A/N: It's been a while, but the next chapter is almost done and will be up early, maybe even by the weekend, it's that close. :) Thanks for reading!
Chapter 4
Dean took one last look at the two areas of the highway marked on the map, committing the nearest mile post numbers to memory. He started through the door when he noticed Sam wasn't following, the latter engrossed with his phone. "Hey! Am I keeping you from something?"
"Sorry," Sam immediately put his phone in a pocket and without another word brushed past Dean and out the open door. He was in the car before Dean finished closing up the room.
Awesome. Dean sensed this had something to do with Ruby and he knew that confronting Sam about it now would dictate how the night would go. Sam would be tight lipped and bitch faced for hours. And given that they'd never see anything they were hunting and the whole night would be a waste of time, Dean would rather not spend the time cooped up angry and fighting with Sam. He threw his duffel in the back seat and settled behind the wheel. It wasn't long before they'd reached the highway and Dean pointed Baby southeast and opened her up.
Their first stop was disappointing. The file included only two photos of the scene, and they hoped to search for the paw prints around the site. But the whole area was a jumble of tire tracks and bootprints, scuff marks and trampled long grass and sage. They expanded their search, moving deeper into the desert hoping to find tracks coming or going from the site near the highway. But not far behind the chaotic area at the highway's edge the sandy earth became hard and mixed with abundant scree. It was possible that further searching would yield some tracks when the scree petered out into soil again. But the sun was getting low in the sky and Dean wanted to check where he'd encountered the dogs the night before.
By the time they reached the second site, where they had met Rainbow, the sun was nearly kissing the horizon. Dean immediately headed out to where he remembered standing. Then he stopped short. There was a muddle of tracks and scratched earth and just beyond it were two clear sets of tracks and his eyes followed them off into the distance.
Sam came up beside him, "damn."
Dean didn't reply. A part of him had been hoping he was wrong, and it was only his imagination. A shiver ran up his spine, like someone walking over his grave. He suppressed it, not wanting Sam to notice.
"You were right, Dean."
Dean shook his head, mostly to himself. Of all the times to be right... He began to follow one set of tracks and walked out a few dozen yards. Looking ahead he could see the two trails merge and the doubled tracks wove between sage and clumps of long grass toward some stunted pine trees a couple of hundred yards ahead. Again, the shiver ran up his spine, and a cold feeling stole over him. He looked back over his shoulder, Sam was standing where he'd left him, and that didn't make Dean feel any better either. He knew Sam was waiting for him to make some kind of decision. Come up with some sort of plan, but he had none. The cold dread had frozen his mind; he had no ideas, no answers.
After a moment or two, Sam came up beside him, speaking quietly, calmly, "It's getting dark. I don't think we should try to follow these now."
Dean swallowed hard, and tried to find some bravado to channel into his voice, but it came out weak, an anemic version of his usual bluster, "No shit, Sherlock."
Without another word Sam turned and headed back to the car.
They marked time through the night, driving and stopping, watching and waiting. Hoping against hope to see something, encounter anything that was supposed to be on this highway. Instead it was just a cold night with not enough coffee, very little conversation and clouds scudding across the moon as another storm front moved in. This caused Dean to worry that it would rain and wash away the trail before they could follow it and learn something – anything – about what he'd seen two nights ago. As soon as the stars began to fade in the pre-dawn he headed back to the spot on the road where their encounter had taken place and parked.
They sat in silence, windows down, listening to the world waking along with the ticking of the Impala's cooling engine. Off in the distance a coyote howled, and another answered from west of the highway. After a bit, Sam leaned his head back against the seat, eyes still open, apparently lost in thought. Dean still watched the desert like a sentry, scanning as far around them as he could get. He could feel it, deep in his bones, they were going to find something when they followed the tracks this morning.
"D'ya see that?"
"What?" Sam tried to follow where Dean was pointing, but it was still dark enough out he couldn't see much among the long shadows and slanted light.
Dean hopped from the car, flashlight in one hand, shotgun in the other and started out into the early dawn glow. Sam stood, half in, half out of the passenger's door. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going after them."
Sam grabbed his own shotgun and followed, Dean's light growing steadily smaller ahead of him. He fumbled for his own flashlight, trying to keep up. He stumbled on the uneven ground, feet catching on stones and low brush. He kept going, never quite catching up. Throwing an occasional glace over his shoulder back at the Impala as it grew steadily smaller and when Sam half stumbled, half slid down a depression he lost sight of the car. He realized they were getting pretty far from the highway, but he doubted Dean even noticed. His brother was pretty focussed when he was hunting.
"Dean?" Sam called ahead softly, quickening his pace as much as he dared on the treacherous ground. "Hey, Dean. Hold up."
Ahead of him Dean's light never wavered and kept moving inexorably away, no matter how hard Sam tried to keep it in sight. He lost sight of Dean when he moved behind a hedge sized pinyon pine trees next to a rocky outcropping. Sam kept going, lengthening his stride a little more, figuring he'd catch sight of Dean's light ahead at any moment.
Sam skirted the outcropping and found himself in a small canyon surrounded by a half moon shaped wall of cliffs. Wan moonlight painted the rocks with an anemic silvery light, dappling as the clouds still traveled over head and he noticed that the sky was lightening in the east. But he still couldn't see Dean's light even in this opened up space and stopped for a moment, disoriented. Then he swept his flashlight at the ground ahead of him and caught sight of bootprints. And more fresh, very large, dog like prints. He followed the bootprints for a short way, then noticed that the dog tracks circled the bootprints and covered them in some places. And there were a lot of dog prints. Sam felt a pit begin to form in his stomach.
"Dean?" he called out, sweeping his flashlight beam around the immediate area. "Hey!"
Sam continued to follow the tracks, trying to make sense of the story they were telling. He followed the seemingly meandering trail, further and further east into the mesas and pocket canyons. The sun was starting to rise and it was finally light enough for him to stow his flashlight. But while it was easier for him to see the prints, he still hadn't found his brother, nor had there been any answer to his infrequent calls.
He reached a stand of almost miniature pinyon pines on the edge of an embankment. The trees were illuminated oddly, from within their drooping branches. It took Sam a moment of searching before he saw the source of the odd light. He reached down through the branches and withdrew Dean's still lit flashlight. Well, shit. He clicked the light off and stowed it in a pocket. Then searched around finding the prints between the trees and the lip of the embankment become scuffed and confusing. There was a broken spot on the edge of the embankment leading down to a dry wash. The sloping side of the wash was broken and disturbed. It was evident that Dean had slid down into the wash. Either closely followed by, or entangled with the hounds.
Picking his way carefully along the high bank of the wash, Sam found an spot where he thought he could descend somewhat safely and with long strides, partially slid to the bottom. The floor of the wash was sandy with large patches of scree so it took Sam a few minutes to backtrack and find the spot where the struggle had taken place. He observed it carefully. There were many more dog prints now, and only a few partial boot prints. Amid the mounds and furrows of the torn up earth he found Dean's shotgun. The disturbed earth was testament to an extensive struggle and the abandoned shotgun proclaimed that Dean had ultimately lost. Sam swallowed hard and kept looking. Finally, after a few yards, the dog prints and scuff marks thinned out. Now he could see two distinct sets of dog prints, and drag marks instead of bootprints and the pit in his stomach grew larger. He followed the dog prints up the sloping bed of the wash and now there were dark smears alongside them. Sam squatted by one of the larger smears and touched it with his fingertips. When he pulled them back they were wet with blood. Sam hurried up the wash, following the tracks, then the wash rose and dipped into the floor of the scrub desert again and into a large area of scree. He lost the prints there.
He circled the patch of scree, trying to pick up the trail again. The sun was a quarter of the way up the sky before he realized there were no more tracks. He ran a hand up his face and into his hair grasping the long strands. Not good. And just like Dean to charge in and get himself into trouble. "Dammit Dean!" and his voice broke speaking his brother's name and Sam sank to one knee. All their lives, Dean had looked out for him, watched over him. Protected him from nightmares, real and imagined. Taught him much of what he knew. Stood in for their oft absent father from the time they were both very young. The weight that Dean had shouldered had escaped Sam until recently. Dean had gone to Hell to save him, and Sam never felt so unworthy, so soiled, as when he'd realized what had been traded for his life. Now he felt the same sense of worthlessness that had been his constant companion once all hope was gone and he and Bobby had gently laid Dean's body in a pine box and buried him in a sun dappled grove. Until that long desperate summer trying to find a way to bring him back from Hell was nothing but failure. Until Ruby found him, broken hearted and defeated, and the barest drop of sympathy was all it took for him to trust her again. She never offered him hope to rescue Dean. In fact she confirmed that it was impossible, but she did give him a way to channel his hurt and guilt and he grasped eagerly at the chance to payback that demonic bitch Lilith any way he could.
And now, inconceivably, Dean was back. Was here watching Sam's back and protecting him as if he'd never been gone. Though Sam had a new guilt now, the secret he kept with Ruby, and the old guilt wasn't much assuaged - he felt it acutely every time he caught those glimpses of the pain the memories caused Dean though he tried to hide it. Sam was supposed to have Dean's back in return, and he'd failed. God only knew what had happened to Dean, and the drag marks and bloody smears meant it wasn't anything good.
He threw his head back staring up at the morning sky. It was calm and blue and he heard nothing but the breeze. It wasn't right. His brother was taken again, hurt, maybe dead and it looked like Hellhounds. It made sense that Hell wouldn't want to give him up, but where was the angel? Where was god? After rescuing Dean from Hell were they really going to let him be taken again?
Sam didn't know where to look next and he was ill prepared for an extended search in unknown terrain. In fact, he realized, looking around, he was only going to find his way back to the highway by following his own tracks back the way he came. And from there, he had to get back to town and find someone who might be able to help him search. He was never going to find Dean out here on his own. If he was even still out here. And Sam had serious doubts.
When Sam made it back to the Impala he realized that the keys were in Dean's pocket. While the doors were unlocked, he couldn't start the engine unless he hot-wired it which was sure to piss Dean off. He broke open the panel under the steering column as gently as he could and grabbed the wires. Stripping the ends with his jackknife first, he twisted them together and was rewarded with Baby's throaty growl as she started up. Leaving the car running Sam got out and looked back down the way he came, hoping against hope to see Dean on his way back. Nothing. The desert was empty, the highway was empty and except for the idling engine the world seemed to be holding its breath. Or maybe that was just Sam. Dammit Dean. Sam climbed back in behind the wheel and flipped a bitch getting back on the highway heading northwest.
He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding his cellphone high, eyes flicking between road and screen constantly. The second he saw NO SIGNAL leave the screen he started dialing Bobby's number. Jamming the phone to his ear he listened to several rings, becoming more and more agitated. Finally a click and the line opened.
"Yeah?"
"Bobby!"
"Yeah."
"Bobby I need help, we were tracking down some hellhounds and they got Dean. I can't find him, it's too far out in the desert and there's no more tra-"
"Sam, dammit son, slow down!" Bobby counted to three before he continued, "Now take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."
Sam took a couple of breaths while gathering his thoughts, "We came out to Hillside, those disappearances you told us about. We ended up tracking a couple of hellhounds and this morning they grabbed Dean. I followed them out into the desert but the tracks disappeared. I need help Bobby."
"I hate to say it, but if it's hellhounds are you sure he's still alive?"
"I-I don't know." Sam's heart sank, he'd thought about it, then decided he wasn't going to allow the thought any credence. But he knew Bobby was right, it wasn't a possibility he could just wish away.
"Well," Bobby backpedaled, "that angel isn't going to let Dean end up in Hell again. He said they needed him."
"I hope so." Sam's voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm on my way. Text me your location, and try to stay calm and think this through, ya idjit. You ain't helping yer brother if ya run off half cocked. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Yeah, Bobby, thanks." Sam snapped the phone closed and dropped it to the seat beside him. He pushed Baby a little harder and she surged ahead as if she was just as eager to get back to town and formulate a plan to find her owner.