Hopefully, y'all don't find this chapter too painfully boring. If you do and choose to throw rotten tomatoes at me, please--be gentle.

Halfway to his destination, rain began to patter against the windows of the Impala. It started with one or two tinkling, musical drops at first, then many, steadily evolving into a downpour splattering incessantly and with force against the glass. A cold wind drove the drops sideways. Though no thunder or lightning accompanied the deluge this time, but it was foul and miserable just the same. Dean stifled a groan.

He pulled the big car to the shoulder of the road just down a ways from the gated parking lot of Webster Creek Park. Ellison was sure to see it on his next patrol, but Dean was too tired and too worried about Sam to care. He had to get back in the woods to look for Sam.

Hobbling from the driver's side of the car, the young hunter quickly opened the trunk and pulled out a flashlight. He debated for half a second whether to secret his Colt at his back but decided against it, opting instead to make sure he had several knives tucked away in various places. Wiping his wet face with one hand as he slammed the trunk closed with the other, Dean then grabbed his "cane", flicked on the flashlight, and began his hitching trek into the woods.

No more than a quarter of an hour within the copse of trees and Dean was already panting with exertion and shivering in the pre-winter chill. If trekking the terrain earlier in the day had been difficult, it was now next to impossible. The yellowish beam of the flashlight did little to push back the pitch black night while the rain obscured everything the beam managed to feebly illuminate. Low hanging branches tugged at his clothes like arthritic, enfeebled fingers and occasionally clawed at his face, opening several shallow scratches. After a few minutes, Dean realized that his panting was from more than exertion. The curtain of rain, the near impenetrable darkness, and the trees—not to mention exhaustion—all combined to make him feel a little claustrophobic, which he knew was absolutely ridiculous considering he was outside. Yet acknowledging that piece of logic did nothing to stop the feeling. Dean ignored it and determinedly pressed forward.

This additional downpour, coupled with the earlier storm, made the ground even more slick and muddy and the hike slow going. It felt like he was tiptoeing. The young hunter let out a startled yelp when his feet suddenly went out from under him and he went down—hard—the breath whooshing from his lungs despite the somewhat cushioning ooze. The unexpected fall jarred his arm and the flashlight he was holding flew from his chilled fingers, slamming into a tree. Its light immediately sputtering out.

Ow—shit!

Dean rolled to his side and slowly sat up, blinking rainwater from his eyes and working to pull in air. His gaze darted around, seeing nothing but shadows and more shadows on a field of black. Seeking hands found his tree limb walking stick lying right next to him, but failed to find the flashlight which—judging from the loud crack he'd heard—he was sure was broken anyway.

Damn it.

As usual, good luck couldn't be bothered to pay a visit. With a groan of frustration, Dean realized he was now every bit as lost in the woods as his brother turned dog. He wouldn't be going anywhere until the crack of dawn.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Brody Ellison pulled his police cruiser up behind the black 1967 Impala parked on the shoulder and trained one of his side spotlights on the vehicle. He'd had a sneaking suspicion that the young guy he'd talked to earlier would come back regardless of his warning. Instinct told him there was more to the story than just a lost dog. Brody, though, was also pretty damn sure that Dean Wayne wasn't out there in the downpour looking to get high or get laid.

With a sigh, Brody eased open his door and slid out of the car, hurrying through the rain to the driver's side door, his booted feet creating mini-cascades with each step. A quick look inside the car showed it to be empty just as he'd expected it would be. Ellison retreated to his vehicle, tossing his plastic-covered uniform hat on the seat next to him, and sat for a moment staring at the woods barely visible in the dark and further obscured by the curtain of falling water.

Stubborn idiot.

With still a little more than five hours left on his shift, Brody knew there was nothing he could do at the moment. But he'd be back at dawn.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

At some point during the night, Dean had snugged himself against a tree and fallen into a light doze. He came awake when he heard a rustling somewhere nearby, opening his eyes to see the first pink and yellow streaks of dawn blooming on the horizon—though the woods still had yet to shake their shadows. Alert and wary, he gaze studied the shades of lightening charcoal, searching for the source of the noise and hoping against hope that maybe Sammy had found him.

"Sammy?" he called, his voice raspy, rusty from sleep and overuse the day before.

"Nope, not Sammy. Sorry."

Dean stood as he saw Brody Ellison emerge from between two trees.

As the cop drew closer, he whistled. "You look like you've been dragged through a keyhole backwards—twice."

The hunter eyed the clean and warmly-dressed cop with something akin to envy. "Gee, thanks," he muttered sourly.

"So you've been out here all night."

It wasn't a question and Dean merely shrugged.

Brody eyed the man before him from head to toe, noting the wet, mud-covered clothes and the shivers that traveled up and down his spine. "Seriously, man, you're a mess."

"Doesn't matter. Now that the sun's up, I gotta start looking for Sammy again."

"It's gonna matter if you keel over. You won't find him then."

Dean scowled and started to walk away, leaning heavily on the tree branch to steady his gait. "Help or don't help—it's up to you. But I'm searching for my brother—dog—my brother's dog."

"I knew it," muttered Ellison.

"Knew what?" the elder Winchester tossed over his shoulder without looking back.

"I knew you were a stubborn ass." When Dean snorted, Brody figured it must be in agreement and moved to catch up to him.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Sammy moaned, snuffled, and sneezed in distress before plopping down on the ground and pawing at his muzzle in an attempt to relieve the odiferous stinging. He'd thought he'd found a new friend this morning to play with and engage in a fun game of chase. But his furry black-and-white waddling buddy had turned on him with a vengeance, spraying Sammy with a noxious substance long before he'd gotten close enough to bark a proper hello.

After a final grunt and a couple of gasping reverse sneezes brought on by the potent irritant, Sammy sat up and looked around dejectedly, trying to decide which way to wander. He was hungry, tired, and bored. None of his new friends wanted to play with him. But most of all, Sammy was lonely. He missed his human—the tall man who fed pancakes and took him for rides in the car with the window down.

In the end, Sammy decided to reverse direction and head back the way he'd come yesterday. He stood and trotted toward the creek that now roared, turbulent from all the recent rain.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

The sun made far quicker progress across in the sky than the two men did through the woods. By mid-afternoon, Dean was teetering on the brink of exhaustion and was reluctantly leaning on Brody for support while he hobbled and wobbled, having discarded the increasingly ineffectual tree branch hours earlier. It was when Dean stumbled for the half dozenth time in a matter of minutes that Brody called a halt.

"All right, that's it. We need to stop. In fact, I think we should head back to the cars."

Dean pulled himself straight and out of Ellison's grasp. "What? No! No—I'm not leaving until I find Sammy."

"Look—Dean—I know you're worried about your brother's dog. But, seriously, you're about to fall over."

"No, I'm not."

"You are. And I know that ankle is killing you, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's fine. Just a sprain."

"Yeah, right. So you're always as pale and gray as skim milk, eh? And those grooves furrowed between your eyes just mean you're deep in thought, hmm?"

God, he sounds just like Sam. Dean sighed. "Whatever."

"I could arrest you," Brody threatened.

"You wouldn't!"

"If it gets you out of these woods and gets you to rest a little then yeah—I would."

"On what charge?"

"I'll think of something."

"I have to find the dog. It's important. You don't understand . . ." Dean inadvertently shifted his weight to his bad ankle, and he wavered precariously as a shaft of pain jolted up the length of his leg.

Brody sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen—let's just make our way back to my car. We'll grab something to eat and some coffee. You can rest for a couple of hours, take care of that ankle—maybe even grab a hot shower and some dry clothes. Then I'll bring you back here. I can help for a few more hours before my shift starts."

Dean wanted to argue further, but the cop adjusted his stance and a glint appeared in his eyes. "Fine! Two hours. I'll give it two hours." He latched on to Brody's shoulder, trying not to wince as they began to walk once more.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean pulled to a stop. "You hear that?"

"What? I don't hear anything."

"Ssshh." After a couple of seconds, his hunter's ears picked up the rustling noise he'd heard moments ago. Whatever was making the noise, it was coming closer. Despite the fact that he'd been disappointed numerous times throughout the day, Dean sent up a quick prayer and called out, "Sammy? Sammy, is that you? Here, boy!"

The hunter almost fell over in shock when the dog he'd been searching for for the better part of two days came bounding out of some underbrush and rushed toward him with a few ecstatic barks.

"Sam!" Dean was so happy to see his brother he dropped to his knees and started to throw his arms around him. He stopped mid-motion and instinctively threw himself backward before pinching his nostrils shut and curling his top lip in disgust. It was all he could do not to gag.

"Holy hell! Man, Rin Tin Tin, you stink to high heaven."

TBC . . .