10

"Get down!" Russell hissed. He didn't have to; Bobby was already crawling along the forest floor, scrambling in his coat for his pistol. He signalled to him that he was prepared, and they both stayed motionless, barely breathing as they waited until the voices and flying bullets ceased. They raised their heads several times, only to be convinced to stay down by another random shot. Finally the threat moved away, and Russell motioned to Bobby to continue moving forward. They were even more careful to stay low and quiet now as they followed the small creek. Russell knew that they were on the right track, the UV was fluorescing a significant trail of blood drops. He grimly showed it to his worried companion.

"Damn it!" Bobby muttered. What the hell has that idiot got himself into now-? Russell stopped him and pointed. Somewhere ahead, some distance away, he was sure he'd seen a tiny flash of bluish light. He pointed, and the two squinted, watching for a recurrence. Bobby's eyesight was not nearly as clear as his younger companion's; when Russell exclaimed "There!" again, he had to take his word for it. Something was definitely moving ahead, and in Russell Adams' experience, no doe or buck ever carried a flashlight. Relieved, Bobby was all for running headlong now to rescue his friends from their latest catastrophe, but his companion cautioned quietly; "Wait! We don't know if it's your boys, or somebody who's chasing them. Don't go showing yourself until we know which we have here; if we alert the wrong party, we'll all be dead!"

Bobby saw the wisdom in that. They crept forward at an agonizingly slow pace, gaining on their quarry by increments. Bobby was ready to tear his hair out, but he kept his impatience in check and followed Russell's lead.

Sam was near panic. "No, not now, c'mon Dean!" he groaned, rolling his brother over in the darkness. He lifted his head and held him, tapping his face and raising his eyelids, to no avail. He found his pulse, and relieved, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment to steady his nerves. Dean had passed out; of course he'd passed out, he was bleeding and hurt and tired. Sam pulled him away from the wet creek edge, finding drier ground, where he laid him out and shone his watch light over him again. He seemed to be resting peacefully. Maybe it was a good thing at the moment, Dean had steadfastly ignored Sam's attempts to slow him down, at least this was a sort of rest. He tried to see through the gloom, to gauge whether there was any shelter available. From what he could make out, there was a jumble of fractured rock rising above the ground, not too distant. They looked like they were large enough to offer some protective walls, and if there was a hollow amongst them...

He turned back to Dean. He was alarmed by the heat he felt when he touched him, even in the chill. Dean was damp and sweating now, where he'd shivered so violently with the cold before. He made up his mind; they needed to hole up. He gripped Dean under his arms, and began the arduous task of dragging him to his chosen sanctuary. Dean moaned a complaint, but he didn't regain consiousness. It was hardly a silent undertaking. Sam and his heavy burden snapped dry twigs and crackled leaves as they moved, but there was nothing he could do at this point. He was tired and bruised himself and strength and the ability to maintain stealth were waning for him as well. He prayed that their pursuers would not hear.

He deposited his brother at the base of the rocks and caught his breath. He left him for a moment, scrambling up the stones in search of a suitable place. He found it; a spongy, moss padded trough between the boulders that could accommodate the both of them. It had an overhang of rock at one end, cave-like. He couldn't tell how deep it went, or if it even went any further than what he could see. He silently prayed that it had no fauna within that would take exception to their use of it. He sighed wearily and rubbed sweat from his eyes, before making his way back down. He had no idea how he was going to get Dean up and over the rocks to shelter; he didn't think he could carry him, not anymore, after their rough night thus far. He blinked away the gritty feeling in his eyes. He had a splitting headache thanks to the blow from the weasel's gun stock; he could still taste the salt of blood that had streamed into his mouth. It made him angry, and he hoped there'd be a chance to return that little favour. He got up from the stone he sat on and found his way back down.

He was greeted by a shock. The place where he'd left Dean was empty. The gun that he'd placed beside him was gone. He whipped around, straining to see him. "Dean?" he tried, keeping his voice low. There was no answer. He tried a few more times, and panicking, he rushed blind through the undergrowth in search of him. All he could see was the silvery outline of trees, and a velvety blackness between. He stopped, panting, encircled by the oppressive trunks, and without a clue which way to turn. His eyes prickled with furious and fearful tears, and he called his name again, louder now. In the seconds after, there came a crashing and cursing from the brush ahead, and more voices than just his brother's. Sam pulled the knife from his pocket. He gripped it hard, and he turned and bowled through the greenery. He stopped cold at what greeted him-

Bobby followed Russell Adams. He could no longer hear or see evidence of those ahead of them, but the other man followed his trail like a determined bloodhound. He wished they could safely use their flashlights; he was tripped up constantly by unseen stones and branches. Russell seemed to have the eyes of a cat, and more than once he turned to his noisy companion, frustrated and frowning. Russell knew this area well. He knew what lay ahead, and why it was important. He wanted to confront their quarry before they had a chance to hide amongst the rocks, where they could pick both he and Bobby off at their leisure. And if it was the Winchesters, well, he still didn't want to have the top of his head shot off; friendly fire or not. He stopped Bobby, listening now. There had been more sounds ahead, more crunching in the brush than previously. He knew that some one was taking less care now to stay silent. He and Bobby stood, listening to their own breathing, as their breath condensed in vapour in front of them. There was little sound again, the movement seemed to have stopped. Russell took the safety off his rifle, ready for whatever lay ahead. He nodded tensely to Bobby and they moved forward, quickly now. They approached the base of the stones, and it was then that they heard a scrambling amongst the brush, and a voice.

Bobby almost managed to call their names. But before he could, a creature, heavy and growling, flew from the brush and threw itself hard at Russell. They collided with a solid whump, and he yelped and crashed, flailing, against Bobby. Bobby was flattened, and Russell scrambled to his feet, whipping around and aiming his gun in the direction of his attacker. A man, bloodied, breathing hard and weaving on his feet, pointed a rifle back at him. They stood in a tense and heaving stand-off, each with a finger curving on a trigger. Russell was shaken, but his hand was steady. The other man was trembling violently and had a much less predictable grip on his weapon. Bobby shook away the fog from the impact, and he saw clearly now. With an unintelligible sound, he threw his stiff and bruised frame in front of Russell Adams with a frantic yell-

"Dean! Dean, no! It's me, it's Bobby!"

Sam bolted into the clearing, and stopped still, hardly understanding the scene in front of him. There stood Dean, wild-eyed, pointing a gun at two men. He didn't know the first, but the second was a shock. Bobby. He didn't wait for Dean to comprehend and lower the rifle. Sam hurled himself at his brother, and the two landed in a tangled, cursing heap to one side. Sam wrenched the gun from Dean's slick hands and pinned him. "Dean, it's Bobby, he's here! Do you hear me? It's not Buell!"

Dean shook his fevered head, and tried to make sense of it. "Sammy?"

Bobby now leaned over the young man lying winded in the leaves. Dean stared up in relief at the face he recognized now. He blinked hard, as black mist floated in from the periphery of his vision. "Bobby." he croaked. He didn't hear his friend's response. He felt a comfort envelope him, a knowledge that there was another there now to take charge, and he floated away from the woods, away from the cold and pain.

Buell twisted around, where he stood on the ATV path. He had heard the commotion, far off, echoing amongst the trees. It wasn't his men, they were here with him. He swore angrily. He should have known not to take the damned road, only an idiot would have used such an obvious route to escape. They were on the wrong trail.

Sam had Russell's help to haul his brother up the rocks and into the sheltered place. Once there, Bobby introduced them all, and Sam offered a version of the truth to Russell that explained their predicament. Needless to say, he did not elaborate where Sin Eater was concerned.

"So that's it, huh? Sonofabitch is running a grow-op!" Russell wasn't surprised; in fact, he was a little impressed. Buell had taken it a step further, but illegal consumables had been produced in this area for over a century. There wasn't a scrap of low grade silver ore left in those tunnels, but that bastard still managed to make that mine pay.

"Yeah, he was pretty concerned when he thought we were DEA. But once he had us, there was no turning back. Listen, this goes deeper than just trying to get rid of us; he alluded to the fact that a few others had 'disappeared'."

While he explained, he held Dean still as Bobby unwound the sodden bandage. The wound that greeted them was ugly. Bobby swore. "His fingers and arm are swelling...skin's on fire, for christ's sake. Why didn't you get to the damned hospital?"

"We were about to, Bobby, when Buell burst in. If he'd been just a few minutes later, we'd be in Bradford now." he said, miserably. There was more to that, but Sam didn't want to discuss it in front of Russell.

"It doesn't look like it wants to quit bleeding. I'll bandage it up tight again, but we should maybe tie off that arm." Russell passed him the kit, and fresh, tight gauze replaced the ruined material. He splinted it properly. A piece of surgical tubing functioned as a tourniquet, Bobby wrapped it above his elbow and cinched it. That brought Dean around.

"Jesus christ, Bobby! " he groaned.

"Be quiet. You're lucky I didn't bring a bucksaw."

"Yeah, I feel lucky." he growled. He asked Sam to help him sit up, and he now saw the stranger he'd held his gun to. "Who the hell are you?"

Bobby intervened. "Dean, this is Russell Adams. He's May Adam's boy. He came with me to find your sorry ass when you went AWOL. I couldn't have done it without him, so be civil."

"Oh...well...thanks, then." Dean mumbled. "God, I feel like shit. Anybody got any whiskey?"

Sam gave him one the of the water bottles, and Dean drained it gratefully. He turned to Russell. "Sorry about the door. Buell didn't knock. Is the old man alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine. I sent them out of harm's way. Listen, now. I know this place, but so does Buell. He needs to see you boys in the ground now, for sure, and if I learned anything about that SOB, he ain't gonna stop til he's done it. So the problem is where to go now, and how long til he catches up to us. Do you think you can travel on your own?" he said to Dean.

Dean's automatic response was a curt affirmative. Sam glanced at him with worry. Russell nodded, and he shone his light quickly over their space. The sheltered hole that Sam had seen earlier did, indeed, go deeper. Russell crept forward and looked into it's dark interior. He returned after a moment. "This is an old shaft. It's collapsed, mostly. I can see old timbers in there, and a lot of loose rock. I don't know if there ever was any other exit, other than this one, but the air in there ain't as stale as I thought it might be; there's a breeze going. Could be another opening."

"Well at least we're not exposed targets here. It's a little defensible." Dean mused. "We made enough freaking racket, Buell must have heard us by now." He paused and rubbed his eyes, swaying.

Bobby steadied him. "You fading on us?"

"A little." Dean admitted. He was running with sweat now, dizzy and trembling. His arm throbbed with a distractingly sharp and insistent pain after the ministrations, he cradled it and sighed. Bobby unwrapped a chocolate bar and gave him pieces of it, which helped immensely. He passed another to Sam.

"So here's our choices;" Russell said grimly. "Buell is coming this way for sure. You're right; ain't no way he didn't hear us all earlier. We've got a good head start, but he can move faster than us, and we have to keep quiet and dark or we'll be target practice. We can stay here and try to pick'em off as they approach, or we can go into that tunnel and try and find another way out that he don't know about at the moment."

There was silence for a moment. Sam spoke up. "We don't even know if that tunnel does lead anywhere; it could be a dead-end grave for all of us."

"Yeah, it could." Dean said. "But we can't hold them off forever by staying here behind these rocks. We'll run out of shells in no time, and then they'll just walk right up and blow our heads off. I don't see that we even have a choice."

"We could keep going overland-"

"Then they have the advantage of shooting at us from all directions. They'll catch up to us, and fan out. We wouldn't have a chance. At least if they try to hit us in the tunnel, we know where it's coming from." Dean turned to Russell. "You sure about that fresh air thing?"

"Pretty sure. Ain't no guarantees, but if that space was closed off, it's smell pretty sour in there from all the bat guano and raccoon shit. I went far enough to see that it looked like it kept going, and it stayed pretty fresh. Lotta rock-fall, but we can move it out of the way, mostly. And I agree, we'd just be putting off our death by a few hours by staying here."

Dean frowned in disgust. Bats...great. "Well I guess that's it then. Anybody have any better ideas...please?"

There was a general murmur of agreement. They would take the tunnel.

They did so immediately. Russell led, and Sam stayed close to his brother, just in case. Dean had gotten to his feet with a shaky success, Sam wasn't sure how long he would stay mobile. But they managed a good long trek into the mine. This shaft was far different from the space that Frank Buell was using. Older, and smaller, this was more than likely just a small claim-holder's attempt at growing rich, abandoned like so many others' dreams in the 1800's, having sucked their hopes and finances dry. It had suffered in its years of abandonment. They had to climb over countless rock falls, sometimes even having to pull away the debris to continue forward. It was tiring, and dirty. Webs, choked with dust, hung like ruined lace from the ceiling, casting monstrous shadows as the flashlights passed over them. Russ Adams wasn't kidding regarding the shit that was piled on the dirt floor, it was everywhere. Dean was sure that the raccoons here must be bear-sized. And the bats were there, of course. Freaking rats on wings-They squeaked and flapped as they passed, sometimes exploding in flight; frightened, squealing knots of them seeking safety from the strangers in their midst. Dean soon stopped ducking and swearing at their passage, it was growing tiring.

They all stopped and listened frequently, but there was no evidence yet that Buell or his men had entered the tunnel. After several hours of slow progress, they stopped to refresh themselves and rest. Dean had been fuelled by adrenalin and chocolate for the past hours, and it was wearing thin. He was weaving on his feet, his gait had become staggering. As they stood in a circle, gulping water in weary silence, he leaned heavily against his brother. Sam turned, and both he and Bobby caught him as his knees buckled. They lowered him to the floor, propping him up agaist the tunnel wall. Dean apologized, but he was beyond the abilty to keep up. He was uncomfortably hot, and his limbs felt like rubber. Mere determination alone would not animate them now, he was just too weak. Bobby untied the tourniquet again, as he had done several times, to allow bloodflow to replenish his limb. Just as before, the red blossom grew on the gauze. Dean tried to wiggle feeling back into his swollen fingers, and regretted when he managed to. He could hardly move them at all now, and it hurt fiercely. He glanced up at his friend. "Think I'm screwed here-"

Bobby sat wearily beside him, handing him a stick of gum. "No, son... no you're not. But I think we're gonna have to do something about the bleeding. We can't keep tying that hand off, it ain't good for you."

Dean nodded. He closed his eyes, and uttered a quiet but deepfelt curse. He knew what Bobby meant. 'Do something' meant cauterize. And that meant flame, a blade, and a whole lot of hurt.

Sam and Russell sat down with them, taking a breather. Bobby wanted to avoid the procedure almost as much as Dean did. He turned to their newest companion now. "So...what do you think, Russ? Any idea if we're near an exit?"

Russell Adams took a swig of water and rubbed his hand through his hair. "Wish I could tell you. But I'd think the air would be alot more brisk if we were closer to an opening. Might be near, or might be a mile, but this air is pretty still right here." He took another drink and turned his worried attention to Dean. He was shaking, his fever taking a firm hold now. "You're pretty much done, now, ain't you?" he asked bluntly.

Dean appreciated his candour. He answered in kind. "Yeah. I'm dead weight from now on. I think the rest of you should keep going ahead, you can leave me behind. Just give me a rifle and a pile of shells, at least I can keep Buell from getting close."

Sam was beaten and tired himself, and his emotions boiled up at that. "Oh, thank-you Butch Cassidy! Christ, Dean, do you seriously think we'd leave you behind? This isn't the f~~king movies, ok? So save your noble hero crap for some other cause, because even if we have to drag you by your short hairs, we're all gonna get out of this stinking hole!"

They were shocked by his outburst. Nobody knew what to say for a few moments. But it was Dean who began to laugh, softly at first. His humour built, until he shook with it, and tears streamed from his eyes as he continued laughing helplessly. It was infectious, and the others couldn't help but join him. Sam was last, he grinned, feeling sheepish.

Dean rethought his plan. "Ok, so no martyrdom allowed today, I got it. How about this, then? Sam, you and Russ take some time and scope out what's ahead. I can't right now, I've gotta take a break. Bobby; you stay here with me, I can see you're pretty wiped yourself. You guys go for a half hour, max; and that way we can get a clearer idea how close, or how screwed we are. And if Bobby and I hear anybody coming from back there, you'll still be able to hear the shots and come rescue our asses. Happy with that?"

Sam wasn't. "Forget it. I'm not leaving you sitting here with Buell maybe right behind us."

"I wasn't really asking your opinion, Sam; that was just courtesy. Russell will need the both of you to clear away any debris if it's necessary. And if it does get hairy here, Bobby can help me get moving. You agree, Russell?"

Russell did. It was decided, and they left the two with guns and ammunition, as well as an emergency blanket from the med kit. Dean was grateful for that, he was beginning to feel strange.

Sam was making him comfortable, preparing to leave with Russell. He tucked the crinkly blanket tighter over him, and placed more water within reach. "You sure you'll be ok for a bit?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, don't worry. I've got Bobby here anyway, so quit fussing already, I'm fine." But he wasn't fine. He was burning up. His sense of reality was becoming tenuous. Like a balloon, it hovered close, held to his fingertips by static, but it stayed just ahead of him when he reached out to grasp it firmly. He wanted Sam to go away, he needed him to give him the space he would need. Pandora was playing with the lid on her box; he knew it, he'd felt it before; and the last person he wanted to view the contents was his brother. At least right now...

Sam nodded. "Don't worry, Dean. We'll find a way out."

Dean blinked hard, and wiped his brow. ...so hot now..."Good." he murmured. -You'd better-I bought your life back with my future-I earned a year, it's only been weeks- Bobby was talking to Russell further down the tunnel, Dean couldn't hear him. He stared hard at his brother, fevered. "Hey, Sam..?"

There were things that Dean Winchester could ignore. When he was healthy and strong, the lid on the box was iron-clad. It had to be, if he was to keep going through his particular brand of living. But when he was weakened, his defenses crumbled. Dean was a good student. He absorbed every lesson John Winchester sought to impart. How to fight...how to hunt..to be quick and cunning,... how to stay alive. And to protect those he loved. He also learned lessons that were more subtle; ideas that were deep and ingrained and hurtful, but equally powerful. They were the lessons that taught him his place, his own limited value in the scheme of things. He learned, through word, through action, that he was somehow less. Protect Sam. Value Sam, as Mary had...Save your brother, at all costs. Sacrifice your own life in the face of threat, discard it like a good coat, thrown over a puddle for the King to walk upon, lest his feet get wet...

He wanted to avoid asking the question that burned in his heart like a blinding flare, probably because he already knew the answer. But he couldn't keep from doing so.

Sam crouched nearer. "Yeah Dean?"

Dean sighed miserably. He didn't want to say the words, but they refused to be silenced. "Sam...do you think...I mean, if things were reversed...would you have done it, for me? If they gave you a choice...and you could bring me back, would you throw it away, if it meant ...?"

Sam was caught off guard. It was a hard thing, it was brutal. He struggled with the suddenness of the question, the intensity of it. It was exactly the thought he'd been wrestling with in private, and now it was here, laid out in the harsh, unyielding glare of open scrutiny. He stammered for a second. "Jesus, Dean.. How can you even ask me that?"

Dean didn't want the truth, but somehow he just couldn't let it go. "You didn't answer me."

Sam blinked hard. He stared at the ground for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "Of course...yeah, in a second."

Dean nodded and looked away. His mouth was dry, his throat so tight it felt like it was going to choke him. Sam Winchester was alot of things, but he was a lousy, lousy liar. Watching him now, struggling to hide the reality, brought a suffocating hurt to Dean. It chipped away at his soul, like a rat gnawing doggedly on a frozen apple. He took a deep breath and smiled weakly.

"Sure. I know. Sorry Sammy, forget I even asked."

Sam returned a smile of guilty relief. "Now quit being so morose. Russ and I will only be gone for a little while. We'll find out where the fresh air is coming from, we'll get out of here, ok? I promise."

Dean nodded. Bobby rejoined them, and he eyed the two of them shrewdly. "Ok, go, Sam, -hurry. Me and Dean will be fine as long as we have the rifles ready. Come back as soon as you figure this out either way, got it?"

"Yeah, Bobby. We'll find it." He threw a last look at Dean, and followed Russell.

When they were gone, Bobby turned to him. "Anything going on between you boys that I should know about?" he demanded.

Dean cleared his throat. "No. Nothing important."

Bobby put his hand to Dean's face, frowning. "Christ, boy; you're just about ready to burst into flames. You want some more water?"

Dean nodded, accepting the bottle. He took several deep draughts, and dropped his hand by his side with a sigh. "Bobby, I know how this is gonna go. I've been sick before, more than once, it's always the same. Once I start running really hot, I'm gonna start babbling, and I won't shut up; trust me. And there's things...there's stuff I don't want Sam to hear."

Bobby understood. He watched his friend with sadness. "Don't worry, son. I'll keep a lid on it. If anybody's gonna blackmail you, it'll be me."

Dean smiled, resting his head back against the rock wall. "Thanks...I think." He sighed again, and looked down, frowning, at his arm. "Well, guess we'd better do this."

Bobby propped his light amongst the rocks, illuminating the two of them. He didn't dare make even a small fire, the smoke would be a beacon to Buell, and it would foul the air in the tunnel. But he did have a good lighter. He prepared Dean by unwrapping the wound and mopping it dry. He rummaged in his things, finding his most trusted silver knife, and he showed it to Dean for approval. Dean nodded.

"I'm gonna lay across you, and hold your hand tight, alright?"

"Yeah. Just hurry up." They both knew he would yell, and that quiet was paramount. Bobby tied a length of cotton cloth over Dean's mouth. He held the blade over the flame, until it radiated heat, and the handle was beginning to smoke. He knew at that point it was hot enough to sear. He squeezed Dean's shoulder in sympathy, and pinned him.

Dean nearly bucked him off with the violence of his reaction. Bobby had slipped the heated blade as deeply into the wound as he could, and he pressed the sides against the knife for several seconds. It took all his strength to keep his friend held down as he did so, and it was damned lucky they'd gagged him, or his howl would have echoed out into the still of the forest. When the blade had cooled enough to no longer be effective he carefully removed it. He glanced back at Dean. His face was frozen in a taught grimace, his good hand clamped over his eyes. Bobby witnessed his chest heave in hitched breaths for a few moments, until he began to calm again. Dean turned away to hide his tears from his mentor.

Bobby spoke to him gently, reassuring him as he rewrapped the arm and removed the gag. "All done, Dean...it worked fine. You did real good."

Dean kept his eyes shut, but he flipped him the bird. Bobby smiled to himself. -Atta boy-

Note from Mal

Hey there. This'll sound weird, but he read count graph has drastically dropped off from capter 8 to 9. As it has a differential of about 450 reads, I'm inclined to think that there is some issue with the site counting programming. I've had a lot of trouble even accessing the site lately. If it isn't that, then I guess that leaves two scenarios; either interest suddenly waned and very few people are reading this story now, or it isn't reaching readers for some reason. I can't do much about it, but it it leaves me scratching my head either way. I don't really want to talk to admin about it, I'll come off as a whiney prima donna, lol. Suffice to say, hope you all are still reading and enjoying. yadayadayada.