Now alone in the living room Sam lingered there for a few moments, glancing aimlessly about the room. The ammunition thrown in a battle sparked by anger and frustration was chosen in haste, but once released the damage was done.

"Crap!" he said faintly and turned around, making his way to Dean's door. First he automatically placed his hand on the doorknob just to open it and enter in unannounced as usual. Catching himself he pulled his hand away and raised it to knock, but couldn't follow through with it.

"Just let it go, Sam. Let him cool off first," Sam whispered to the empty living room and himself. He allowed his hand to drop back to his side and after a few seconds managed to turn away from the door, leaving both of them alone in their own separate emotional universes.

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Sam had been laying sprawled across the blissfully soft bed for over an hour, having given in to his exhausted body. Ever inch of him had ached and begged rest. His cramped muscles and throbbing head had been the co-champions at taking him down from his standing position staring out the window into the darkness.

But the tiny shreds of restfulness were a short lived gift.

Sam's eyelids were still closed but the brightness struck him harshly anyway. He forced them opened just a fraction of the way, absorbing the sharp pain it brought with a gasp.

The shock of the image before his eyes involuntarily shot his eyes open the rest of the way. Fire. The world was endless flames, nothing on the edges, nothing on the other side, only flames. But somehow he knew he wasn't in danger. The fire didn't seem to even give off heat and he was separated from it somehow as if watching it through a thick glass wall.

After a few seconds his vision had adjusted to the orange yellow brightness and he could see something straight ahead of him in the center of the inferno. He squinted and his acuity sharpened. At the same time the image seemed to become more solid where at first it had been nearly transparent.

There standing inside the fire was Dean.

"Dean!" he cried out and in reflex started forward after his brother, but his body couldn't follow the command it was given and Sam discovered he was locked in the spot he stood in.

Helpless to do anything more Sam studied his older brother. Dean was standing tall, the look on his face not a bit tainted with fear or pain. Dean's gaze was fixed out ahead of himself, directly at Sam, but Sam could gather that he wasn't visible to his brother, not in this world of fire. The look floating inside Dean's green eyes was unmistakable though. Concern flooded them, but not for his own safety, for someone else. The usual determination resided there too. Sam cried out to offer assistance, to find out what his brother was searching for and how he could help. Sam's body responded by the opening of his mouth but when the words came up through him from his internal voice they were lost at the threshold of his lips. The sound of his own voice never came out of his mouth. Instead Sam's ears faintly registered sounds off in the distance. Sam strained to hear more clearly. He could distinguish there were two separate sounds and closed his eyes and bore down, focusing on the noises. First, a rushing sound, layered together with static, a crackling. It was constant and growing louder. It was the sound of the fire. The second sound was even more distant and the signal to Sam's mind so weak. He listened and waited, his own heartbeat echoing inside his body louder than the noise. Finally recognition set in. It was his brother's voice calling out words he couldn't make out.

"Dean?" he whispered and opened his eyes again. His older brother was still standing surrounded by fire off in the distance. Dean's lips were moving now but the sound of his voice was not at a volume any louder than before. His expression had evolved. The determination in his eyes and in the strained muscles of his jaw were now mixed with a desperation. The urgent need was evidently not for himself though, but for something unidentified to Sam. Sam focused on the movement of Dean's lips, searching for even a trace of what his brother was saying, but all he could be confident in was that Dean was calling out for someone. A name passed over his lips but Sam couldn't quite grasp onto it and the other words were melted together.

Sam's gaze drifted back to his older brother's eyes and what he found prompted him to blink a few times. The attempt to adjust his vision was ineffectual. Where Dean's eyes had been a solid green there was now a more transparent image with a background of flames. Surveying Dean's entirety Sam discovered that the fire was working its way up along his body. The hungry force had reached his knees and the rest of his body was now a transparency. Dean was still unreactive to the monster consuming him, focusing solely on whatever it was he called out so urgently for.

Sam's visual acuity was rapidly becoming hopelessly distorted as the beginning of tears formed in his eyes. His heart sunk deeper and deeper as he attempted again to move towards his brother and was physically barred from doing so. Part of him wanted to close his eyes and retreat mentally to a distant ignorant haven his mind had created a long time ago and reserved for times like these. But another piece of him knew his brother was fading out of sight and he needed to have every last second with him possible. So Sam looked on from afar as flames worked slowly up over Dean's body, consuming every inch. The image of Dean's face became fainter and fainter and the brightness of the fire more and more intense.

Sam found himself unable to exhale as the fiery force ate away at his brother's form, reaching the level of his heart and forging fearlessly onward.

And in the next instant Dean was gone.

Where his brother had been there was only fire.

To Be Continued…