Nope, not mine…

Supernatural

"Um…" Josh started getting to his feet. He hated being the center of attention; it always made his paranoia spike up tenfold. He liked to be the silent observer, sitting quietly in the back. Now, he had two sets of eyes on him, both begging for answers.

"Nina Horton is… was a hunter," Josh started again, beginning to pace back and forth. He was wringing his hands, keeping his dark blue eyes glued to the floor.

"What do you mean 'was,'" Bobby asked curiously.

"Well, she was raised as a hunter by her mother. If you thought John was hard on his boys, then you never met Nina's mother: Abigail. She was worse than a drill sergeant and she put Nina, her sister, and her brother through hell. Nina put up with it until she turned sixteen and that's when her mother mysteriously disappeared…"

"Wait, are you saying Nina killed her mother," Jefferson questioned sliding to the edge of his chair.

"That's what I'm figuring, but no one could ever prove it. What I'm thinking, and I got the witness to prove it, is Nina Horton wants to escape her past and by doing that…"

"…she's eliminating the one thing that made it crap," Bobby finished for Joshua, pulling his cap off and running his hand through his hair. "Who's this witness?"

"Kurt Bishop," Josh replied sitting back on the bed.

"Who?"

"He was the only one who ever survived Nina's game," Joshua replied putting his clasped hands in his lap. "He was found in a ditch, on the side of the road, half dead. When he woke up in the hospital, he claimed amnesia about what happened. When really, he didn't want to go into details about being hunted by a 'fallen' hunter."

"But he shared his story with you," Jefferson asked skeptically.

"Why do you always do that," Josh snapped glaring into his brother's pale blue eyes.

"Do what," Jeff asked innocently.

"Question everything I say?"

"I do not."

"You do, too." Josh was on his feet, fists clenched. Jeff stood up, too, silently challenging his little brother to take a swing.

"Guys, knock it off," Bobby snapped and both sat down, with a quiet apology, embarrassment written across their faces. "So, when did you talk to this Bishop guy?" Bobby turned to the younger Michaels brother, waiting for an answer.

"I put the word out when Jeff told me about the murder case turned shape shifter hunt," Josh replied sliding back into his stride like nothing happened. Jeff was incapable of doing that; he had to be fighting to make his day worthwhile.

"And?"

"Bishop called me yesterday," Joshua said slowly twiddling his thumbs. "He told me that it sounded exactly like the case he was on, about a year ago. He was hunting, what he suspected, vampires. A few bodies were found, necks full of teeth marks, blood drained. He decided to check it out, took his buddy Taylor Jackson…"

"One of the missing hunters," Jefferson muttered getting a glare from his brother and a finger snap from Bobby to shut him up.

"So, he and Jackson get to town, but before they could see the bodies this van pulls into the parking lot of their motel, a huge dude kicks the door in, and they are hog-tied, drugged, and thrown in the back on the van."

"Neither one put up a fight," Jeff asked crossing his arms across his chest.

"They tried, but whoever attacked them was ruthless, that and some girl jumped on Bishop's back and covered his face with a chloroform covered cloth. The last thing he remembered seeing was his buddy's head getting slammed into the TV stand. He woke up, a few hours later, in the middle of the woods. Taylor was with him until the end of the first day; his friend got shot right in the chest. The bullet pierced his heart, killed him instantly."

"This Nina girl is a cold blooded killer," Bobby commented pacing the path Joshua had started a while ago.

"That and she has hunter skills," Jefferson muttered running a hand across his face.

"Major hunting skills," Josh agreed. He then added, "And her big brother: Ethan Horton."

"How do you know that?" Jeff asked trying to keep all emotion but curiosity from his voice.

"This," Josh retorted and pulled out a couple pictures. He handed them to Bobby, watching the older hunters look at them. They were high school pictures of Nina, Ethan, and their older sister Alison. Josh had glanced at them briefly, taking in the contents in seconds. Sam may have had a good memory, but Josh could outwit him any day. He could recall every single detail of the pictures with perfect clarity. He knew that each sibling had blond hair; Ethan's and Alison's darker than their sister's. The older two had green eyes, while Nina had bluish-gray. All three were pale, all three wore matching fake smiles, but Nina had a coldness in her eyes that most kids, her age, never had. It didn't match her sister's warm eyes or her brother's twinkling, joke filled gaze that reminded Josh of Dean. Bobby was right; Nina was a cold blooded killer.

"Bishop emailed me those pictures; it seems he was doing his own research on the Horton family. When he found out what Nina's last name was he dug up anything he could."

"I'm assuming the bleach blonde is Nina," Bobby muttered handing the pictures to Jefferson.

"Yeah, how…?

"Just something in her eyes," the older hunter verified, getting a nod from Josh; Bobby saw exactly what he did.

"I think she's kinda hot," Jefferson chimed in getting an eye roll from both Bobby and Josh. Neither one needed to be rocket scientists to know where Dean got his womanizing skills. For twenty years of his life the older Winchester had hung out with Jefferson practically every time they were together. John was never happy about that; especially when Jefferson 'borrowed' Dean and played the 'single father' card in public.

"It doesn't matter what she looks like," Bobby snapped. "As long as she has Johnny's boys she is an enemy of ours. And what do we do with enemies?"

"We kill them," Jefferson muttered laying the pictures on the table.

"Right. Human or not she's not gonna stop killing hunters until she is stopped."

"Which means we're camping, aren't we," Jeff murmured making Josh smile. Joshua loved camping; he used to con Dean and Sam into camping with him. It was funny when the boys were younger, and Jeff didn't have to go. Now, it was just plain depressing. Plus, every camping trip the Michaels boys went on, together, always ended up with them in a fist fight. Always have, always will.

"I swear these two are going to be kissing my ass for the next seventy years," Jeff commented as he stood up.

"Be sure to clean it first," Josh muttered and raced out of the room before his brother really comprehended what he said. Before the door closed behind the younger Michaels, he heard his brother yell, "HEY!"

SUPERNATURAL

The first time he resurfaced from unconsciousness, he was sure he had been dropped into a Charlie Brown cartoon. Someone was leaning over him, speaking, but all he heard was, "Waa Waa, Waa, Waa," or something like that. He always hated Charlie Brown, that stupid kite eating tree sucked balls and that Lucy bitch should have been punched a long time ago. And was it a little strange that a children's cartoon had a stalker in it? Sally was always around that little kid with the blanket. Dean always expected the little blonde to attack Linus and lock him in the Brown cellar, keeping him as her pet. But above everyone else, he especially hated that Schroeder dude. Just because the dude played a piano doesn't mean he was the god of all instruments. The guitar is a hell of a lot cooler. I hate Charlie Brown, Dean though as darkness took him over.

He woke up a second time, warmer than the first. Really warm. Almost like he was sitting in a fire. Ah crap, he thought, I've died and gone to Hell. The gods or whatever heard that Dad went to Hell for me and won't allow me passage to Heaven or something. Fuck, man Sammy is gonna be pissed. Speaking of Sam, Dean was pretty sure he heard his brother's voice. Probably some freaking demon screwing with me…

"…singe…blood..." Dean took in before a heat worse than the fire tore through his side. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was still alive. Pain wasn't this bad in Hell, or maybe it was. He wanted to scream, but darkness over took him before his body could follow the command his brain delivered.

Dean came to a third time, maybe a few minutes after the burning pain in his side, to feel a second pain in his leg. He couldn't be sure, he still felt like he was on fire, but he thought he felt blood dripping down his leg. What the hell's going on, his thoughts demanded. Fuck, stop, stop, stop. The pain was worse than the searing heat in his side, almost like something was digging around his flesh. Please make it stop, he begged and blacked out again.

He opened his eyes, finally aware of his surroundings. There was no weird ass Charlie Brown characters standing over him, no demons wanting his head on a spike, nothing like that. It was dark, which made Dean seriously wonder how long he had been out. He was sure it was light out when he woke up the last time. Of course, he couldn't quite remember when that was either.

Okay, Kid, think, his dad's voice filled his head. What's the last thing you remember? Dean racked his brain, trying to recall anything helpful. He remembered getting captured, waking up in the woods, and walking with Sam. That stupid booby-trap, the one he should have seen, came next. Followed by the bullets… the bullets.

Oh my God, I was fucking shot, he thought as the pain made itself known. Holy crap and a half. Note to self: never get shot again.

If Sammy was with you, his dad's voice interrupted his complaining, where is he? Where's your brother Dean? You didn't get him killed because you were too slow to stop a fricking bullet from hitting you? Quickly cutting out his mental scolding-that was all he needed, his father bitching at him from his own head-he tried to sit up. Problem was there was something restraining him.

He tried to roll out of the restraints, wondering who in their right mind would go to the trouble of keeping him in one spot, when he realized they weren't restraints. Someone had their arms around him.

Oh my God, some is hugging me. Someone is frigging hugging me. And there's only one person, I know, who would do that shit. He threw his elbow backwards, slamming the bone into his brother's chest.

Sam jerked awake, jumping to his feet. Once free, Dean rolled onto his back in time to see his brother's eyes rake across the ground, a knife clutched in his hand, looking for an invisible attacker.

"Relax, it was me," Dean said in a hoarse voice. My God am I thirsty, he thought not realizing until now how dry his throat was.

"You scared the crap out of me," Sam hissed lowering himself to the ground.

"You were hugging me," Dean pointed out trying and failing to sit up. He felt as weak as a newborn lamb, which really didn't bode well for him. He was a hunter; there was no time for weakness.

"You lost a lot of blood, stay still," Sam scolded keeping a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Fine," Dean snapped after he failed to shake the hand off twice. The two brothers were quiet for a second, and then Dean said, "Why the hell were you hugging me?"

"I wasn't hugging you," Sam scoffed looking into the flames of a fire Dean had not noticed before. The warmth felt pretty good on his cool body. Wait cool… last time I was awake, his thoughts started as a very vague memory hit him, I was burning up.

"You broke my fever didn't you," the older Winchester asked avoiding his brother's eye.

"I didn't know what else to do. If I'd have let it keep rising, you would probably be dead. Besides, you were pretty out of it."

"How out of it?"

"At one point you told me you hated Charlie Brown. You went on this tangent about stalkers and Lucy being a bitch and Sally locking Linus up in her basement and the kite eating tree. And then you started in on Schroeder…"

"I do hate Charlie Brown," Dean muttered averting his eyes.

"Yeah, I know, but it wasn't his fault you got shot." Sam was quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip in thought, before he said, "I thought you were never going to wake up after I singed your blood vessels."

"What does that mean?"

"The way you were screaming, it was like I was killing you."

"Sorry," Dean muttered trying to wipe the worried look off his brother's face.

"Don't apologize," Sam responded keeping his eyes locked on the ground. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Speaking of cauterizing things, how the hell did you manage that?"

"This," Sam replied holding up the knife Dean noticed earlier. Wondering where his brother got it, the older Winchester opened his mouth but Sam interrupted the unspoken question with the correct answer, "We ran into another one of Nina's obstacles."

"She threw knives," Dean exclaimed sitting up so fast the woods swam in and out of focus. Sam pushed him back down, telling him to breathe through it. Taking a few deep breaths, Dean hissed, "When were you planning on telling me this?"

"I just did, if that helps," Sam muttered.

"Are you okay? Did any of them hit you?"

"No," Sam replied quickly. A little too quickly in Dean's opinion.

"No, huh?" Dean asked skeptically.

"No, I'm fine," Sam said sounding a tad more convincing then the first time.

"Okay, if you say you are." I'll just wait until your ass passes out before I yell at you, you frigging liar, Dean tacked on hoping that didn't really happen. He wasn't sure he could carry Sam at all, barely could when he was actually healthy. He would just have to keep an eye on Sam and make sure his condition didn't deteriorate.

"So, how long was I out," Dean asked changing the subject. Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief, one Dean caught without a problem, and said, "Seven hours, on and off. This is the most coherent you've been."

"So, Charlie Brown bashing and screaming aside, what else did I say?"

"Um…" the lip biting again. He only ever did that when he didn't want to share something. Or was worried about something. Or… Screw it; he does it for all occasions.

"Just tell me," Dean said wearily. He was tired, which sucked ass because he had just woken up, and he wasn't in the mood to sit there and wait for Sam's brain to wage the war between telling him or not.

"A couple times you were convinced you were in Hell," Sam muttered finding the fire to be the most interesting thing in the world. "You said that since Dad sold his soul to save you, it was only fair you go to Hell, too."

"Oh, well at least I had a legitimate reason," Dean muttered keeping all emotion out of his voice. He didn't want to have to deal with that now. Maybe when he was out of the woods, full of beer, and unable to remember said conversation. But now, he was just tired.

Sam sighed, an eye roll definitely following it, and mumbled, "We've gotta get out of here."

"Can we do it later, or tomorrow? I'm kinda tired." Dean closed his eyes, letting the fire warm his face. He turned onto his side, keeping his back to his brother.

"Yeah, get some sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens."

Silence enveloped both brothers, the sound of the forest taking over. As much as Dean wanted to go to sleep, he just couldn't. Of course he felt guilty about their dad's death, he had told Sam that during his road side confession, but he never thought his own words would betray him like that.

Sometimes he did wonder if he was going to go to Hell, just because John sold his soul. Did God (if he really existed) send people to Hell for the deals others have made? Of course, even if he didn't go to Hell for that, any number of things could give him a one way ticket. Like lying, cheating, stealing, subterfuge, grave desecration (helping people or not he was technically unburying someone, someone who was probably a good person who just went corrupt with so many years of being alone). Jeez, I'm frigging turning into Sam, he thought stifling anymore sentimental mumbo jumbo.

A shiver rippled through him as a light breeze picked up. He tried to move closer to the fire, but any sudden movements made his side protest. He bit his lip before he could let loose any whimpers or cries of pain. He was fine, he really was. Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

Pulling his and Sam's jackets closer to him, he hoped the wind would die down. That was all he needed, to get sick with two bullet wounds already in play. How Sam can tolerate the cold is beyond me, Dean thought.

The fire warm on his face, his brothering breathing like a lullaby, he slowly drifted off to sleep again.

SUPERNATRUAL

Once Sam was sure Dean was asleep, the deep breathing his only indication, Sam unzipped his sweatshirt and pulled it off. He let out a very quiet whimper of pain, the sudden movement pulling on his wound. He set the hoodie amongst the leaves and checked over the wound using the fire.

He would have done it sooner, but outrunning an array of flying knives, saving Dean, and keeping him alive were pretty much higher up there on his priority list. The wound was deep, six or seven inches at the most. Lucky for him, though, it didn't hit anything vital. The bleeding had stopped awhile ago, which was good. Neither one needed anymore problems, especially Sam losing as much blood as Dean. If he passed out Dean was screwed and there was no way he was putting his brother thorough that.

He wondered just how much strain he could put on the wound before it began bleeding again. If he had to carry Dean again, he had to be sure he wasn't about to open the wound up further. It was already a bitch to get his brother here. Fifteen minutes of running with 174 pounds added and a bum arm were not ways Sam wanted to spend his time.

He pulled his sweatshirt back on as another breeze filled the air. He shivered just as Dean shivered. It was only a matter of time before one of their injuries got infected and no amount of, what Dean would call, 'hugging' would break that fever. A lot of antibiotics-which were in their first aid kit conveniently sitting under his bed back at the motel-rest, and peroxide, would be the only thing that would help them. It was times like these that Sam really wished they had just skipped this hunt.

A stick snapped close by, peaking Sam's senses tenfold. As much as he'd rather have Dean sleep, Sam half hoped Dean would have woken up with the snap. Unfortunately, his brother was out and heard nothing.

Using the tree to stand up, getting his knife out of his hoodie pocket, Sam started looking back and forth for the new arriver. He turned his back on Dean for a second, looking around the tree. There was no one, and as he made to turn around someone started clapping. Two claps, but enough to make him whip around. Someone was crouched next to Dean. Sam's stomach clenched in worry for his defenseless brother.

"I am actually impressed, Sam," the girl said, her voice familiar from the night before. Nina had decided to pay them another visit. Before Sam could attack her, she produced Dean's colt and held it to his brother's head.

"I wouldn't," she said pulling the hammer back. "I won't hesitate to kill him." Sighing, knowing his brother's life was more important-no matter how much Dean would protest-than getting revenge he put the knife back in his pocket.

"Very good, Sammy," Nina said lowering the gun to her side. "As I was saying, you have impressed me. Both of you are hurt, both of you are tired and hungry, yet you keep on fighting. Of course, you're Winchesters and you guys are known for your stubbornness. That and your good looks." She ran a hand across Dean's cheek, making his brother shiver.

"Leave him alone," Sam snarled clenching his fists at his side.

"You are in no position to be giving orders, Winchester," Nina responded quietly stroking his brother's forehead with the gun she held. Sam had many retorts he wanted to deliver, but bit his tongue as the thought of Dean, dead-bullet through the brain-hit him.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on a good first day. Here's hoping tomorrow will bring you the same good luck." Another twig snapped, somewhere behind Sam. He turned around, but there was nothing or nobody there. He spun back around to see Dean by himself. Nina was gone.

He raced forward, falling to his knees next to his brother. A quick inspection showed him that Nina didn't hurt him in any way, other than the obvious. It also woke Dean up.

"What the hell are you doing," his brother asked swatting his hands away from his face.

"Nina was here," Sam replied sitting back on his heels. His eyes flicked back and forth seeing nothing but trees and shadows. Nina was fast, Sam really hated admitting it. Either she knew the woods really well, or she was just really good at covering her tracks. Or the female version of The Flash and with their luck that was exactly what she was. Oh please don't let that be the case, he thought still looking for Nina.

"What'd she want? Where is she?" Dean sat up, hissing in pain as the sudden movement pulled on his side.

"Stay still," Sam ordered flashing his brother a worried look. He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face, and continued, "I have no idea where she went, but I do know why she was here. She wanted to, and these are her words not mine, 'congratulate' us for a 'successful' good day."

"Successful," Dean scoffed. "How the hell is getting shot twice successful?"

"We're not dead," Sam responded giving his brother a ghost of a smile and a shrug.

"No, but Nina will be when we find her, and don't give me that 'she's human, we can't hurt her' crap. She has tried to kill us on several occasions…"

"That rope trap wouldn't have killed us," Sam protested.

"But the bullets could have, the knives could have, and that spike trap you fell into definitely could have."

"Yeah, but the knives also helped you. You would have bled to death if…"

"My wounds could still get infected. And-in case you have forgotten the fifty million or so freaking infections we have gotten over the years-that could very well kill me…" Sam knew Dean wanted to add more, but he cut off putting a hand to his side wound. He went pale, making Sam's worry peak up to a billion and one.

"Dean?"

Instead of answering, Dean pulled his hand away from the wound. His hand was covered in blood, the liquid dripping between his fingertips. Sam hurriedly pressed both his hand and Dean's to the wound as his brother laid back.

"Stop holding my hand," Dean whined putting his left arm over his eyes.

"Stop being an irritable ass," Sam replied pressing harder on the wound. He had to cauterize the blood vessels again; he just wasn't sure how much Dean would like that.

"Just do it," his brother muttered. When Sam was younger he believed his brother could read minds. Dean seemed to always know what Sam wanted or needed without the youngest Winchester saying a word. This time was no different and old doubts started creeping back into Sam's mind. Maybe Dean could really read his thoughts.

"Either do it or I'll do it myself," Dean's voice made Sam jump. He hadn't realized he had been sitting on his heels, still staring at his brother, still pressing down on his bleeding wound. He quickly snatched the fallen knife off the ground and crawled over to the fire.

"You might want to put more wood on that fire," Dean commented staring at the dying flames.

"I'm not stupid," Sam snapped letting the flames dance around the knife's blade.

"I never said you were. It's cold and I don't want the fire going out before morning…"

"Thanks Dad." The words just slipped out of Sam's mouth. Instead of giving his brother a smart ass reply, Dean went silent. Sam turned his head, trying to read Dean's expression, but his brother was just too good at masking his emotions. He turned back to the fire, watching the flames.

An owl hooted somewhere, a light breeze rustled some leaves, but neither of the brothers spoke. When the knife's tip finally went orange, Sam turned around and shuffled back over to his brother.

"Move your hand," he said seconds before Dean complied. "Ready?"

"Just do it." As much as Dean braced himself for the pain it was no match for the burning knife sticking to his flesh. The sound of a sizzle mingled with the yelp of pain that exploded from between Dean's lips. The scream cut off suddenly, Dean's whole body going limp.

Sam set the knife on a nearby rock, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze and said, "We now know the levels of pain you can and cannot take." He sat back on the ground, pulling his knees to his chest. He wrapped his right arm around his legs, not taking the chance with moving his left. He kept his eyes on his brother, intending to make sure nothing else happened to him. A gentle zephyr blew past his face, some of his hair falling into his eyes. Instead of brushing the hair aside, he left it where it was. He just kept his eyes glued to his brother, making sure he stayed right there.