I left you here:

"Jesus," Dean said roughly. He leaned closer and pulled Sam up into a semi-embrace, until his forehead rested on Dean's shoulder. The movement hurt like hell, but not as much as the sound of the frantic voice in his ear. "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ."

When his breathing had settled and he thought maybe he could exercise some muscle control, Sam tried to ease away from Dean. Dean didn't seem to want to let him go, though he did shift around until Sam was more sprawled on his lap than propped against him. Apart from his own body regaining mobility, Sam could feel Dean's muscles thrumming.

"What happened?" Sam whispered. He had no idea. Dreaming? He hadn't had a clue he was dreaming. Dean stopped thrumming and became rock solid with tension behind him. "Dean?"

And now:

Weaver, chapter 8

Sam looked like someone had turned him inside out and then back again, and he kept rubbing at his chest and shifting as if no one position was comfortable for more than a minute at a time. Dean paced alongside the car, nerves jangling almost out of control. He hadn't been so fucking scared in years and couldn't seem to shake the feeling even though adrenaline was making a rapid exit from his muscles. Actually, maybe it was more than his nerves that were jangling. He dropped down next to Sam, leaning against the side panel. He squinted into the dark.

"This isn't good," Dean said stupidly.

Everything that had come out of his mouth since Sam revealed his dream 'issues' sounded dumb and inadequate. His brain was apparently still playing catch-up. It wasn't that often when he was at a complete loss for what to do next, but all he could really keep thinking about was Sam sprawled on the ground, lips turning blue. They shouldn't even still be out there. It had taken all Sam had just to sit up against the car; a few more minutes shouldn't matter. Truthfully, he thought he needed Sam to look less breakable before trying anything as strenuous as getting into the car. He couldn't bring himself to look at his brother to see if he appeared any better yet, so he focused on Sam's right kneecap and tried to will any accusation out of his voice.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?"

"I thought things were getting better." Sam sounded pained, contrite and…little. It killed Dean to hear him like that. He closed his eyes briefly. "I thought they didn't mean anything. They were just dreams, Dean."

"Not if you say there's been this being in all of them." There was that accusation he didn't want to unleash, but couldn't stop. "And sure as hell not if they make your heart stop beating."

Sam shifted again, in his quest for a comfortable position he'd never find. The grating sound of gravel didn't cover up the muffled squeak that escaped from Sam's lips, a pain-filled exhalation Dean understood all too well. Considering Sam had already been exhausted, Dean knew he had to be feeling wasted. Their shoulders brushed. Dean noticed Sam's jeans were covered in dust.

"Well, I know that now," Sam said, trying, Dean thought, to inject humor into his voice. It didn't work. Dean didn't respond. "I don't know what you want me to say, Dean."

Say you're sorry for scaring the shit out of me. Say we'll figure this out. Say you'll be fine.

"Nothing right now. We should probably get you out of here." Dean squinted out into the dark night. He couldn't hear any animal noises, regular or supernatural, but that didn't mean something wasn't lurking nearby. He finally glanced over at Sam, whose face was so ghostly white Dean cringed a little. "You okay to move?"

"We can't go anywhere yet." Somehow Sam managed desperate entreaty even while wan and weak. "The Black Dogs are still out there."

Dean shook his head. He was well aware of that fact, but now was not the time for a hunt. Sam should have enough sense to realize that. Hell, the guy looked about ten seconds away from passing out and tipping right over. That couldn't happen. He had no idea how he was going to prevent it.

"Yeah, they are," Dean said. "I want to take care of them too, but you're in no shape to hike a mile, and I am not leaving you alone. We can't take that chance."

Not that him being around had proved that much of a preventative measure.

"We can't just let them keep preying on people."

"Sam."

His brother was being unrealistic. And stubborn. Dean watched the entreaty on Sam's face turn to determination. Part of him agreed that eliminating the known threat so they could assess the unknown wasn't a horrible idea. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. But he'd just done chest compressions on Sam. He'd just fucking coaxed his brother back to life. These circumstances were so far from normal it was almost funny.

"Dean, we're out here now." Sam closed his eyes and wilted back against the car as if trying to collapse into himself. He took a couple shaky, shallow breaths. When Sam opened his eyes again, he stared at Dean intensely, with a tiny facial tic evidencing his continued discomfort. "We don't know how long it'll take to figure out whatever's going on with me."

"I don't like it," Dean growled. Understatement. "It's a bad idea."

"And we still have the portent to think about too. I'm not willing to take that chance."

Stubborn bastard would have to remember that. Dean didn't much care about his own safety at the moment; it would kill him if something happened to Sam anyway, so he figured that nullified the very unspecific threat to his own life. It wouldn't matter. Sam shifted yet again, turning toward him more and failing completely to disguise his exhaustion and the pain that moving caused.

"You know me, Sam, I'll be fine." Dean smiled cockily and Sam's returning look all but said 'bullshit, I know exactly what's going on in your head.' Discomfited, he cleared his throat and looked back out into the dark. "Sam, you can barely move. If we do try to finish this, just how are we going to do it?"

"I can still fire a gun."

"Hello. You weren't listening. You're not mobile enough." There still weren't any animal noises, which seemed very odd to him. Dean frowned. "Turning your head makes you shaky, you're not going to lift a shotgun and fire it."

"I can…" Sam stopped. Dean turned his attention back. Sam wouldn't meet his gaze. "I can be bait."

What the fuck? No.

"What the fuck? No. No way." That was insane. Sam was nuts if he thought Dean would go along with that. "Let's try we drive back there and you wait in the car while I handle them alone."

"Uh, no," Sam said. "One, that would pretty much constitute leaving me alone, which you so chivalrously declared not an option and two, no."

Dean glared. Sam glared back.

"It's always such drama with you, Sam," Dean said lightly, meaning it but not really. Sam looked confused for a second, which beat anger and pain as far as Dean was concerned, and then he just looked tired. "You know you're not going to win this argument."

"So, what, we're going to be joined at the hip from now on?"

"If that's what it takes." Dean got to his feet and held out a hand. "Come on, tough guy, let's get you on your feet. If you can do that without looking like you're going to fall flat on your face, I'll think about letting you in on the hunt."

"Really?" Sam said.

"No."

Sam scowled, but took the offered hand. Dean did most of the work in getting his brother upright and once he was there, he swayed. Oh, hell, no, Sam was not hunting tonight. Sam moved like an old man around the car, like he was stiff and sore all over. Dean had seen that before. He narrowed his eyes. He didn't know how much of that could be attributed to CPR and how much was a result of the dreams. He trailed behind his brother, not wanting to coddle but definitely not ready to leave Sam's side completely. At the trunk, Sam stopped and leaned.

"You going to make this?"

"It's five more feet," Sam grumbled. "Of course I will."

Dean thought Sam didn't even realize he was once again rubbing at his chest, and he couldn't hold back a snort. He passed by Sam and opened the passenger door. Sam rolled his eyes when he finally made it there, but climbed in and made no move to shut the door himself. Dean slammed it shut and then trotted over to the other side of the car. Things were still too quiet for his liking. He'd relax only when they were safely in the hotel, which they'd go to after a short stop at the trap site. He no sooner started the car than Sam started talking again.

"So what are we going to do?"

"Sam, you said it yourself. We can't let these things keep attacking people. I have to hope Bobby's right and take care of the problem myself. It'll only take a minute. You should be okay for that long, right?"

Dean turned the car around and headed back down the road, as if decisive action would make Sam just go along with the flow. He should have known better.

"You know you have to get both of them in the circle, and you know they split up to hunt," Sam said. "I don't know how you're going to do that and be able to spring the trap. Put me in the circle to draw them both in – " Dean started to rebut, but Sam hurried on before he could, "with a shotgun, of course, and you'll be free to get them."

Sam was a lunatic.

"That's not a good idea. What if it doesn't work? You're not going to be able to get out of there."

"You just said we needed to put faith in Bobby's plan."

"I said hope, and I only meant it when I was the only one involved."

"Dean, you know you can't do this on your own. I feel okay enough for this now – the painkillers have kicked in. And at least this way I'll always be in your line of sight…and you in mine. I mean, what if it goes down bad and I'm just sitting here? You'll be wounded or dead and I'll fall into a dream and no one will be here to pull me out."

That was valid, Dean supposed. Fucked up, but valid. And Sam managed that whole speech without gasping for breath, which was a good thing. He'd hunted with cracked ribs once or twice himself, and knew it could be done. It just really sucked. He pulled the car onto the shoulder and turned off the engine. He wouldn't look at Sam, but it didn't matter; Dean knew his brother was giving him puppy-dog eyes. The situation sucked no matter which way they went.

"I don't like this."

"I don't either."

"Let's do it, then."

He let Sam get himself out of the car, though he kept a close eye on the slow progress. Sam had to know that Dean had no intention of letting him limp around alone and let some ravenous, supernatural gigandogs have a go at him. Someone had to pull the rope and ring the bells, and that could be done from a more secure position. Dean popped the trunk and propped open the weapons compartment.

"I'll go out. You take cover over there." Dean quickly loaded two shotguns, handing one and some extra shells to Sam. He grabbed a pistol for himself as well. "As soon as the things are within the perimeter we set up, pull the rope. I should be able to handle the rest."

Sam's skin still looked ghostly pale in the weak light of the moon, and he didn't issue any protest. He didn't like the pallor, but was glad for the acquiescence. Dean tilted his head slightly and tried to discern any clue that the Black Dogs were even prowling this area, but everything remained quiet. He didn't feel an overwhelming sense of dread like he had before, but he figured the replay of Sam sprawled out and lifeless going on in his head was disguising anything the Dogs might be doing in that regard. He patted Sam's shoulder and nodded toward the cover spot. Sam gave him a tight-lipped smile and shuffled away quietly. Dean stashed his weapons out of sight and started walking. He didn't move stealthily.

It didn't take long. After only a minute or two, Dean knew at least one of them was behind him. He casually looked around to see if he could spot the other. It was too dark out. He kept going, making sure to lead the stalking one into the trap. Every fiber of his being was now focused on not turning around and shooting at the thing.

"Come on, come on," he said under his breath. "Come on out, you bastards."

His words seemed to prompt the one behind him into action. Dean turned just in time to see the thing's massive paw clawing at him. He awkwardly drew out the shotgun and hit the dirt, rolling out of the path and then back onto his feet. Snarling, the beast charged again, and Dean danced again. Shooting at it wouldn't help until it was grounded. Like magic, the disharmonious sound of cowbells filled the air. He knew the second one must be close.

"Dean, get down," Sam called.

He crouched, figuring Sam had a good reason to give away his position. He didn't take his eyes off of the first Dog. He aimed and fired at it. Missed. Damn thing moved fast. Even though blood was rushing in his ears and the Dog was growling louder than ever, Dean heard Sam moving out of cover. He dodged another attack and hoped to bloody hell that the other Dog wasn't right on top of him. Sam got off a shot, and he heard a canine yelp. Good, good boy. Unfortunately, whatever'd just happened out of his range of vision had pissed off the one having a go at him

The Dog finally landed a swipe, and it was a strong one. Dean went flying, already knowing it was going to hurt like hell to land. His head smacked against the ground, and he saw stars that weren't natural celestial bodies. A great weight pressed on his left thigh and he struggled to re-aim his weapon at the brute creature. It batted at his head once, he heard a loud roar and then the great weight shifted to his chest.

"Needs…more…cowbell," Dean tried to shout, and then there was nothing.