A/N: And here we go, the next chapter of Prisoner of War. So, one more chapter after this wraps up the episode Scarecrow, anyone want to take a guess as to which brother gets to save which next chapter?

Next chapter is going to be kinda a biggie, because Sam and Dean are going to say some things that will set big things in motion. That's right, kids, Sam 2.0 and Dean "The Ultimate Big Brother" are going to go head to head. But don't worry, the brother's would never argue and split up during a case like this, right? Hehehehehehe...

Going to try to get the next chapter of Tuesday's Child up tonight also, so you guys might check back in a few hours if you are following that project. And tomorrow I am off, and the plan is to take my son to school, lock myself in my apartment, pretend my phone doesn't exist, and write like a maniac. First day of the new month and all, and I have set a crazy goal for myself for story views in October. I am seriously going to be writing like a crazy person.

Reviews are love, this story now has more reviews than I have ever had on a single story in my life and you guys should know it means the world to me! I'm hoping this story tops three hundred by the time it comes to a close, are you guys with me to the end?

All The Pretty Monsters and How To Fix A Winchester are both set to update tomorrow, and I know a certain reader who's pretty excited to see her prompt wrote, so I am looking forward to it.

As Always,

EverReader

Disclaimer: This is still not my sandbox.

Prisoner of War – Chapter Twenty-Five

"Stand Your Ground"

It should be said that Dean hated research, hated libraries and dusty tomes and paper cuts and Latin.

But in particular, he hated college libraries, with their co-eds in their horned rimmed glasses looking down their noses at him while they discussed philosophy and the guy, stoned behind the reference desk because he had to be there, not because he was any good at his job.

But what he always hated the most was the look of absolute yearning on Sam's face anytime they had to go to a college campus.

The bright eyes, the longing glances at the dorms and the professors walking by with their briefcases never failed to inspire hope and determination in Sam and a cold sense of dread in Dean, because as much as he could never imagine Sam not being with Dean and John, when he walked along the pretty walkways of a college quad with his grinning brother at his side, it was all to easy to imagine Sam someplace like this, as far away from hunting and monsters and John and Dean as possible.

So as they pulled up to the University of Indiana, Highland campus, Dean braced himself for the worst. There was no help for it, as Merit didn't exactly have it's own library, not that they could have used it anyway with half the town being suspects.

Once again, however, Sam 2.0 surprised him. There was no lagging behind to read the notice boards about clubs and campus elections, there was no excited discussion about lectures and debates and guest speakers. There were none of the longing glances and lingering looks.

There was no excited grin.

Instead, Sam made a beeline straight for the library, Dean trailing in his wake.

The librarian was actually old enough to be a librarian, for once, and more than that, he seemed to know his job. With only a few insightful questions, the man soon had them at a table with a stack of books that were surprisingly on topic.

The brothers dived in, though Dean wasn't half the researcher Sam was, he was no slouch, as John had made sure both boys could adequately prepare for a hunt.

Sam's Latin was undeniably better, however, so they divided the books, with Sam skimming the Latin ones for pertinent information, and Dean tackling the books in English.

Only an hour or two in, Sam hit on something.

"Dean, get this- 'Cowan : A pagan harvest god known for taking the form of scarecrow.'" Sam read excitedly.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Wait, hold on, I saw that name too. Here." He picked up a heavy tome, flipping through it. "It didn't say what kind of god he was, just that he was big in Germany until about two hundred and twenty years ago."

Sam nodded, mind obviously racing. "If the immigrants somehow brought him with them when they came to America, that would account for the decline in his popularity in Germany."

"No kidding." Dean agreed. "Not much use praying to a God who never bothers to show up."

Sam flicked his eyes to Dean at Dean's pessimistic statement, but he didn't say a word.

It was a refreshing change, as Sam had always been the more religious (and obviously optimistic, in Dean's opinion) of the two brothers, but it just served to illustrate to Dean once again how much his brother had changed in such a short period of time.

"You're probably right." Sam agreed simply, and Dean forced himself to look away, refusing to dwell on Sam's changed personality when they had a case to focus on.

"What else does it say about this Cowan dude?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned. "Well, the time frame matches well enough, but it says here that Cowan had originally been a pretty friendly guy as far as pagan gods went. Back in Germany, they had just sacrificed live stock on every full moon."

Dean made a face. "Well, his taste in food has obviously changed."

Sam thought for a moment, looking back down at the page and re-reading a section to himself silently.

Dean never understood how so many newer (and in the realm of the supernatural, two hundred years was relatively new) books still ended up being written in Latin, but somehow, every hunt they seemed to end up with at least a handful of the stupid things.

Perhaps there was some secret society out there taking notes on the supernatural and gleefully writing it in Latin to make it harder on poor hunters like Dean.

"A binding spell." Sam said suddenly. "Look, it says Cowan had been a wanderer, going from town to town throughout the growing season. But the people of Merit obviously wanted him bound specifically to their town. In the old days, because he wandered, every full moon another town made the sacrifice, no one town had to give up live stock twelve times a year."

Dean nodded. "Struggling immigrant town, hungry families, harsh winters. Live stock would have been pretty precious."

"More precious than a couple of wandering peddlers." Sam agreed. "Or even handicapped townsfolk, or orphans. Someone who was of no use to the town. Human sacrifices pack more mojo than animal sacrifices. The town probably thought two people a year was a fair trade, and after a while, Cowan wouldn't have accepted an animal sacrifice."

"That is so sick. Man, I freaking hate witch craft. Wait, what time is it?"" Dean asked, suddenly.

Sam glanced down at his watch. "A little after three. Why?"

"What do you want to bet old Scottie miraculously gets that couple's care going just in time to pass by that orchard after the sun goes down. We have to get there before that." Dean said, standing up to shrug on his jacket.

Sam shook his head. "But we haven't found out how to kill it. Do you really want to go up against that creepy scarecrow god without a weapon you know works?"

Dean frowned. "Saving people, Sam. Then hunting things. Saving people, hunting things. The victim comes first. As long as we get those people out of the orchard tonight, they'll be safe. We can come back here tomorrow and do more research on how to kill it. Hell, maybe by disrupting the sacrifice ritual, it will die on it's own."

"Or get even more pissed off." Sam said, though he stood obediently. "You think I should hit the next stack of books while you go save those people?"

Dean shook his head immediately. "Hell no, kiddo. You have a bad habit of finding trouble lately. We're sticking together."

Sam opened his mouth, and for once Dean thought he was going to get an actual argument out of him, but just as suddenly as he'd opened his mouth, he closed it again.

"We got the shot guns in the car?" He finally asked.

Dean made a face at him. "Dude, do I ever not? Do you think they'll do any good?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, I'll feel a lot better as it eats me if I've shot a load of buck shot into it first."

Dean stuck out his tongue. "Classy, kiddo. Real classy."

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

The brother's had underestimated Highland's traffic, and by the time they arrived at Cowan's grove, as Sam had begun to think of it, dark had already fallen.

"Shit!" Dean cursed as they pulled up outside the orchard's gate. "Look at that car. It has to be those two chumps from the diner."

Sam was already in motion, opening the passenger car even before Dean had gotten a chance to fully bring the vehicle to a stop.

He lunged for the trunk, springing the lock and yanking up the false bottom.

Reaching in, he seamlessly grabbed the first sawn-off shotgun, checking to see it was loaded, cocking it and passing it off to his brother even as Dean was coming around the rear of the Impala.

"Locked and loaded." Sam said, checking his own weapon.

His hand gun was already loaded and holstered at the small of his back, but he hoped he wouldn't have to go up against a two-hundred plus year old deity with a hand gun, even one given to him by John Winchester.

"Stay behind me!" His brother ordered tersely, and though he didn't let any emotions show, mentally, Sam rolled his eyes.

Eventually, Dean would have to see that Sam wasn't a child anymore.

A scream echoed from the orchard just then, and with a worried glance at each other, the two brothers sprinted for the gate.

The mist had returned, fingers of cold fog shrouding the trees mysteriously, and Sam imagined he could see figures in the mist, all of Merit's past victims, reaching out, beseeching the brothers for help that would never come in time.

Now, the best they could hope for was peace.

They quickly gained the clearing where the scarecrow had hung only a few hours ago, though the cross was now empty, bare wood and torn rope moving gently in the breeze.

Cowan (if it was, in fact, Cowan and the Winchesters weren't horribly wrong) had, indeed animated the scarecrow, just as they had guessed. It moved quickly, in uneven, stilted lurches and jerks, but that didn't seem to hinder it as it closed in on it's victims.

The man from the diner had picked up a tree limb, and was using it as a club of sorts, swinging it wildly in an attempt to ward the creature of from his girlfriend. The girl had fallen, most likely while trying to flee, and she was clutching one ankle even as she was scooting back from the monster looming over her. The angry buzzing sound was louder than ever, and a part of Sam was waiting for a swarm of locusts or wasps to burst forth from the creature's chest any moment like one of the plagues of old.

Sam's line of sight was blocked by the boyfriend, but Dean must have had a clear shot, because he fired once, then twice, the shots back to back, echoing loudly in the fog. The scarecrow jerked twice, slowing momentarily, before retreating slightly. It didn't back away much, but it was enough.

Dean tossed his now empty shot gun to Sam, who slung the strap over his shoulder.

It was useless as anything but a club now until they'd had a chance to reload it, and now Sam knew that both buckshot and rock salt had very little effect on the deity, because Dean habitually loaded his shot gun with one round of each. They had rounds of salt packed with miscellaneous herbs and spices in the Impala, as certain monsters hated certain things, such as black dogs, who hated cinnamon for some inane reason, but Sam didn't have time to go back and get creative with the recipe.

"Cover me!" Dean ordered as he swooped down, grabbing up the girl easily.

In a perfect world, they would have had the boyfriend carry her as they held off the scarecrow, but Dean obviously didn't think the bullets in his hand gun would do any good, and besides, the boyfriend wasn't exactly Mr. Muscles, Dean easily had twenty pounds on him.

Sam fired once reflexively as Cowan, sensing his prey's escape, lunged forward. The shot made him back off again, but Sam knew they were in trouble, because it was still moving fast.

He had one round left in his sawn-off, and there was no way one more shot would be enough cover for Dean to carry the girl all the way out of the orchard, and besides, they didn't really even know how far away was far enough.

They needed a new plan.

He lunged to the boyfriend. Though the guy wasn't very big, Sam had to give him credit, he'd grabbed a sturdy branch and never gave up.

He still clutched it as Sam ran over. Dean had started back towards the gate and Sam watched as Cowan rocked back and then forward again, appearing as if he were working up the nerve to lunge.

"Can you shoot this?" Sam asked, shoving the weapon into the stunned man's hands, and he spared a second to marvel at how much his voice sounded like his father's at that moment.

The man blinked, but then nodded and Sam breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "Cover them, there's one shot left, and then go back to swinging if you have to!"

"SAM!" Sam could hear Dean calling, but his mind was already set on his course of action.

Drawing his handgun, he quickly circled the scarecrow, until he was now on the far side from his brother and the other two.

Maybe consecrated iron rounds would piss it off a little more.

Sam took a firing stance, making sure the man wasn't in the line of fire, before pulling the trigger rapidly, watching as the scarecrow jerked repeatedly, before turning to face Sam. The volume of the buzzing seemed to increase, and now Sam was positive he was hearing it in his mind, because none of the others seemed to be reacting to the increased volume, now nearly as loud as sirens.

"Come and get me, asshole" Sam muttered, firing once more before taking several rapid steps back, doing his best to draw it after him, deeper into the orchard.

"Try me on for size." He said, watching as Cowan came towards him.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean was so startled by the sounds of Sam's handgun he nearly dropped the girl in his arms. He'd been counting shots, and Sam should have still had one round left in the shot gun, why the hell had he switched over to a handgun?

He turned, looking over his shoulder, jaw dropping when he saw the boyfriend getting closer...and Sam and the Scarecrow getting further away.

"SAM!" He called, panicked as he heard Sam fire yet another shot. Though they weren't more than a few dozen yards away, the mist was making it hard to see clearly, Cowan and his brother no more than dim silhouettes in the mist.

He hesitated for a moment, desperate to go back for Sam, but one look at the terrified girl in his arms had him sprinting like am Olympian towards the Impala. So fast he almost wished he was being timed, just for the hell of it, he reached the car, unlocking it swiftly.

"Get inside, lock the doors!" He ordered the girl as the silhouette of her boyfriend came up beside them. Jerking the shot gun out of the man's hands, Dean ran back towards the grove.

His eyes searched the tree's rapidly, calling out his brother's name, "SAMMY!"

The echo of another gun shot answered him and he zeroed in on the origin of the report.

Slowly, the shapes of Sam and Cowan came into focus. Sam had chosen high ground, or, as high as he could, the small hill near the center of the orchard affording his a clear view of the oncoming creature.

Blood trickled from a small cut on his forehead, perhaps from where a tree branch had lashed out at him while he'd lead the monster away from Dean and the others.

He was standing, shoulders level as he calmly fired round after round into the deity, who was barely even flinching now as it advanced steadily.

When Sam's gun clicked, the chamber fully emptied, Dean swung the shot gun off his own shoulder, taking aim as Sam continued moving with an almost preternatural calm.

Gracefully, as if he had all the time in the world, Sam holstered his handgun and dropped his other shoulder in the same moment, leaving the shotgun to fall into his now emptied hands.

Dean squeezed off the last round from his own weapon as the scarecrow narrowed down the last of the space between it and Sam.

It was a dangerous shot, especially with a shot gun, and Dean saw Sam give just the tiniest flinch as some of the buckshot obviously went wide and struck him, but he never stopped as he brought his own shotgun up like a club.

The Scarecrow jerked with the impact of Dean's shot, and Sam took advantage of it's disorientation to swing hard and clear, directly at the Scarecrow's head.

There was a sound of ripping fabric, and straw flew up and out as the scarecrow suddenly tumbled, lifeless down to the ground.

"Move your ass, Sam!" Dean hollered at his brother, knowing they couldn't count on a pagan god staying down for too long, even with it's head half ripped off.

Sam looked over at that moment, and Dean was struck by how much older, how much more serious, how very foreign his brother looked in that moment, in the darkness and the mist, a weapon in his hands and an empty look on his face, as if the idea that he was leaving the orchard was novel to him.

Had Sam not expected Dean to come after him? Had he thought he was going to go head to head with the monster by himself?

It was like there was a stranger hiding behind Sam's eyes, and Dean had no idea how long he'd been there, but he was finally seeing him now, and it sent chills down his spine, because this stranger was obviously dangerous.

Not because he was armed, not because he was obviously lethal.

This stranger was dangerous because he very obviously thought he was all alone.

Like an island in the mist, this new Sam had seemed to lose the knowledge that Dean would come for him, was always going to come for his. He'd stood calmly, facing down the murderous rage of a god, for Christ's sake, and he hadn't even seemed worried, hadn't seemed to care.

This Sam acted like he was a solitary hunter, like no one had his back.

Like no one could save him.

"Move, SAM!" He called again, and Sam blinked, springing into motion, lunging over the Cowan's fallen avatar, making a beeline for Dean.

He grabbed at Dean's shoulder as he ran past, and Dean blinked, feeling almost like the last few, unreal moments in the orchard had been just a dream. Pivoting, he brought up the rear, checking over his shoulder every few feet, but the Scarecrow didn't move again as they escaped the orchard.

And somewhere, deep down, Dean began to feel angry.

He'd been frightened and worried and nervous and downright scared at different times since Sam's great new attitude adjustment, but now, for the first time, he began to feel pissed off.

This new attitude of Sam's wasn't an improvement, it was going to get his kid brother killed.

Well, not on Dean's watch.