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The woods were dark and deep. A faint orange glow pierced through gaps in the trees and shadowed Sam with just enough light that he didn't feel blind as he climbed up a slight embankment, grabbing roots and trunks in an effort to stay upright on the muddy soil.

He needed to find a place.

Not a hiding place. He was in no shape to kneel for hours and wait for Nick to happen upon him. No, this game needed to end quickly and efficiently. Dean and Brandon both needed a hospital, and that meant driving a good many miles to a distant town with clueless citizens and good medical care. Chris could handle them while they were at the cabin, but Sam would breathe easier when Dean was in a clean hospital bed.

He checked his watch. It had been three minutes. Scanning the area, he noticed an ancient Oak surrounded by ferns and other foliage. He carefully stooped beside the tree, eying the width of the trunk. It could easily hide him from view, and the ferns would further camouflage his position, but it was close enough to the cabin that it wouldn't take long for Nick to find him.

Sam leaned against the bark and closed his eyes tight. He needed to clear his head. A bird twittered away in the branches, announcing the approaching dawn. Eyes set, he pulled his rifle out, checked the shells. Four shots.

SNSNSN

Dean's skin was going numb. It had to be the medicine, he figured, since he had been able to feel his wound panging angrily just a few minutes ago. It wasn't a bad change, actually.

Hopefully it wasn't bad. He really needed his guardian angel or (hell, why not) fairy godmother to just fly over and cut him a damned break already. It wasn't like he didn't have enough to worry about, what with his little brother (riddled with bullet wounds, mind you) waltzing around in the woods (alone) waiting for a crazed psychopath to hunt him down.

It was maddening, really. You'd think he'd be used to it, since this happened every time. Every. Time. Why oh why did everything that drew breath desire to hunt Sam? Was there a 'Sam Winchester Must Die' Facebook group that he just didn't know about? Did a bunch of conniving assholes get together on weekends for tea and plot ways to kill his brother whilst exchanging recipes for veggie trays and fruit salads?

A bead of sweat dribbled from his hairline down to his neck. He felt awful, like he had been lounging around in the sewers for a week, and…something else. Something else was different.

He concentrated for a moment until it came to him in a rush of clarity. He couldn't hear anything anymore. Okay. That was okay. No reason for alarm. Maybe everyone had decided to play the quiet game…or they had all left him alone for a moment…

Or something was wrong. Or right? It was an experimental drug, so no open disclaimers, no warnings or guarantees…

Sam needed to hurry up.

SNSNSN

"Four minutes and fifty-six, four minutes and fifty-seven, four minutes and fifty-eight, four minutes and fifty-nine…FIVE MINUTES!" Nick boomed, jerking up from his position at the wall, "Ready or not, here I come!" He whirled and extended his good arm to where Chris stood, gun pressed to his skull. "Shotgun."

Scowling, Chris tossed him the gun. "Get out."

Nick shrieked with laughter and stumbled up the stairs and out of sight.

Chris stood at the base, hands clenched. "We can't do this," he said finally, staring up, "I can't just wait here."

Silence.

"Brandon?" Chris said, turning. He froze; his brother was leaning heavily against one of the shelves, gripping the wood so hard his hands were whitening under the strain. He was shaking.

Brandon gave him a lopsided smile. "Sam's gonna…he's gonna slice him up," he said, "No…problem."

"What's wrong?" Chris said, ignoring him as he focused on his changed appearance. He strode across the room, "What's wrong with you?"

Brandon drew in a labored breath. "I'm good," he said, and coughed.

"No. You're not, you're…you're worse. Come here. "

Brandon allowed his brother to lead him to the only chair in the basement. He would have fallen onto it, if not for Chris's assistance. "Maybe…this is supposed to happen?" Brandon said, leaning forward in the chair and cupping his face in his palms. "Like it's purging the infection or something?"

Chris kept a hand on his brother's shoulder. He could feel the fever, could feel the tremors raking through his body. "I just gave you some random drug," he said, hysteria threatening to bubble up at the realization, "Shit. I mean…oh god. Oh god, what the hell did I do?"

"Chris, no, it's fine—"

"I just injected you with something a murderer gave us. That's not fine, that's insane!" Chris said, flipping his brother's wrist over and checking his pulse. "It's too fast," he said finally. "Why is that happening?"

"No, 's okay. Really. Prob'ly just tired. I mean, I did lose a lot'a blood and…" he paused.

"And?" Chris prodded, too focused on his pulse to see his brother's change in expression, "And what?"

"Ohhhh…" Brandon said, fear streaked through his voice as a new set of tremors raked through his mind. He clutched his head tighter, "I know what's wrong," he whimpered, "Not now, not now."

Chris stared as his brother began shaking harder. "What—"

Brandon grabbed a fist full of Chris's shirt in a futile effort to protect himself from what he knew was coming. "Help," he gasped, distantly feeling Chris grab onto his shoulders, "Vision…"

The pounding in his head reached a crescendo. He slipped away from consciousness, falling lifelessly against his brother, who cried out—

…

A bloody knife plunged down right at his face.

Still disoriented, Brandon brought his arms up as a shield. Even as he heard the sickening squelch he was kicking out, catching his attacker off-guard and tossing him back a few feet. A rifle lay strewn across the moss a few feet from him, and he crawled, a knife still embedded in his palm—

"Kill him! Killhimkillhimkillhim!"

Fingers twisted into the back of his shirt and dug into his skin, trying to push him down into the dirt. Frantic, he coughed and kicked out at the things holding him back. Something took a bite out of his shoulder like it was an apple.

Agony surged through his body. The first bite was followed by a second, a third. "No!" he stretched his arm as far as it could reach, bloody fingers scrabbling in the dirt for the weapon. Someone was laughing in wild screeches, leaping around him with glee. His head was brutally twisted to the side as something ripped a chunk of flesh from his neck. As his vision dimmed, the angle of his body allowed him a glimpse of what he was dealing with, who was doing the killing—

His breath caught as he recognized the man and, in turn, realized who the victim must be. A dead woman leapt down beside his face, snarling through broken teeth, and Brandon wished for perhaps the billionth time that he could see these visions from some other perspective than the victim. It was bad enough that he had to see people die; did he really have to feel it too? He feebly struggled with her, and her hair, wild and unkempt, dragged upon the ground as she lunged toward his face, blood dripping from her mouth—

…

"Brandon!"

Brandon arched his back as he drew a wild breath. He woke abruptly, gasping like a fish, feeling drained and unsettled and in pain. His face was buried deep against something, something soft, and as he continued trying to get air a pair of hands unwrapped themselves from around his back and tugged gently at his shoulders, pulling his face away and into the decrepit light of the basement. His head still reeled, and the light seared his retinas and intensified the pounding drum inside his skull. He squeezed his lids shut again, aware that tears were tracking down his cheeks. Damn it hurt.

"Brandon?" Chris whispered again. His hands were shaking. "What…what just happened?"

"We…gotta go," Brandon forced out, "He's…cheater…"

"Cheater? What do you—whoa," he said, catching Brandon as he nearly slid onto the floor, "Okay. Okay, I've got you, just sit still. Breathe. What happened?"

"Vision," Brandon said, trying to stand despite Chris's attempts to keep him down. He fell back into the chair. "Nick was…" his voice gave out and he coughed violently.

"Nick?" Chris said, keeping a firm grip on his brother, "You saw Nick?"

"That's how it works," he floundered, trying to clear his head enough to make sense. "Sam's going to die. We have to do something."

SNSNSN

Sam was sick to his stomach. It had been over twenty minutes now. Twenty minutes of waiting, twenty minutes of wasted time that they didn't have. He knew what Nick was doing, and it pissed him off. The freak was trying to lure him out into the open. Nick wasn't on a schedule; he didn't have anyone to worry about apart from himself, and he knew Sam's weakness.

Sam needed to end it and get back to Dean; he needed to take his brother to a hospital. He couldn't waste more time.

Finally, conflicted and angry, Sam stood and stepped from his shelter. The sky was brighter; he wished he knew whether that would play to his advantage.

He stalked forward, careful to stay low and quiet. Around him, the forest was waking. A squirrel flitted from branch to branch overhead as birds began their morning chorus of chirps. The noise was welcome; it would serve to camouflage his footsteps.

There.

He had heard something. Snaking behind a gnarled tree, he kept down and held his breath. Nothing happened. His eyes darted from place to place, searching for a metallic glint, a spot of skin.

Snap

Sam threw himself to the ground just as a gun went off. The shot hit the tree, scattering bits of bark all over him. One shot down…

Sam launched to his feet, satisfied when the second shot pounded into the dirt where he had been a moment ago. Nick's aim was off. Good. He took off running sideways, keeping himself a moving target while he searched for the man. He spotted him crouched in weeds in the shadow of another tree. Sam gritted his teeth and forced his battered body to run toward his adversary, zigzagging as he went.

Nick brought the gun up again, but he couldn't hold the rifle steady with his mutilated hand. Right before Sam reached him, he tossed the gun to the side and pulled out a knife.

Sam ignored the weapon and ploughed into him. The two toppled, a mess of flailing limbs. Before Nick could gather his bearings, Sam pulled his fist back and slammed it into his jaw.

Nick's head flew back with a gasp, and he sliced at Sam with the knife.

Sam pulled back, and the blade barely nipped his wrist. Adrenaline surged, and he couldn't feel anything; not the old bullet wounds, and certainly not that little scratch. Scowling deeply, he plunged his elbow down against Nick's stomach.

Nick yelped as the air was pushed from his lungs; his fingerless hand smacked worthlessly against Sam's face and neck, and he brought the knife back up and plunged it toward Sam's chest.

Sam twisted out of the way. He grabbed Nick's wrist and squeezed until his skin whitened and shook under the strain, squeezed until his fingernails broke through skin and Nick's blood trailed down his arm. "Let. Go," he growled.

Nick screamed until his voice contorted but did not drop the knife. A couple birds that had been nesting in the tree above them flew off in a rustle of feathers.

Sam kept his grip on Nick and pushed him back into the dirt, keeping his other hand pressed against his throat. "Drop it!" he demanded, cutting off his airflow as he kept the rest of Nick's body pinned with his legs, "Drop it now!"

Nick flailed, still trying to stab Sam and throw him loose.

Sam released his throat and punched him in the face. Again. And again. And again. Blood leaked from Nick's nose and splattered on Sam's knuckles. Sam pulled his fist back again, eyes glinting murderously, and—stopped.

Nick was laughing. Mouth open, eyes twinkling, laughing. He had stopped struggling, and his hand dangled limply in Sam's grip.

Sam stalled, taken aback. "What are you doing?"

Nick cackled harder until tears ran down his cheeks through the blood.

Sam shook him, furious. "What?" he shouted, inches from his face. "What the hell's so funny?"

Nick winked at him and looked pointedly over Sam's shoulder.

Sam faltered, suddenly anxious. Now that Nick's laughter was subsiding, he could hear something.

Someone was running toward them.

"Goodbye," Nick said.

Sam swore. He dropped his hold on Nick and spun around, just in time for the first zombie to slam into him.

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