Every breath brought streaks of pain across Sam's chest. His legs alternated between painfully numb and shooting, stabbing tendrils of agony that worked their way up his spine to his stomach, chest. He shuddered uncontrollably from the cold and damp surrounding him. His only consolation was he still could shiver from cold, when he stopped he knew he'd be in real trouble.

Cause this just wasn't enough of a challenge.

He'd lost count of the number of times he'd heard the scratching around the car, something picking at the hood of the trunk, trying to get in, trying to get him. Lost count of the number of times Dean had appeared only to be mauled to death by things he never saw, or to simply leave him in the small, dark trunk. He couldn't even maneuver himself around to kick open the trunk, not that he could anyway, his legs lost their usefulness a while back. Keeping his eyes open was a struggle, he was so tired. Letting his eyelids close would be admitting defeat. That would be so easy, to let himself sink into the ever threatening dark looming at the edges of his vision. Lurking, trying to break into his mind. Defeat wasn't something he'd admit to, now or ever. Defeat meant dying, and Sam wasn't ready to die yet. Staying awake and lucid in his dark, little prison wasn't easy. He desperately needed something to focus on, and there was precious little in the space confining him. So, out of desperation, and a real need to stay connected to the real world, he'd turned keen hearing to what was outside. The exercise turned out to be almost as frightening as being locked in this cold, dark place. Every snap of a twig, odd breeze, rustle of leaves was an unknown.

Things had gotten noisy out there in the last few minutes, and again he heard his brother's voice, but didn't trust himself enough to believe he was hearing correctly, or dreaming it. He listened, between the tightening stabs of pain along his ribs. The voice didn't go away. It was telling….no asking….demanding something. But Sam couldn't figure out what. One word kept repeating, back…BACK, and again the plea…Sammy! Trying to answer was futile, but he did so anyway, shouting from behind the bindings hoarse sounds. He wondered if they were anything but whispers, or just his imagination.

Some little voice in his brain nagged at him…back…back…Sam…GET BACK! He couldn't go far, throat hoarse from screaming in return he cringed away from the rim of the trunk, as far back as he could.

In the next instant the chiseled end of a crow bar rammed through the lock of the trunk, then was jerked away with enough force to spring the hood up.

OOOOOOOOO

The Impala skidded to a stop at the end of the dirt road, which was more like a wide, gravel path. Barely making out the car fifty or so yards ahead Dean was out and into his trunk in seconds. The car imprisoning his brother had been pushed off the path, and sat at a forty-five degree angle to the path, wedged between trees and shrubs. Putting two pistols in his waistband, extra rounds in his pockets, along with a knife and water bottle, grabbing a crow bar and blanket, Dean slammed the trunk closed and sprinted the last bit of distance.

"Sam!" He thudded on the trunk hood, "Sammy, you in there? Answer me." He tried first to pry the trunk open. "Sammy!" Hearing hoarse, muffled cries fueled Dean's efforts. "Saa—umm."

Dean stopped, panting. The hood wasn't budging. Options were limited. He could try shooting the lock; that would open the trunk for sure. But he had no way of knowing where exactly his brother was, figuring he was pretty close to the lock. Car trunks weren't really that big. Not wanting to risk shooting Sam along with the lock gave him another idea.

"Back up, Sammy get back as far as you can." Dean ordered, again the hoarse, wordless pleas from inside. "Back up, you back UP!"

Raising the crow bar over his head like a spike, squeezing his eyes shut, Jesus if Sam was too close, angling the tool as steeply as he could, Dean drove it down against the lock with everything in him. The lock popped out, broke free, the hood was ajar. Yanking the crow bar full force back and toward the ground the trunk flung itself open completely.

"Aww, sweet Jesus." Dean dropped the crow bar at his feet and reached into the trunk.

Sam had tried to turn his head away from the trunk rim as best he could; really only managing to end up looking straight down to the floor. He winced away when Dean's hands slid under his head, helping him turn so he could see Dean. "Hey, it's ok now." Dean's voice came out in barely more than a rough whisper. "You're ok."

Dean couldn't move him much without getting some of the bindings off. As gently as possible he began peeling the tape from Sam's face. Sam was shuddering from cold, making him pull away as the tape came free. He made a strange half-crying half-choking sound deep in his throat that sent Dean's stomach lurching, his chest tightening. The blanket was draped around Sam's shoulders, but he'd have to wait till he was able to sit up to be wrapped in it.

Sam's voice stuttered to life the second the tape was off. "D-d-de-d-Dean?" Now chattering teeth joined his shudders. "B-b-b-ait….I..I a-a-am bait."

"I know Sammy. I'll get you outa here." Dean reached in his pocket, pulling out the water bottle.

"He-h-h-here."

What Sam was trying to tell him sunk in. Dean froze, put one finger to his lips, "shh shh…it's ok." Then his hand suspended in mid air for several seconds. Sam understood, he could see it in his brother's eyes as they followed Dean's every move. Turning almost silently on the balls of his feet Dean reached his hand out, and gently laid it on Sam's arm, thumb moving in circles, feeling the awful tremors, and knew Sam clenched his jaw tight trying to silence the chattering. Nothing seen in the murky dark, nothing unusual heard. For the moment at least they were safe. Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder firmly, "we're ok for now." Attention once again riveted to Sam and all Sam's duct tape, first lifting his head and held the water bottle for him to drink. After a quarter of the bottle was gone, Dean set it aside. "Just a little at a time." Pulling out his knife, taking another assessment, he again squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Hold still."

Sam blinked at him, making a noise Dean took for a laugh, but in reality sounded more like a hiccup. "M'k…..t-t-try t-to."

Dean started at Sam's ankles. He kept his back to his brother, watching for any movement in the woods. Sam's ankles had been crossed and wrapped, making it difficult for Dean to cut quickly. The job had been done well. Sam was not only bound in such a way he'd never escape, it assured he'd lose use of his arms and legs for quite a bit too. Thirdly it had to be painful. For the umpteenth time Dean silently and generously cursed the men who'd done this, and himself for teasing Sam about locking him in the Impala's trunk.

"Still with me Sammy?" Dean didn't take the time to look back, kept working his knife through the bindings.

"Y-you rreeeally h-h-here tis t-t-time?"

That made Dean stop and look back for just a few seconds. Pulling his knife away for a few beats as Sam's body quaked violently, easing off almost as soon as it'd started. "Was I here before?" He wanted Sam to talk to him, knowing it would ease the kid's fear. Clutching the knife with enough force to hurt the muscles of his arm Dean went back to cutting off the tape.

"F-few tiiimmes. Th-th-t-they gotyouIhadtow-w-watch."

Dean found his grip on the knife unsteady, his hands shook. He clamped his eyes shut, fighting back angry tears. Taking deep breaths to calm his more than jangled nerves he turned to look at Sam, which nearly broke his heart. Sam's skin was pale, hair hanging in more than usual unruly strands over his forehead, eyes dark and wide making him look so very young, scared. Laying the knife down, Dean stepped closer to Sam's head, knelt down, so they were eye to eye. Reaching into the trunk he pressed his palm to Sam's neck, fingers curving around, "hey, Sam, nothing's going to get me, or you. I mean it, promise."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, nodded and opened them again.

"That's my boy. You keep watch, 'cause the faster we get this shit off you, the faster we get to leave."

"Ok-k-kay."

"What is you're baiting, you know?" The tape around Sam's ankles cut in two, "try moving your feet."

"N-no. Just g-g-got a glimpse of a dead one. They're little, nasty." Sam used deep breaths to get the words out without stammering.

Dean wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but Sam seemed to be shivering less, which could mean he was getting warmer; it could also mean he was getting colder. But Sam was making sense when he talked, and his attention followed Dean with keen accuracy. Dean was inclined to think his brother was warming not cooling. Another five minutes and Dean had the tape around Sam's calves cut, and his legs free. Laying the knife off to one side, "come on, let's get you up." He grabbed Sam's shoulders, lifting him enough to get one arm around his brother and sit him up.

As his legs unbent Sam sucked in a breath, and panted it out in big, harsh puffs. Dean gripped his legs just below the calves and eased them straight. Sam yelped through gritted teeth, "shit…hurts."

"Yeah, well that's good you can still feel." Dean eased his brother's legs down so they dangled over the edge of the trunk. When he reached for the blanket, to pull it back over Sam's shoulders Sam wedged himself under his arm, pressed against his side, forehead bent down, onto Dean's shoulder. "Now let's get the rest of this crap off."

Nodding against Dean's shoulder, Sam said, "not as nice as you, wasn't even g-going to let me out once a d-day to pee."

"Dude," chuckling, Dean had to stop cutting, "don't make me laugh while I have this huge, SHARP knife right along your spine." He didn't have to tell Sam to sit still again. The way Sam settled against him let Dean know his brother had no intention of moving or going anywhere for a while yet.

Another ten minutes and all the tape had been cut loose. It would take more time to actually peel the stuff off Sam's clothes completely, but at least for now he was free. Sam was barely able to move his arms, but managed to get one hand up and wrapped in Dean's shirt. Dean's palms rubbed up and down his brother's arms and shoulders, trying to quicken the return of feeling and total circulation. Sam's shuddering calmed after a few minutes, then died completely except for the occasional slight shiver. Dean stepped back a bit, taking closer stock of his brother's condition. Sam looked up at him.

"They hurt you Sammy?"

"J-just hit m-my head."

"You sure?" Dean turned Sam's head to one side, getting a better view of the welt and bruise on his forehead. Sam watched him patiently, not trying to squirm away.

"Yeah."

Noise from the woods drew their attention. Dean placed the knife next to Sam's leg. Prying Sam's fingers from his shirt, easing his gun from his waistband Dean stepped farther away getting a better view of the sides of the car, the distance between them and the Impala. Dean couldn't get to his car without leaving Sam, who was right now, pretty defenseless. It would only take him a few minutes, but he wasn't sure those few minutes would be fast enough. It would be a bit yet before Sam could walk, even with help.

Something moved through the underbrush to his right, small, maybe only two feet high, running on longish legs was all he saw of the brief flash. When Sam sucked in his breath Dean pivoted attention back on his brother. Sam watched him, every move Dean made. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before Dean again scanned the area. It was eerily quiet, and Concha's words about it never being quiet in these woods came roaring into Dean's head. Movement from the car pulled his eyes back to his brother, who was fidgeting, trying to get off the car. Raising one hand, Dean shook his head the slightest bit, mouthing, 'stay put.'

The horrible pleading look on Sam's face sent off all sorts of alarms in Dean. Sam had seen this; he'd seen it while locked in the trunk. Not a vision, not a regular one, maybe more hallucination, or nightmare, but he'd seen something close enough.

Slouching down a bit, eyes liquid and wide, Sam shook his head just a fraction, he said quietly, "Dean."

Dean froze. He'd have one chance of reaching the car. "Where are they Sammy?"

His answer was Sam's gaze shifting just the slightest to some point behind Dean. Tipping his chin down and then up a fraction, Dean seriously considered shoving Sam back in the trunk to keep him on their only small island of safety. At this point even getting in the car wasn't an option. Then he decided the trunk was a brilliant idea.

Sam apparently developed the ability to read minds in the last few minutes because his eyes widened even more, which Dean thought impossible, shook his head, sucked in a harsh, shaky breath, and said, louder this time, "No. Dean, no. Please!"

Scratching and footfalls, barely audible behind him caused Dean to hold his breath. Meeting Sam's eyes steadily, willing Sam to trust him, Dean nodded just the smallest bit. Exhaling, taking another, deeper one and exhaling immediately Dean sprinted forward from stand still to a full run in one stride. Covering the distance between himself and Sam in seconds, fully aware of the scrabbling, growling things in pursuit, Dean flung himself at Sam, hitting him square in the chest, knocking him back down into the trunk, hoping Sam didn't accidentally stab one of them with the knife he held.

"Noooo…" Sam frantically grabbed for him, misreading Dean's intentions. His arms and legs had been locked in one position too long and he was dumped back into his prison.

Dean vaulted in after him, hooking one finger through the hole left when he'd taken out the lock and pulled the trunk hood down, pinning Sam to the trunk floor with own body. "Knife!" It was shoved along the moldy carpet at him. One of the things had gotten its head in, hissing, snarling right in their faces. Dean recognized it as a smaller version of the tartum he'd seen on the ride up the mountain. He drove the knife, up to the hilt into the small tartum's neck. It screamed, thrashed about and dropped to the ground, blood spurting from the wound. Two more descended on it, ripping and tearing the still living tartum. "Nice family."

Cracking the trunk hood open wide enough for he and Sam to peer out, Dean's pistol discharged three times, each accurate and true. All three of the things lay in a heap. Cautiously Dean extended his arm, opening the trunk fully. Leaning out, gun ready, he looked as far in each direction as he could. Slowly he climbed out. Another quick search and he turned back to Sam, helping him sit up again. Grabbing the crowbar from where he'd dropped it on the ground Dean sprinted to the driver's side door of the car. Locked. He fixed that with one swing of the crowbar, shattering the window, inside a few seconds later. Nothing happened, the engine didn't turn over when he tried hot wiring the car. Back out, and around to the front he popped the hood up.

"God damn IT." Dean shouted through clenched teeth.

"What?"

The car moved up and down. Dean ran his hands through is hair, "Sam, stay put. It's ok. The bastards took the battery."

"Man, don't do that to me, I thought…"Sam's voice cracked and trailed off.

"Sorry." Dean dropped one hand onto his brother's shoulder as he rounded the back of the car again. "I should have killed that bastard, locking you up in there."

Sam was bent at his middle, rubbing his legs as best he could with stiff, mostly unresponsive hands and arms. Without lifting his head, Sam looked up, "sort of entertained you for a while."

Feeling like he'd been kicked Dean could only stare at Sam.

Smiling meekly, Sam straightened, "sorry, I was kidding."

"You don't think I'd actually lock you up in a trunk!?"

"No." Sam shook his head, smile broadening, warming, "not for long anyway." He eased off over the rim of the trunk, "I can feel my legs and feet. Hurts. But enough to walk, maybe."

Before Dean could stop him Sam pushed away from the car. Standing there, looking down at his feet, he remained upright for about three seconds before his legs betrayed him and he dropped to the ground. "Maybe not."

Crouching next to Sam he looped Sam's arm over his shoulders, grabbed him under the arms and hefted him up. "Ya know you're too big for this." Sliding one arm across Sam's back, taking most of his weight he said. "Try now."

Able to take a few shaky steps, clutching onto Dean, Sam looked at him, nodding. Dean nodded in return.

"Ok, Sammy. Let's do this." Taking a few practice steps, they were less than organized and graceful, but forward none the less, Dean was satisfied. "Here's the deal, more of those things show up, I'll have to let you go. You hit the dirt and stay there. Got it?"

"I will."

It took some doing, they staggered more than walked and Sam was little help at all. Twice his foot caught in branches and nearly sent them both tumbling to the ground. Dean hissed and cursed for most the fifty yards. Finally they made it to the Impala, sweat rolling down their backs and Dean's arms shook from the effort of lugging Sam the distance. He got the car door opened, and Sam deposited in the passenger seat. Dean reached in and retrieved another bottle of water from the back for his brother, which Sam promptly chugged.

Flipping open his cell phone, other hand resting on Sam's arm, Dean called Dante, who answered on the first ring. "How you two doing?"

"Hey, just great. Did you find him? He ok?"

"Found him," Dean smiled down at Sam, who hadn't given up his mission of watching every move Dean made. "Cold, scare and tired, but otherwise ok. We saw what looked like small versions of that tartum."

"Damn, I was afraid of that. Our friends gave us a description, and Concha told me what she had in some emails she'd gotten earlier."

"And hungry."

"And hungry." Dean repeated into the phone. He glanced at his watch, 3 am. "You need us to come get you?"

"Nawww…we're good. Seems these gentlemen insisted on giving us a ride to the sheriff's office. We're back in town. Had a nice little group to take in. There's a small kitchen at the end of the row of rooms where the stables are, should be able to rustle up something."

Dean couldn't contain the sigh of relief. "Thanks, not real anxious to go back into the town just now." Dean supposed there was nothing open anyway.

"Call me if you need anything. We'll be back tomorrow."

"Thanks. Again." He snapped the phone shut, fingers squeezing Sam's arm before he let go, shut the door and sprinted to the driver's side. He started the car, letting it idle for a few minutes. "You ok?" He studied Sam who had twisted in the seat, curled so his head rested on its back, facing Dean. Sam nodded. Heat turned up, he put the car in gear, guiding it back to the main road of the camp ground. Reaching over he patted Sam's shoulder one more time, leaving his hand rest against his brother's bicep. By the time they reached the entrance to the campground and Dean stole a glance to the other side of the car, Sam was soundly sleeping.

One brother back safe and whole. Dean allowed himself to relax.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sam rousted from sleep, barely, when Dean hoisted him from the car, and told him to move his feet, to try to walk. It was easier than the last time he'd tried. The burning, tingling feeling was down to a dull thrum, not the sharp, stabbing pains of an hour ago. He staggered against Dean drunkenly, but finally made it to the bed where Dean dumped him. He kicked off his boots, again mostly because Dean told him to, stretched out, under the blankets and sank gratefully back to sleep.

Dean coming back into the room….when did he leave???...woke him up again. This time the smell of food encouraged him to stay awake. Pushing up against the head board he yawned and smiled gratefully at his brother.

"This was all I could find and heat up quick in the microwave." Dean sat on the bed next to him, setting the food down carefully. A bowl of soup he set on the night table. "It's alphabet soup," he rolled his eyes, "but it's something warm."

"Dean, this is great. Thanks." Sam's stomach snarled viciously at him.

"Eat up." Dean had made a few sandwiches, he bit into one, handing Sam the other. "You have any idea how many of them there are? They're tartum, cubs… pups… spawn…. whatever."

"No. I mostly heard them, sniffing around the outside of the car." Sam shivered, and took the mug of soup Dean offered.

"Well, at least there are three we won't have to worry about."

Sun streaming through the window woke him up the third time. It was just after noon. A glance across the room, Dean was still sleeping in the other bed. When Sam stood, gingerly trying a step or two Dean mumbled something Sam could have sworn was in Sumerian, part of some ritual, which made Sam smile. He was wobbly, but could stand on his own. Hot shower was defiantly the first order of business.

He leaned against the shower wall, letting hot water pour over him, easing still tense muscles until the bathroom door cracked open a fraction. "Sammy, you ok?"

"Fine, I'll be out in a minute." Actually it was more like five, but Dean didn't seem concerned.

"Better?"

"Much better." Sam agreed.

"Get dressed, Concha just called, she's on her way over with some food so we don't have to go back to town for a few days, or at all."

Sam nodded, fishing clean clothes from his bag. He knew Dean probably enlisted her help, and was grateful. The gratitude extended beyond that to the true meaning of Dean's simple comment. Sam still needed another day or two recuperation time, they both knew it. There were still the remaining tartum litter to be dealt with. Dean wasn't going along with any hunts without his brother. Sam would have never asked Dean for that, but was so very appreciative for the sentiment.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Concha, carving the appropriate symbols into its corresponding element. Sam carved the protection symbol onto a round piece of wood, punctured a small hole in it, and strung a thin chain of silver through. Silently he held it out to her.

"You're not half bad at this." Concha turned the charm over in her hand.

"Thanks. Now be sure my efforts don't go to waste and wear the thing. All the time." He tossed a similar one to Dean, along with his element charm. "You too."

Dean turned the items over in his hand before holding them up, one and a time, to the light for closer inspection. "What are these? I recognize this one." He held up the carved wooden charm.

"Metal is one of the elements, we each get a different one, with its own symbol. That's what you'll use to create your part of the trap when we need it." Sam explained. "That other one is the same thing I drew on the Impala trunk to keep a demon, or possessed person out of it, remember?"

Dean nodded.

"So keep it on you, always. I still think we might want to consider tattoos."

"No tattoo Sam, get over it." Concha waved one hand in the air as she spoke.

"Maybe we should go after the tartums, not wait. I'll be ok." Sam looked up at Dean.

"We still haven't found the nest, Dante and I'll scout around more later. They're diurnal, so we'll check closer to dusk. You guys got three, generally their litters are no more than five or six, they might already be done. Besides we'll need the time for the sheriff to chase the rest of the hunters, big game and otherwise away. Dante convinced him they weren't really a good solution. And what happened to you wasn't the only problem, they're not the most congenial bunch. I don't know about you guys, but I sure don't want to be out in the woods getting shot while we're trying to find the rest of the tartum litter."

"You need another day Sam."

Sam knew better than to argue with the finality of Dean's tone. In all honesty he really didn't want to argue.

A short time later Dante arrived. They spent time 'rehearsing' how to set up the trap, what to do. Still there was no reliable way for them to bring the demon when they wanted it to come, so they'd have to be prepared to implement their plan with little or no warning.