5

Sam waved with relief at the occupant of the gleaming new black Ford.

The man leaned out of the truck window, smiling benignly. "Where you headed?"

"Not too far. My brother..uh..lost his keys, he asked me to come out with the spare. He was going hiking, he parked at a restaurant along the highway." He hopped up into the cab of the pickup, grateful that this individual seemed friendly.

"You must mean Molly's, then. That's only a few miles up the road. -Place is shut down, your brother woulda been outa luck if he was looking for dinner."

Sam nodded, distracted with worry. The man continued chatting. "Hiking, eh? Beautiful country around here. Your brother a hunting man?"

"Uh, no...not really. He just likes to get out into the woods, take some pictures, that kind of thing. We're just passing through, but we thought we'd take a couple of days to enjoy the area."

"Uh huh. Lots of people like to do that. Gotta be careful around these hills though; plenty of old mines, and wild critters. A man can get lost out here pretty quick, just disappear. Where are you staying?" It was an innocent question, Sam saw no need to avoid answering. They were no doubt already subjects of the gossip grapevine anyway.

"May Adam's place."

The driver nodded, and offered Sam a smoke, which he declined. Sam had a moment to admire the new vehicle, which was a sharp contrast to the majority of beater pickups he'd seen so far. "Nice truck."

The driver smiled proudly. "Yep. Super duty one ton Hemi. I could pull a bus out of a swamp with this baby. Sucks fuel like a bitch, but there's a price to everything, right..?"

Sam didn't have a chance to answer, as the Impala came into view as they rounded the corner. The man's eyes narrowed slightly as he pulled in behind the car, but his demeanour remained unchanged.

"Well there you go. You say hello to your brother, now. And better warn him to watch his step out here. Like I said, plenty of dangers to put a man in the ground before his time." He smiled warmly and Sam got out, thanking him. He waved as the shining truck drove off and faded from his view. As he opened the locked Impala door, the phrasing of his companion'c conversation began to bother him. If the man hadn't been so affable, he might have taken it as a thinly veiled threat. But he shunted it from his mind, more concerned about Dean's whereabouts. His older brother didn't like the woods, but he was no novice to staying ahead of anything that was a potential danger; the least of his worries would have been old mine shafts or forest creatures.

He quickly examined the interior. Nothing looked out of place, it was exactly as Dean would have left it. He reached under the passenger seat and found his hunting knife, securing it under the elastic of one of his socks, just in case. While he was at it, he popped the trunk and retrieved a gun, fervently hoping he wouldn't need to use it. He locked the car and stood, scanning the rolling ground and the blue green hill beyond. The new trail was obvious, he glanced around to make sure he was alone, and set out.

Within a short time he too came across the pile of logs that had rolled off their trailer. He stopped and took the opportunity to call Dean's name. There was no answer, and he trudged on. The trail widened and entered the clearing that Dean had described. Definitely an old homestead. He stopped again to call, but his voice echoed in the trees and was answered only by the wings of a fleeing bird somewhere high in the canopy. He could see a flattened path snaking through the long grass, where someone had walked recently. He followed it, passing the ruined outbuildings, the stone foundations. It continued on, and he found himself ducking under the branches of the old orchard. He stopped to call again, but only crickets responded. He saw the freshly graded soil just beyond, and remembered Dean's description of the stone. He searched for it and found it, and he crouched, placing his hand on the sun warmed marble. He traced the lettering with his finger. Sin Eater. He sighed with worry, and was about to stand when he was pelted by a soggy object. He spun in surprise as it rolled to his feet. An apple. It must have detached from the tree and dropped onto him, although he was surprised at how hard it had struck him. But when the second one hit with equal force, he was sure now that it was no natural occurrence.

"Dean?" he called hopefully.

No answer. But another ripe fruit flew at him and shattered against his temple. Sam swore, wiping away the bits as he glanced around wildly for the culprit, and he backed away from the stone. It was then that he felt it, the sudden, eerie drop in air temperature. He shivered at the cold wisp across his ear, and then he heard it, the whispered word-

-sinner-

He backed away into the clay swath, hands up, ready to defect any further volleys. The word sighed in his ear again, and his heart began to race. He had no salt, or iron; nothing to discourage the presence that made itself known now. He began to run, stumbling in the sticky clay and tangles of vines. More and more apples bounced off him, he roared in frustration, ducking as many as he could. He skidded to a stop, huffing, at a sudden, echoing sound. Squinting against the onslaught of flying fruit, he strained to hear more.

A voice; anxious sounding words, came from somewhere below in the ravine. It was followed by a howl that stopped abruptly, and then nothing.

Sam knew that sound. It was pain, frustration, anger... He knew the voice. He broke into a run, guessing at the direction from which it came. "Dean? Dean!" he called frantically. He was met with silence. He reached the edge of the gully and stared down, scanning desperately. He saw the tangled backhoe in the mottled shadows.. And after a moment, he recognized a familiar head and arm sticking out from a pile of leafy detritus beside it.

"Dean!"

Sam plunged down the slope, heedless of the steep and slippery terrain, and he dug his heels in to slow his descent when he reached the pile, faling to his knees and frantically brushing away the dry, crunching cover that obscured Dean's body. He found his pulse, breathing out his relief, and held his face in his hands. His gentle, urgent words brought Dean back to surface.

"Sam." he groaned.

"Shut-up, don't talk." Sam checked him over quickly. He was horrified by what he saw; the backhoe bucket, the dirty, rusted iron tine buried in a bloodied forearm. He reached under his brother's shoulders to pull him up.

"Don't!" Dean cried weakly. "Sammy, don't; my shoulder's right out."

Sam laid him back down softly. "Jesus, man! What happened?"

Dean grimaced, and blinked away his fog. "I took a header down the slope and hit the backhoe. It rolled, caught my arm and pulled my shoulder out. Sam, the sin eater-"

"I know, Dean. The spirit attacked me up on the clearing; we're not safe here, I've gotta get you out of here."

Dean struggled to stay lucid, the pain in his arm and shoulder was gripping him in stomach-turning waves. "No, he's not...not the only threat. Sam, I know his name, but there's more-"

Sam was busy examining Dean's arm in order to free him. He saw the results of the tactic Dean had tried; the soil clawed away from beneath his elbow. He quickly ascertained that it was the only way. "Tell me later. I have to get your arm free, ok? I'm going to do what you tried; I'll dig the dirt out from under, then I'll push your arm down. Are you ready for that?"

Dean groaned. "No...but do it anyway. Just don't move my shoulder-"

Sam nodded. He clawed and scraped at the soil and roots under Dean's arm, until the hollow was deep enough to clear the point of the tine when he pushed. He glanced anxiously at Dean, who had his head turned away, and was squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth a tight line. "Ok Dean, on three-"

Sam pressed firmly. Dean tensed and shuddered, moaning as the metal began to slide out. When he couldn't take any more he clawed at Sam's jacket. "Stop! Sam, stop for a sec-"

But Sam kept pressing down until the arm was free. Dean roared a string of curses until his voice broke. When the tine was all the way out, Sam pulled the arm free and laid it across Dean's chest for a moment. Dean was panting, fighting blackness, tears streaming from his eyes. As he lay there, coming to grips with the pain, Sam took a moment to survey the damage. There was a vicious, gaping puncture, all the way through, and he had felt grinding movement in one side of the arm when he'd pressed; at least one of the bones was broken. The wound was filthy with rust and soil. He saw now the extent of the bleeding too. He carefully lifted the sodden sleeve, and found the cord twisted tightly at the elbow. -Smart. Sam understood that Dean had probably saved his life by tying off the arm. And once again he was impressed by his brother's strength and savvy in dire situations. It was more than their father's training, it was Dean's solid character.

He let him rest for a while. "How are you doing?"

Dean gave a half-hearted thumbs up. The next issue could be addressed. Sam had reset his brother's shoulder several times before; it was a weak spot, caused by a bad dislocation several years before, and it separated easily ever since. "I'm going to turn you onto your stomach so I can put your arm back, ok?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. Sam gripped him, holding his injured arm, and skillfully rolled him. He put his knee in the middle of his back, and after counting three once more, he pulled the arm straight out, manipulating it until he felt it slip back properly into the rotator cuff. Dean yelled against the forest floor, squeezing a fistful of dirt until moisture streamed out between his fingers. But his relief was instant once his arm was back in place; it ached sharply, but at least it felt right again. "Thanks." he ground out.

Sam patted his good shoulder in response. He was worried about a recurrence of his encounter with the apparently angry Sin Eater. Dean needed a few moments to recover, but they had to get to safety as quickly as they could. "Dean, do you think you can walk? I can try to carry you."

Dean slowly, carefully, rolled himself on to his back again. "I'll try in a minute. How'd you get here?"

"Hitch-hiked. Got a lift with a guy in a new black pickup. I guess he was doing better than most around here. Seemed friendly enough."

Dean was still suffering the effects of his ordeal, he tried to stay focused, but was starting to feel disconnected.. He felt like he was wrapped in cotton, muffling sound and sensation. More than anything he wanted to be out of the damp and sour earth and in a warm bed somewhere. He vaguely remembered a similar vehicle at the post office. He wanted to say something to that effect, but it escaped him. Still shocky, he began to pass out.

Sam gently shook him awake. "Dean, you've got to stay with me, ok? I'm going to get you on your feet, then we'll go to the car. You need a doctor, you've bled too much already."

"...yeah."

He had to secure that arm. He stripped off his own jacket and used it to bind Dean's wounded limb to his body, to keep it from being jarred. Sam then gingerly hauled him to his knees. Dean swayed unsteadily and clung to him with his good hand, trembling with weakness and shaking his head to stay alert. After a few dicey minutes he seemed to hold up.

"You ok, Dean?" Sam asked anxiously as he held him there. "You're not going to hurl on me are you?"

"No guarantees." he said hoarsely. But he made a motion that he wanted to try to stand, and Sam pulled him up to his feet. Dean staggered; his knees buckled and Sam caught him.

"Easy, I've got you. Let's try this a different way." He didn't wait for permission; he unceremoniously slung his brother's heavy form over his shoulder and carried him in an awkward fireman's lift up the bank. Once at the top, he sat him down by the apple trees for a moment while he puffed from the exertion. Dean leaned against a trunk and steadied himself. Sam was about to raise him once more to his feet, when he suddenly felt the air chill. His breath became visible, and he was filled with fear. He knew that the spirit was in their midst once more, and they couldn't run. He moved in front of Dean protectively, ready to shield his brother from whatever the spirit might do. "Dean!" he warned.

Dean had felt the change as well. "I know, Sam; it's ok.." He addressed the empty space between them. "Nathaniel Willard; meet my brother, Sam Winchester."