I still don't own the recognizable characters. Damn…

"…been a big baby!"

"Have not!"

"Yes, you have. Whining about spending one night in the fricking woods."

"There was a raccoon asleep on my legs. I could catch rabies."

"Oh, cry me a frigging river."

"Fine, and then I'll push you into it."

It was the first time Bobby had ever wanted to strangle the Winchesters. There he was, asleep in his own house and those two have to get into, yet, another one of their stupid fights. Now he had to get up from his bed of leaves… Leaves? Wait, who filled his bed with leaves? And since when did his house smell like earth? Also, why did Dean's and Sam's voices sound slightly off? What the hell was going on?

He opened his eyes, the sunlight nearly blinding him. Of course he was in the middle of the woods, they had camped out. He sat up, watching as Jeff and Josh, not Dean and Sam, started circling each other like rabid wolves.

Bobby scrambled to his feet, rushing forward before the fists started to fly. He pushed Jeff into a tree and Josh into a bush. Eyes flicking back and forth between the two brothers he said, "What the hell is the matter with you two?"

"He started it," Josh said nodding toward his brother.

"Of course I did," Jeff retorted sarcastically. "There's no way the little brother could start any of it." Bobby rolled his eyes, his mind flashing back to another set of siblings.

"Well, I'm finishing it. We are out here for a reason. Dean and Sam have been captured. They could be hurt, bleeding, (God forbid) dead, and all you two care about is getting into some piss poor fist fight. Grow up or so help me you two won't see next week." With those words hanging in the air, he started toward the smoking fire pit. He kicked dirt on it to make sure it was completely out and began walking deeper into the woods.

"You two idgits coming, or are you gonna just stand there and enjoy the scenery," Bobby called over his shoulder. After a few seconds he heard someone pick up the only bag they brought and two sets of footsteps begin to follow him.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Bobby just waiting for one of the Michaels brothers to say something. Unlike Sam and Dean, who can actual go more than fifteen minutes without an argument, Jeff and Josh weren't so lucky. Bobby suspected it was the age difference. Their mother disagrees. Addy Michaels, never the marital type, had had two kids with two different guys. She believed that Jefferson always resented his little brother for breaking up his parents. Also, that Joshua's dad was more involved in his life than Jeff's had been. Who knew the real reason and Bobby really wasn't in the mood to be dropped into a Soap Opera, so he kept his nose out of the Michaels' business. The less he knew the better. Besides, being part of the Winchester family (Bobby's philosophy was "family don't end with blood") was a full time gig that didn't need distractions.

Coming across a fork made Bobby's stomach drop. Of course it wouldn't be that easy, there was always a problem. He did a quick calculation, trying to figure out how to split up the teams. He knew Josh loved camping, but wouldn't go on alone. He also knew that sending Josh and Jeff out on their own could end in one of their deaths and Addy hounding his ass for the next hundred years. So, taking a deep breath he turned around and said, "Josh and I will go left, Jeff go right." He took the bag from Jeff, digging inside for his radios.

He found them at the bottom amongst a first aid kit, a couple flare guns, and some other weapons. He handed one to Jeff, pocketing the other. He pulled out a flare gun and a pistol and shoved the bag at Jefferson.

"You got any matches on you," Bobby questioned curiously.

"Why? You actually expect me to spend another…" Bobby glared at the younger hunter, causing Jefferson to raise his hands and say, "I have a lighter."

"Good, you find anything call us. You get into trouble, call us. You…"

"Singer, I am a forty-seven year old man. I think I know all this."

"Really? Just out of curiosity," Josh started crossing his arms, "who was the one who ended up half torn up by a Wendigo because they were too arrogant to call for help?"

"So help me Joshua…" Jeff started, but Bobby rushed his younger brother down their path before he could finish his sentence.

"Keep in touch, Michaels," Bobby called.

"I'm not four," was the reply. Or that's what Bobby thought he heard. Shaking his head, Bobby followed Josh behind a stretch of trees, Jeff disappearing from view.

"So, what the hell was that fight about?" the older hunter asked scratching the back of his head.

"Jeff being Jeff," Joshua replied as his dark blue eyes flicked back and forth with every noise. As much as the younger hunter loved camping, the wilderness still freaked the hell out of him. So many things could occur, so many accidents. Bobby was pretty sure that if no one was with Josh he wouldn't even have bothered coming out here. It was one of the reasons he would manipulate Dean and Sam into camping with him when they were younger. That and Caleb telling him that only hermits stuck to their houses, too afraid of the world. If there was one thing Josh was really afraid of, it was isolation. He had to be around people, even if he didn't trust them. It was just a part of his weird psyche.

"Which means?"

"He woke up to find this huge, and I mean huge, raccoon draped across his legs. He made this sound, one I was actually surprised you didn't hear, and I came running."

"Where were you?"

"I had a personal problem that had to be dealt with." In other words, Josh was behind a tree taking a piss. "Anyway, he made this noise that was a cross between a yelp and a scream, I came running, and arrived just in time to see this raccoon tear past me looking scared. So, I merely commented, 'Jeffy, you found a new pet?' and he's all like, 'Rabies! That thing could have rabies.'" The voice Josh gave his brother was spot on. Josh was always good at doing voices, and it didn't hurt that him and Jeff almost sounded exactly alike.

"And that's when I called him a baby. You know the rest."

"You know I thought you were Johnny's boys when I first heard the fight," Bobby commented and Josh looked over his shoulder at the older hunter.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just insulted Dean and Sam," Josh retorted with a small smirk on his face. Bobby smiled back, rolling his eyes. He knew for a fact, after the number of times both Winchester boys had been compared to Jefferson and Joshua, that John's boys would have given Bobby hell for that comment. They always informed Bobby, even when they were younger, that they were their own person and no amount of comparing them to older, less handsome (Dean's comment not Sam's) hunters would make that so. Dean even went as far as to say that, 'It would just give said older, less handsome hunters a false sense of hope that they would even come close to looking like me.' to which Jeff always replied, 'Keep telling yourself that, Small Fry.'

As Bobby was brought back to reality, his smile slowly slipping from his face, he couldn't help but send up a silent prayer that he would get to hear that exchange again. That he'd at least get to see the two boys he considered sons, again. As much as he didn't believe in the great beyond, Jim had always told him believing in faith and religion was the only good thing about the supernatural, he still felt certain that God-real or not-heard him. And he felt a little bit more confident that they would find his friend's boys. Because, as Jim would say, 'Gotta have faith before you can have anything else.'

SUPENATURAL

Something peed on him; he could feel the warm liquid on his exposed flesh. He pulled himself up, a small groan of pain escaping his lips, and looked at his arm. His coat was definitely damp, and… he smelt the sleeve and nearly gagged. Yep, something peed on him. Lucky for him, it was actually Sam's jacket. His was spared the grossness of animal pee. Except on his wrist which he would have to except as a small sacrifice. Plus, it was easier to wash his skin then it was to wash a jacket.

Dean peeled Sam's jacket off, laying it on the ground. He so totally wanted to see his brother's face when he shared the news that his jacket was peed on. He even turned his head to inform his brother that his jacket had, in fact, been used as a toilet by some kind of animal, but found that he was very much alone.

"Sam," Dean called just hoping his brother had went around the corner to take a piss. Maybe he peed on me, Dean thought in disgust. Then he figured, why the hell would Sam pee on his own jacket. God Dean, you are about sixteen fries shy of a happy meal.

He took a look around the area, trying to catch a glimpse of his brother's lanky form, but Sam was just nowhere to be found. In fact, upon closer inspection of the area, Dean realized he was in a totally different location from the night before. Someone had moved him, quite possibly the 'associate' Nina had mentioned the night she kidnapped him and Sam. The same douche bag that knocked Dean out with the chloroform.

Deciding to seek revenge on Nina and her monkey later, Dean dragged himself over to a tree and pulled himself into a standing position. The movements pulled on both his side and leg wounds, but he bit his lip and sucked it up. He had to find Sam, and make sure he was okay before his revenge plan could go into effect. But there were several problems with both his plans that couldn't quite be ignored.

One: Finding Sam resulted in walking and he wasn't sure how far he could walk on his shaking leg. His luck the frigging thing would give out on him before he could take six steps. Two: He was pretty sure finding Sam would take more than six steps and collapsing would just lessen his chances of locating his lost brother. Three: He felt a little lightheaded from all the blood loss and not eating anything for two days and that could be problematic in his 'Let's not pass out' campaign. Four: Just thinking of food made his stomach growl and he really wished Nina would have dropped them conveniently next to a McDonald's or Wendy's. Hell, even a Waffle House even if he wasn't a huge fan of the food.

Thinking of his distaste for any Waffle House had Sam's voice filling his head, "You don't like some place's food? You? The man who, when he was fourteen, claimed that when he turned eighteen he would travel the US and eat at every fast food establishment he came across. What did you call it, again...?"

"The Tour de Food," Dean whispered, with a smile, answering his phantom brother's voice. In reality, he knew that was just the wishful thinking of an awkward teenager. Not only would he not be able to afford anything like that, he was pretty sure even his garbage disposal of a stomach couldn't handle that. I'm such a light-weight, he thought with an eye roll.

Realization, that he had been standing in the same spot for longer than necessary, hit when his leg started to tremble violently. He had to start moving, standing still would probably only result in him having to sit against the tree hoping someone would come along.

"Okay, Dean, you can do this," he softly encouraged himself and pushed off the tree. The first few steps were pure hell. White hot pain spread throughout his wounded appendage causing him to hiss in pain. After fifteen steps and collecting Sam's jacket off the ground, the pain had dulled to just an annoying sting-or that's what Dean kept repeating over and over in his head.

He limped away from the sun, hoping he was going in the right direction. That was all he needed, to be going in the opposite direction Sam was in. Worrying about it won't help much either, moron, he chastised himself.

After about ten minutes of walking, Dean had to lean against a tree to rest. His leg was shaking worse than ever and if he didn't know better it was bleeding again. He looked down at the wound-Sam's belt still tightly wrapped above it-and noticed that his jeans were covered in old and new blood. These jeans are totally done for, he thought not really wanting to take the time to clean them. Blood took forever to get out of clothes, most of the time it didn't even come out. Many articles of clothing, from many hunters, had to be burnt to cover up blood trails.

Something cracked around him, causing him to whip around. Someone was watching him, he could tell. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a chill crept up his spine. He closed his eyes, opening his other senses.

There were several birds chirping around him, a slight breeze shifted some leaves across the ground. He heard something chatter from above, an acorn fall from a tree, and then another snap. His eyes flew open. He turned his head both ways, still not seeing anything. Then the snapping became louder, more frequent, and thundering footsteps came rapidly toward him.

Gritting his teeth, knowing he was in no condition to fight, he pushed off the tree and began sprinting away from the assailant. He didn't spare a second glance at the person pursuing him but sped up as the footsteps got closer. His leg was on fire, screaming at him to slow down-or stop. Unable to do neither, he just silently begged his wound to suck it up.

He saw a forked path ahead, giving him an idea. He pushed himself harder, running at speeds he didn't even believe he could hit-even when he wasn't wounded-and reached the turn in record time. He barely made the turn when he slammed into someone else.

It was like being hit, head on, by a car. He began to fall, and before he could stop it his right side slammed into the ground. Pain erupted through his body, white hot pain, and everything went black.

SUPERNATURAL

Earlier…

Sam woke to the sound of chattering. He opened his eyes to see a squirrel standing next to his head. He let out a small cry of surprise, pouncing to his feet. The squirrel's eyes widened and dashed up a tree.

Holding his chest, his heart going fifty miles above its normal amount of beats, Sam let lose a small chuckle. He walked toward the slowly smoking fire, kicking dirt on it to make sure it was definitely out, and turned to wake Dean; except, Dean was gone.

"Dean," Sam called walking toward a close-by tree. Instead of finding his brother taking a leak, telling Sam to, "Go away before I piss on your shoes," Sam found no one. "Dean," he called again, hoping his brother was just waiting to scare him. It was something Dean did when they were kids, hid behind a tree and jumped out when Sam wasn't looking. But that would mean Sam had luck, which he didn't. Dean was just gone.

He fell onto a rock, trying to figure out what happened. He had been watching Dean sleep, occasionally putting wood on the fire, and must have fallen asleep sometime before dawn. Nina must have had her 'friend' move Dean when I was asleep.

Just thinking of Nina had Sam digging in his sweatshirt pockets. His knife was gone. Hoping he had just left it over by the fire, he stood up and walked back to where he had woken up. After a thorough search of the area, he realized Nina hadn't just taken Dean.

"Damn it," he muttered letting his arms slam gently into his sides. The sudden movement had pain shooting through his shoulder. "Ah," he whispered nearly forgetting the hole in his in arm. Sam pulled his sweatshirt off, the shirt pulling on his wound, and looked at the hole.

Sometime in the night it had begun to bleed again. Perfect, Sam thought with a sigh. He had taken stock on the wound, noting that it was slightly puffier than before. Of course, it wasn't like you could see it last night. It was dark, stupid.

"Shut up," he quietly scoffed at his inner voice. Like always, it sounded like his brother. Even away from his brother, he still couldn't escape him. Even at Stanford; especially when a girl of Dean's type-or practically any girl for that matter-walked by. Thoughts Sam never believed he could come up with echoed through his head in Dean's voice. It was an interesting few years at Stanford even without his brother being physically there.

Figuring it was better to start searching for the real Dean instead of arguing with the Dean in his head Sam put his sweatshirt back on and began heading straight ahead. His plan was to walk twenty minutes in several directions, using his makeshift camping area as a reference point.

As he walked he let his mind wander to the countless camping trips him and Dean had been dragged on. There were the survival hikes John took them on. Their father going so far as to leading them, blindfolded, to a certain area of the forest and leaving them there to find their own way home. Sam always got them back in no time, tracking every move they made with his other four senses. Then there were the trips Caleb, Josh and Jeff, and Pastor Jim took them on. Caleb's were always just in his backyard with a small fire and horror stories. Pastor Jim's consisted of fishing and s'mores for the weekend in the Minnesota woods. The most fun, and Sam would never admit it to anyone (Dean either), had to be with the Michaels brothers.

Josh mostly took them camping, Jeff never the outdoorsy type, but occasionally Jefferson did tag along. And when he did it made each trip ten times more enjoyable. Each experience stood out in Sam's mind like a sore thumb; a very hilarious sore thumb. There was the time, when Sam was twelve, Jeff and Josh got into a fight over how to keep the fire going. A year later, Jeff and Josh started fighting over a hunt they both did years before. Josh swore they were hunting a shifter, Jeff was sure it was a werewolf. That one ended with Jefferson landing in the lake. When Sam was sixteen, after a few years ban on camping with Josh and Jeff from John, Jeff and Josh had argued over who was better at tracking. They split up in the woods, each taking a Winchester boy, and started trying to find the exit. Sam and Josh got out in about an hour. Dean and Jeff, the older too prideful to actually take the younger's advice, were lost for nearly three hours. When they both emerged from the brush, Jeff accused Josh of getting them lost. And that was the end of their camping trips with both Michaels' boys. John declared that the only way his boys could go camping with either brother was if they were separated, or another hunter went with. And people wonder why Dean and I are so messed up, he thought with an eye roll.

Something whistled past his ear, knocking Sam out of his thoughts. He glanced over at the sound of a THUNK, spotting a silver arrow embedded into the closest tree. A second arrow flew past him, impaling itself into another tree. "Doesn't she get sick of shooting at us," Sam muttered as he took off running. He ran in a zigzag, John's voice filling his head saying, "Never let yourself be an easy target. Keep the fuckers confused. Run in any direction but straight."

Several more arrows slammed into several more trees, but none, thankfully, hit Sam. He was closing in on a sharp turn, a huge tree awaiting him. Two feet, one foot, six inches, and finally he made it; only to slam into someone else.

Sam had no time to determine who he hit; the only thing he was aware of was that he was falling. As he landed, he slammed his head into a protruding tree root and everything went black.