A/N Ok, hurt boys warning, mild language warning, and slight spoiler warning if you haven't seen Season Six..but not enough to ruin the episode 6 : 14...
Sam groaned, his face hurt, his back hurt, there was something sticky stopping him from opening his eyes.
Damn, he hurt all over. Something was wrong. Something had happened. What, though?
He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips were cracked, and his tongue swollen and dry. He couldn't croak a
single sound, so he reached up and rubbed his eyes, cracking them open a fraction. He was somewhere
dark, a very faint light behind him, hard rocks cutting into his face and neck. He couldn't see where the light
was coming from, so tried to push himself up, his hands protesting the contact with the sharp pebbles on the
floor. The faint light was a torch, batteries nearly flat, and he picked it up and scanned around himself.
The cave! That's right, he remembered a cave... and something attacking them...where was Dean?
"Dean!" He called weakly, his voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat, and tried again, stronger this
time. "Dean! Dean?"
His voice echoed back to him, but that was all. He rolled onto all fours and reached for the torch, it's light
barley cutting through the dark. How long had he been out? He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, but it
was smashed near in half, he must've landed on it. He pointed the faint beam from the torch at his watch, and
figured out he'd been unconscious for over an hour. Why hadn't Bobby come looking for them? He knew Dean
would've found him, if he was able, so that meant Dean was not able. "DEAN!" he yelled again, the echoes
drifting around him like futile reminders of his situation.
What that a noise? Did he hear something? There, again, a scuttle sort of sound...maybe his brother had
escaped what ever had grabbed him and was trying to make his way back..."DEAN"
A whimper answered him, and a rush of paws and doggy breath. "Vadar! You're alive!" the dog licked his face,
whimpering, and Sam hugged him in sheer relief. He pushed the dog back, then, and shone the torch over
him, it's weak beam not showing him anything..except, what was that? He reached over, and found the other
torch, this one broken, but the battery case was intact. He quickly swapped batteries, and the used the
stronger beam to examine the dog.
He was injured, thought not too bad, large claw marks marring his side, but Vadar must've been quick, they
seemed not too much more than a glancing blow. He turned the dog's large head, and felt a soft, sticky patch
on the poor dog's skull. Fractured, he was sure. Vadar whimpered, but didn't pull away. Instead he tried to
climb onto Sam's knee, seeking comfort.
"It's all right, fella" Sam stroked the short coat of the Doberman. "I know how you feel. But we don't have
time to lick our wounds" he pushed to his feet, setting the dog back "We gotta find Dean."
He shone the torch around, and found his backpack. Thankfully there was a bottle of water, and he took a
long swig, then offered a little to the dog, who lapped at his hand, but didn't seem too thirsty. The caves
were damp, chances were that Vadar may have found a puddle or pool to drink from.
Sam wet a rag and wiped his face, pulling the rag back to see it was coloured with blood. That was what had
been keeping his eyes stuck. He took another, smaller drink and put the bottle back. He'd better save some
for Dean...for when he found him...
When. Not if.
"You coming, boy?" he asked the dog, and shone the torch ahead of him, down the long dark passage. Dean
was down there. He started to walk, his steps steadier than he felt. Dean was down there.
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Bobby waved goodbye to the last of the women, and started the car, waving as he drove off. He was wired
beyond belief, his worry for the boys almost his undoing, as he'd walked through the rest of the tour, then sat
through four lattes as he covered for the missing boys, using Sam's 'issues' as a reason the boys had left
early. Thankfully, none of his companions had questioned why the boys weren't at the car, and Bobby didn't
bring it up. He had felt that horrible ice knife at the bottom of his stomach when he realised the boys were not
waiting for him, but covered it well. At least, no one said anything.
Finally the last of the ladies had climbed onto their tour bus, and he'd been able to pretend to leave. Instead
of leaving, he's simply pulled the Impala onto the small service road that led almost to the mouth of the cave.
he leapt out, and popped the trunk, wondering what he was gonna need for this rescue mission. He loaded
up with silver bullets, salt, holy water and machetes, then made sure he grabbed the well stocked first aid kit.
He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. That was, of course, wishful thinking. How many times had he come to
save a hunter's ass and not needed a first aid kit? Especially the Winchesters.
He threw the duffel he'd packed over his shoulder, and checked the torch was working. The gates to the cave
entrance were bolted, but there was a service access door to the side, and that looked an easier crack.
It took less than two minutes to gain entry, and Bobby heaved the heavy bag back onto his shoulder and
slipped inside. The small utility office built into the side of the cave entrance was warm and still lit. The bank of
safety monitors were still on, but none of them showed any activity. What they did show, to Bobby's relief,
was that all of the lights were on. That would make at lease the first bit of his seach much easier. He looked
through the utility cupboard to see of there was anything that might be of use.
Nada.
He made his way through the same well lit caverns that they had traversed earlier as a tour group, but this
time Bobby was all business. He marched forward to the large lake cavern, then pulling his gun from his
waistband, torch held high, he climbed the safety rail. He followed the lake shore line around the curve, the
last place he had glimpsed his boys.
Oh, he knew they weren't his, as such, but he felt they were the closest thing he would ever get to kids of his
own. He'd watched them grow, over the years, helping and mentoring, where he could, but it wasn't till they
lost their daddy that he really stepped in to become a father to these two wayward hunters. They would
always have his back, of that he was sure, no doubt at all, and he would always have theirs.
He crunched through the dim light until he could go no further without turning down a wide tunnel, so it was
logical that the boys took this route. He held his torch high, gun just below, if he saw anything, he could kill it
just as quick.
He moved forward and, he noticed, slightly downward, the air becoming colder the more he walked. There
was no noise, no signs of life, though here and there a small drip of moisture plonked a gentle chime into the
blackness. He eventually came to a three fold fork in the tunnel, and stopped. Which way to go? He could
follow the wrong tunnel for miles before finding it it was wrong, and the boys might not have that much time...
A thought came to him, and he turned of fhis torch. His eyes were immediately assaulted with the total
blackness, so complete he thought he could almost feel it. You see dark, in your life, but very rarely do you
ever see total black. There's usually a distant street light, or the glow from the moon, even a smudge of
starlight to break the velvet of completeness. Not here. Here it was total. Solid, like.
Then he saw, just faint at first, then slowly growing stronger, the phosphorescent glow of creature foot
prints. Large, bear like paw prints showed him the right route, and he was sure the boys would have used
the same method to track the monster.
He walked for quite some time until he came to the site of an obvious scuffle, there was blood, a broken torch,
and the sharp pebbles that covered the floor were thrown about. No bodies. That was good. Bobby breathed
a heavy sigh of relief. That was real good. He turned off his torch again, to see if the creature had been the
one fighting the boys.
This time there was more than broken footprints on the ground, there were prints everywhere, including the
ceiling. In fact, most of them were along the ceiling, as if the creature had crawlled along the roof like
something from an Aliens movie.
He snapped his torch back on and continued forward. The boys were alive. Thank God. Or thank whoever was
looking after them, yet again.
He shoulded his duffle, gun and torch held high again, and more determination in his footsteps. He was
getting the boys out in one piece. Killing the monster? That was a bonus. Not a priority, at this stage.
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Dean couldn't remember how he got back to the motel. Was he at a motel? Maybe he was at Bobby's. Either
way, this mattress stunk. And it was uncomfortable. He tried to turn over, but couldn't. Maybe he was tangled
in the sheets.
He coughed, a little. His throat hurt. Maybe he was sick. That's probably why he couldn't think straight, he had
a fever. Damn, his mouth was dry. And he must've been sweating, coz the bed felt wet. Warm, stinky and
wet.
Great.
Think of something pleasant. Something other than the stinky mattress.
He couldn't think. His head hurt. His throat hurt. He couldn't feel his legs, so at least they didn't hurt.
Where was Sam? If he was sick, wouldn't Sam be here, looking after him?
Yeah, he'd be complaining about touchy girly feelings, and Sam would be a big nursey mothering hen type and
be wiping his brow and feeding him broth.
Sam said he had his back. He did.
Not Robo Sam, pulling out whatever lie he needed to get Dean to think he was normal, gigantor baby brother
Sam and not soulless moose freak Sam.
Dean almost smiled when he remembered Sammy, telling him he had his back. Where were they? That's it,
they were at Bobby's and he was fixing his baby after that douche bag nerd ghost girl had put her through
the shop window.
Yeah, he remembered now. Sam was trying to make him feel better, coz he was mad that they couldn't save
that douche bag's sister, and he said it. "I got your back"
Sam didn't know how much that meant.
How that ripped Dean in two, and put him back together again, in all the right ways.
Sam didn't remember telling him the same thing a few months earlier, when Dean had started to figure out
something was very, very wrong.
But this time, it was real.
It was Sam.
It was Sam, and he was telling his big brother "I got your back."
The relief, the love, the...the...the everything is gonna be allrightness of it, well, Dean thought that there, that
was his day in heaven, should he have died right there, that's the moment he woulda lived over and over.
But where was Sam now?
This wasn't right. He hurt way too much, and this mattress was too stinky.
It smelled like animal piss and dead things and felt like rocks.
And he hurt way too much.
He tried to open his eyes, but hey wouldn't listen to him.
He tried to lift his arm to rub at his eyes, but he couldn't tell if it moved, or not.
He couldn't feel his arms, or his legs.
And right now, he wished he couldn't feel his stomach.
It rolled and bucked in protest, and the smell of animal pee made him feel even worse.
Dean tried to call Sammy, he really did, but his voice was stuck.
Instead, he threw up, all over himself, and over the stinky mattress.
Sam would be mad at him, when he came in, but there was nothing Dean could do. He ried to roll, but couldn't
move. He couldn't even move his head.
Sam, where are you?
You said you got my back.
Dude, I don't feel good, and I just yarked all over myself.
I need you, Sammy.
Dean took a ragged breath, and slipped out of consciousness.
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A/N I hope you like...please leave a review, any word will do... just to let me know I'm not all alone, here!