Crossing Paths (Authors Cut)

by Silvertayl 57

Dean and Sam take on what should be a simple hunt or maybe it's a hoax for a lizard-like creature said to be living under Seattle. Once in Seattle a strange turn of events finds the brothers shot forward in time to Seattle 2021. Will Dean's uncanny likeness to X5-494 now known as Alec lead them into a deadly situation from which there is no return? Full summary in chapter 1.

1. Veiled Memories

Title: Crossing Paths (Authors Cut)

A Supernatural/Dark Angel Crossover story

Author: Silvertayl 57

Timeline: Following immediately after Season 2, Episode14 - Born Under a Bad Sign

Synopsis: Still reeling both physically and mentally from Sam's possession by the demon Meg. Dean and Sam take on what should be a simple hunt or maybe it's a hoax for a lizard-like creature said to be living under Seattle. Once in Seattle a strange turn of events finds the brothers shot forward in time to Seattle 2021. Seattle is now a city in ruins due to the pulse of 2009. Will Dean's uncanny likeness to Manticore ex-soldier X5-494 now known as Alec lead them into a deadly situation from which there is no return before they can find the only person who can return them to 2007?

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters remain the property of their respective owners and/or creators, and no infringement of copyright is intended.

Authors Note: Hello to anyone who is still (fingers crossed) following Crossing Paths, I know I haven't posted a new chapter since Chapter 11: The Sound of Music in December 2017, 5.5 years (yikes), I do however have valid reasons why.

Reason No. 1 – In that 5.5 year period I have been in and out of hospital for around 4.5 years, due to an ongoing health condition, which I prefer not to go into.

Reason No. 2 – My muse deserted me, that witch (just swap out the w for a b).

Reason No. 3 – When she decided to return with her tail between her legs, my computer had died, so I found myself scribbling notes and story ideas on note pads and pieces of paper until I was able to afford a new computer.

I now have my new lovely little laptop and have been furiously writing for the last couple of months.

Authors Note 2: When I first started writing Supernatural Fan Fiction, I made myself a solemn vow that I would never not complete a story, so Crossing Paths will be completed, however I decided to not so much as re-write it, more like edit, expand, tweak and bolster the whole story. I call it the Authors Cut.

Chapter 12: Finding Ways is written… finally, after about a dozen re-writes and Chapter 13: It's All Coming Together is well under way. When Crossing Paths (Authors Cut) is complete, I will be deleting the original story.

If there is anyone out there still reading, I hope you enjoy this repost of Crossing Paths, I would love to know what your thoughts on this version, you can PM me or please leave a review.

Authors Note 3: After 15 amazing seasons SUPERNATURAL is supposably done and dusted, or is it? It is my favourite show ever and I for one miss it so much and although I can watch every episode whenever I want, I crave more, and I believe there are many more stories to be told. There has been a lot of chatter about a reboot, I know Jensen and Jared are keen, both have said at conventions that they have ideas on how their characters can be returned and after Jensen and Danneel produced The Winchesters with Jensen narrating and reprising his role as Dean in the first episode and series finale, I have renewed hope that a reboot will happen at some time in the not too distant future.

Enjoy Chapter 1: Veiled Memories of Crossing Paths (Authors Cut)

Cheers for now, Silvertayl 57

(CP)

Chapter 1: Veiled Memories.

Gillette, Wyoming January 19, 1998

The old bone yard was right in the center of Gillette. It had suffered badly from neglect and the passing of time. No graves had been dug here for over 50 years. The current citizens of Gillette preferred to bury their loved ones in the newer graveyard on the outskirts of town.

It was here in the old cemetery that the strange, dog-like beast had been seen. A short time after the New Year half a dozen brave locals out for a winter evening stroll or walking their K9 companions had reported seeing the phantom beast on the street near or inside the gates to the old graveyard. The sightings of the creature had all been described in the same way.

A dog as large as an adult bear with shaggy, matted black hair, red glowing eyes, long claws, long pointy teeth and fangs. The dog emitted a bone-chilling howl and the unfortunate one that had gotten close enough said its breath was foul; permeated with the smell of death and decay.

So far, the supernatural black dog had only terrified the handful of locals who had seen it.

And that's why the Winchesters were here on this bone-chillingly cold, sleet driven mid-winter night to make sure that situation didn't get any worse. Before the phantom dog attacked, injured or even killed someone.

Crouched slightly, eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched against the driving sleet that had turned from rain this morning, and was now turning again, heading towards snow that swept across the graveyard 18-year-old Dean Winchester moved stealthily through the dark, dilapidated soggy, freezing cold graveyard, his denim jacket soaked through was doing little, no, strike that absolutely nothing to keep out the cold. A small circle of light from his flashlight braced against his gun hand showed him the wet, soaked grim looking vista of the boneyard the sodden patches of grass that hadn't seen the blades of a mower in years hiding the treacherous mud and rainwater filled potholed ground ahead. The leafless branches of the huge, old trees whose roots crowded and invaded what at one time had been a pathway through the cemetery looked like the skeletal arms of a giant ancient wizard with withered, bony fingers that seemed to flex and reach out for him as he passed close by. His gun was loaded with silver bullets ready to fire at the first sign of the black dog he Sam and their dad were hunting.

Dean skirted around and in between the reaching trees, graves, grave markers, statues and headstones some of them listing at an angle some broken into pieces scattered about, that loomed up in the darkness. His feet sank into the now crunchy rain sodden grass every step made a squelching sound muffled by the wind and sleet that howled and beat down relentlessly. The cold rainwater that had insinuated its way through the worn leather of his boots soaking into the hem of his jeans was turning stiff as it froze. His hair was plastered to his head by the persistent sleeting rain that had been falling all day without letup. His jacket growing heavier and heavier with water, and now rainwater dripping off the tips of his hair was hardening against his numb forehead the occasional freezing cold drops dripping into his eyes. He blinked the water away and stole a quick glance to his left.

Although he couldn't see Sam, he could see the light from his kid brother's flashlight bobbing and cutting a path through the trees, sleet and darkness.

Dean turned his attention back to the ground in front of him just in time to avoid tripping over the small, cracked headstone in his path.

Their dad he knew was somewhere off to Sam's left. The graveyard was long but not wide so the three of them could cover the width with minimal distance between them.

Dad and especially Dean always made sure 15-year-old Sam was in the middle, it was safer that way.

"You're 4 years older Dean you have to look out for Sammy!" The words their ex-marine dad had drilled into Dean since… well… for as long as he could remember perhaps since he was 4, when he had carried his baby brother away from their burning home? Watch out for Sam, echoed inside his head.

Dean had almost reached the crypts that lined the rear of the cemetery. He was running out of the cemetery and there was still no sign of the phantom dog. Had the creature given them the slip?

Looking again to his left he stopped dead in his tracks. He could no longer see the light from Sam's flashlight. Panning his own flashlight in the general direction he'd last seen Sam's light Dean called out tentatively, "Sam… Sammy?"

When no reply came immediately and sparing no thought for the treacherous conditions underfoot, he hurried in that direction. The ground crackled under foot spurts of water shot up from under his boots as he ran forward.

He skirted around a large tree ducking beneath the low hanging branches heavy with freezing rain, a large drop of the icy rainwater dripped straight down past the collar of his shirt and tee shirt sending a shiver of cold and apprehension coursing down his spine.

Moments later his flashlight picked out Sam laying prone on his stomach hands pressed to the soggy ground on either side of his shoulders lifting his face out of the 4 inches of icy rainwater that now covered the ground his mouth was open wide, and he was gasping for air.

Fearing the worst that Sam had been the one to encounter the black dog before him or dad Dean skidded to a stop on his knees beside his brother sending up more spurts of water, green eyes skimming his brothers form looking but thankfully not finding any signs of injury or God forbid blood, "Sammy, what happened? You alright? Why didn't you answer me when I called? he asked loudly in his agitation pressing a hand against Sam's shoulder giving him a gentle shake.

"I…" Sam gasped out.

"What the hell Sam what's wrong with you?" Dean asked worriedly.

Sam looked sideways at his brother leaning over him; Sam's too long bangs were hanging into his eyes in inverted teepees, "Winded," Sam finally got out, "tripped… landed hard… on stomach… can't breathe." he finished.

Dean puffed out a sigh of relief. "That's all? Apart from being winded are you hurt anywhere else?" Dean said a hint of humor coloring his voice.

"Think I wrenched my ankle," Sam returned as he rolled onto his back. His lungs had opened a little more and he could at least draw in a shallow breath.

Dean chuckled, "You're such a girl. Would milady like to be carried back to 'er carriage?" Dean added in a voice that sounded somewhere between Parker from the thunderbirds and Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins.

Sam sat up, bent his left leg up towards him and began rubbing at the ankle of the offending appendage then aimed a good-natured punch at Dean's shoulder, "Jerk, just help me up will ya?" Sam answered.

With another chuckle Dean stood pulling Sam up with him. "Where are my gun and my flashlight?" Sam asked glancing at the ground around where he fell.

Sam's flashlight lay a few feet away, the light from Dean's own picked it out of the darkness, "Flashlight is busted," he said as he picked it up juggling the two flashlights and his own weapon before he straightened.

In his periphery he caught a flash of movement.

He whipped his head to the side just as the black dog launched itself at Sam from out of the darkness. Dropping the gun and the flashlights he instinctively slammed his shoulder into Sam, pushing him out of it's path and himself into the path of the dog. He had a split second to instinctively throw up his right arm in protection of his face before the dog hit him hard in the chest, its teeth latched onto his forearm the impact of the dog's body knocking him down with a force of what felt like a Mack truck doing 65. Long claws raked down his chest tearing through clothing and piercing deep into his flesh. He skidded on his back along the soaking, crunchy ground the weight of the animal attached by teeth and claws coming along for the ride.

Vaguely Dean heard Sam's horrified angst filled cry, "DEAN!"

Dean blinked up into the icicles of rain spearing his eyeballs catching the two glowing red eyes of the black dog for a fleeting moment before it began shaking its head from side to side the long canine teeth ripping and tearing through the flesh and muscle of his right forearm.

He let out an agonized cry as pain shot up his arm feeling the dog's teeth scrape against bone.

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion and yet at the same time fast forward. When it suddenly let go of his forearm Dean knew he was in real trouble. It had let go so it could attack his jugular vein, going in for the kill, the coup de grâce. He would bleed out in moments if the pressure didn't crush his windpipe first, ending his life and there was not a thing he could do to stop it. The blood loss pain and trauma of the attack had already sapped his strength and his vision was wavering. He had not a lot left to fight off the powerful animal, nevertheless he tried. At least it didn't get Sam, he thought.

The dog lifted its head and gave a blood-curdling howl, vapors puffing from its wide-open jaws into the night air before lowering its head again it growled down at its prize, green eyes met shining ethereal red. Dean almost gagged at the odor of death that clung to its fetid breath.

Dean saw a flash of its long, pointed teeth before the dog latched onto his throat, the teeth tearing at his flesh. A second cry, more desperate than the first, erupted from his throat. As it died away in the water sodden air; a few moments of unnatural weird silence seemed to surround him before it was shattered by three gunshots in rapid succession. The dog went limp, its suddenly lifeless weight pressing him down into the mud, the dog's teeth still embedded in his throat.

How could this hunt have gone so wrong?

(CP)

Sam's emotions were in turmoil, a mixture of fear and furious rage, the rage aimed as it always was at his father clawed at his stomach. A simple hunt he said. How could a simple hunt have gone so wrong? The fear clambered higher overcoming the anger; fear not for himself but for his brother.

In a split second it had turned from a simple hunt to a ginormous disaster. One moment Dean had been joking about him being girl and the next he was sprawled on the soggy, freezing, ice encrusted ground, the enormous dog on top. The Black dog had launched itself at the spot where Sam had been standing a moment before… only Sam hadn't been standing there anymore because Dean had shouldered him out of the way and himself into the beast's path a moment before it caught Dean in the chest long claws extended at the same time its jaws grabbed onto his arm. Dean fell back the dog on top of him sliding meters along the wet ground.

"DEAN!" he shouted.

Dean was trying desperately to fight off the dog, but the beast was enormous and strong and had his brother in a position where he had little chance of defending himself.

Dean let out an agony filled cry as the dog shook its head the beast's teeth still embedded in his arm. Tearing the flesh and sending blood drops into the heavy wet, cold air.

His throbbing ankle forgotten Sam turned away pulling his eyes from the gut-wrenching sight of the large hairy beast mauling his brother and searched around in the darkness for his gun, Dean's gun, something. How freakin' far away could the things have gone?

Sam's eyes skimmed frantically across the quickly freezing ground cringing when from behind him the dog let out an ear-splitting howl, knowing that the dog had let Dean go for now but that also meant the animal was going in for the kill.

Then he saw Dad running in from his right, gun raised towards the life and death struggle behind him, "Stay down." He shouted his deep voice low and rough.

Sam did as he was told and three shots rang out as Dad, firing on the run practically hurdled over him in his haste to get to his eldest. Sam scrambled to his feet and hurried after his father.

Dad was already kneeling at Dean's side, the carcass of the dead animal sprawled atop him. "Dean, Dean… son?" Their father said in a voice Sam had never heard before. Dad's hand skimming over Dean's wet hair.

Dean's face was splattered with his own blood already mingling with the sleet and running away down the sides of his face; his glazed green eyes slid to his father, "Dad?" Dean's voice sounded strangled the vocal cords constricted by the pressure of the dog's jaws.

"Yeah, Dean I'm here."

"Dad… get it off… me," a note of panic now filling his strained voice, he started to push weakly with his left hand at the dog's body lying across him.

"Hang on son its teeth are still in you."

"Please… Dad… get it off!" Dean's breathing rate was increasing, his agitation growing.

"Okay okay, just stay still," John said trying to calm his son.

John's own heart was thumping in his throat as he assessed the best course of action to free Dean from the grip of the dead animal.

The puncture wounds on Dean's mauled arm visible through Dean's torn sleeve were oozing a steady flow of blood.

There didn't seem to be a lot of blood from where the dog's teeth were still clamped down around his throat, but John knew once the animal's jaws were loosened that would be the worst of Dean's problems as the teeth were embedded in a very vascular area.

John quickly stripped off his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his navy-blue colored t-shirt. Gently he lifted Dean's bleeding forearm. Dean cried out in pain as he began to wrap the ravaged limb with the shirt, "Sorry, sorry," the pale color of the shirt's material turned instantly dark as blood soaked the fabric.

"Dad?" Dean said softly, his voice was growing weaker.

John glanced at Dean's face; his eyes were closed the little color he'd had a minute ago was now gone, the freckles across his cheeks and nose standing out in stark relief.

"Yeah Dean."

"Is Sam… okay? It… it was going for… him. I… I pushed...him... is he… okay?"

"Yeah, kiddo he's fine he's right here." John answered shooting a glance at Sam standing in silence a few feet away.

John beckoned him over with his head, "Sam, keep pressure on this arm we've got to slow the bleeding."

Sam stepped forward and fell to his knees next to his father. He was crying; tears mixing with the icy rain running down his face. Following his father's direction, he grasped Dean's arm over the shirt already wet and slick with blood.

"Dean hey bro I'm right here. I'm okay… you saved me." Sam said, more hot tears welling up in his hazel eyes.

Still on his knees John moved around so he was above Dean's head, the waded jacket beside him, "Dean I'm going to pull the jaws apart… you ready?"

Dean gave a small nod but didn't open his eyes.

Sam dragged in a stuttering breath. Dean's head rolled towards the sound his eyes fluttered open, "Sammy… are you… cryin'?"

"My fault I tripped and you… you pushed me out of the way, why Dean?" Sam said through his tears.

"It's my job... to look after my... pain in the ass... little brother." Dean answered, haltingly. Then his father began to pull the dog's jaws apart. White hot agony fanned out from the dog's teeth; it radiated up his spine into his head and down his arm into his fingers.

Dean gasped and his body stiffened, his face screwed up in pain, teeth gritted hard against a cry of agony.

Even in death the black dog gave up it prize reluctantly. John was breathing hard as finally after what seemed like the longest time the jaws parted pulling out of Dean's throat with an obscene slurping noise. Blood spurted out from the two rows of puncture wounds.

Holding the dog by its jaws John tossed the huge body away from his son in disgust with a strength born from anger and paternal instinct before he pressed the wadded-up jacket hard against the wounds, temporarily staunching the alarming flow of blood.

Dean moved his head weakly, his body shaking and trembling picking up on the conversation with his brother, "Not your… fault… Sammy, my job, Sammy... my job." And then his head fell to the side as he let the pain and darkness take him.

John noted the claw marks marring the flesh of Dean's chest visible through the ragged tears in his shirt and dismissed them for the moment they were the least concern. He placed his own trembling fingers against the pulse at the left of Dean's throat, weak and rapid, "He's going into shock we have to hurry Sam run back to the car open up the back door come straight back and bring that blanket from the back seat, go hurry."

Sam didn't move, he continued to stare down at Dean's pale, still face.

"Sam!" John almost shouted at the shocked, trembling teen.

"If I hadn't of tripped over my own feet this wouldn't have happened." Sam said his tragic eyes glittering with tears lifted from Dean to his father's scowling, worried face.

Sleet that had now turned to driving snow gathered in John's 3-day growth glistening eerily in the darkness, "Sam, I need you to focus. Go back to the car, open up the back door and bring me back a blanket." John's voice was low and commanding and Sam reacted to it as John had expected he would.

Snow covered icicles of rain flicked off the ends of his hair as he nodded; gaining his feet in the same motion Sam took off at a run back through the graveyard. Every step he took on his ankle sent pain shooting up his leg. The pain only spurred him on, he picked up the pace. The Impala came into view parked outside the partially open 14-foot-high iron cemetery gates. Barely slowing, Sam sidled through the gates and ran to the car, yanking the back door open leaning in he grabbed up the rough, woolen blanket before retracing his steps. Above the noise of the snowstorm now pounding the graveyard Sam heard a tearing sound as the trailing end of the blanket he had clutched to his chest caught on one of the iron spikes in the gates.

Moments later his father emerged from the snowy, rain swept darkness Dean in his arms. John had tied his jacket around Dean's throat attempting to lessen the bleeding he had one arm under Dean's knees and one under his shoulders. Dean's head hung down over John's arm, his left arm dangling free, swinging with the movement of John's steps.

John stumbled to a stop when he saw Sam. "Wrap it around him." He ordered.

Sam did as he was asked, tucking the blanket around his brother as best he could.

"Now go." John said, starting forward again.

Sam led the way back to the gates, looking back every few steps. Reaching the gates, he pulled them open further so John could carry Dean straight through to the car.

"Get in. Quickly." John said gesturing with his head to the open car door.

Sam scrambled in sliding across to the far side of the back seat, his wet clothes catching on the worn leather.

Turning side on so Dean's head was facing the open-door John unloaded his precious cargo into Sam's waiting arms.

Sam adjusted the blanket, pulling it up around Dean's shoulders brushing the snow off the rough material already turning dark with blood. John slammed the door and ran around to the driver's side sliding in behind the wheel he gunned the engine, blinking the melting snow off his thick dark hair and out of his eyes.

"Dad he's bleeding really bad." Sam said alarmed, not taking his eyes off his brother. Dean was still and pale his head heavy where it rested across Sam's thighs.

"Keep pressure on the wounds it should help with the bleeding until we get to a hospital." John said as he pulled away from the graveyard, rooster tails spraying up from the rear tires.

Sam pulled the blanket away from Dean's throat swallowing hard to keep his dinner from making an encore appearance as he looked down at the blood-soaked jacket. Taking a deep breath, he laid his hands over the material and pressed down.

Dean groaned his head rolled weakly as if trying to escape from the pressure. "Sorry Dean sorry, just lay still we'll be at the hospital soon." Dean's brows drew together as if in thought and he seemed to calm at Sam's words and lay still turning his face into Sam's stomach.

"Can you turn on the heat he's shaking with cold?" Sam said, sparing a quick glance at the back of his father's head.

John's dark eyes met Sam's in the rearview mirror, and he gave a shake of his head, "That's not a good idea Sam."

"What? Why not he's freezing dad." Sam said, his voice rising.

"If he warms up his circulation will increase and so will the blood flow, its better if he stays cold until we get to the hospital."

Sam's eyes once again met John's in the mirror before he looked down at Dean's face, his lips were blue and trembling, his body wracked by spasms of cold. Of course, dad was right, it made perfect sense.

There was a vibration under him and movement that rocked him this way and that, it made him want to cry out, but he couldn't muster the strength to even open his eyes. He was cold a bone-deep cold; pain assaulted him and there was a voice he recognized but he couldn't hear the words being said and he wanted so badly to know what that voice was saying. Then there was pressure at his throat intensifying the pain. He tried to get away and couldn't contain a groan from escaping his lips.

There was another voice close by that Dean could hear and understand. "Sorry Dean sorry, just lay still we'll be at the hospital soon."

Sammy? That you? Yeah, sounds like you. You want me to lay still? Okay Sammy, I can do that for you.

Dean did as Sam asked, turning his head into what he realized was Sam. His little brother was holding him, bracing him against the continued bone jarring movement. His little brother's closeness helped him to block out the pain lancing like a hot knife through his arm and at his throat. He drifted for a while lulled into a state somewhere between awareness and oblivion until the movement stopped and Sam's cradling hands were taken away. And now there were other arms not Sam's and he was being lifted the rough, strong arms that could only be dad's intensifying his pain and he couldn't contain an anguished cry.

"Sorry son." Dad said, voice laced with emotion.

A minute later the air around him was warm and he felt the vibration of dad's marine voice rumble and vibrate through the wall of John's chest pressed hard against him, he heard his deep, loud shout close above him. "My son needs help, now!"

He was jostled by many hands, torn away from dad and placed on a hard surface. Aware of movement and unfamiliar voices around him, snatches of echoing conversation, 'IV… blood pressure… heart rate' a pinch in the back of his hand something tight wrapped around his left bicep, something else placed over his mouth and nose, a light shone into each eye 'equal and reactive'. Cool air against the ravaged skin of his throat and chest, 'we've got a bleeder' and then his throbbing right arm was exposed to the cold of the air, 'x ray.'

He was being poked and prodded. The last thing he heard before it all faded away, 'blood pressure's crashing.'

Dean's cry as John lifted him from the car and out of Sam's arms was like a lance to the heart. "Sorry son." He said trying to ease Dean's pain and his own mental anguish knowing that he was causing his son more hurt as he hurried towards the ER doors.

He was barely inside the door with Sam on his heels when he called out in his best ex-marine voice. "My son needs help, now!"

In an instant they were the center of attention surrounded by a flurry of hospital staff and activity. Dean was taken from his strong arms by 2 pairs of equally strong arms placed on a gurney and whisked away the old blanket still tangled around Dean's legs dragging on the floor leaving a wet trail in its wake and into a cubicle. A white curtain with a primrose yellow daisy pattern on it was pulled over shielding Dean from John's view. John stared at the waving curtain wanting to burn a hole through it with his eyes so he could see his son on the other side and then he felt the touch of a small hand on his upper arm.

"Sir… sir my name is Janice I'm a triage nurse, come and take a seat I need some information about your... son, is it?"

John slid his dark eyes to her dark blue ones. An unkind retort about where Janice could stick her triage, died on his lips as he looked at her. The pale peppermint green scrubs she wore accentuated the deep blue of her eyes her short, blonde hair framing her face. She held a clip board in one hand, and he found himself answering. "Dean, his name is Dean."

Janice nodded then cocked her head to look past John. "And who's this?"

Turning, John saw Sam standing behind him. Wet hair plastered to his head his arms wrapped around his middle. The kid was trembling with either cold or reaction… probably both. Not for the first time in recent weeks and even in this stressful time John noted the kid seemed taller. At 15 and a half Sam was nowhere near as tall as his older brother, Dean stood nearly 6'2" but John had no doubt by his sixteenth birthday Sam would be nearly as tall.

"Sam, this is Sam my youngest," John replied. Reaching out he grasped Sam's shoulder. "You okay Kiddo?" He asked, concerned.

Sam shook his head, no. His hazel eyes brimming with tears, his lips trembled as he looked to his father for reassurance, for comfort. John pulled him forward into his arms hugging him. One hand against the back of his head, rubbing Sam's quaking back through his wet jacket with the other. He could feel Sam's stuttering warm breath on his neck. "It's alright Sammy, Dean will be fine now."

"My… fault… Dad." Sam stated in a wavering voice, muffled by John's shoulder.

"No Sammy it wasn't. Dean doesn't blame you. You know that." John reasoned.

"Umm Mr.…?" Janice's concerned voice interrupted.

John had forgotten about the triage nurse standing nearby. Mentally he went through the brief conversation he'd just had with Sam. Neither of us gave any indication that this was anything other than a dog attack and Dean's injuries are evidence enough to support that. John turned his head looking over his shoulder at Janice Sam still held in his arms. "Winchester. John."

"John. I need to get the details of what happened and Dean's medical background so we can treat him better and then we'll see about getting Sam and you some dry clothes, come this way."

Janice led them to a small cubicle opposite the room Dean had been taken into. She sat on the far side of a desk gesturing for John and Sam to sit in the chairs opposite. John positioned his chair so he could see any activity around the curtain that separated his son from him.

Taking a pen from the pocket of her scrubs, Janice began writing on the clip board.

"So, it's surname Winchester, first name Dean and Dean's date of birth?"

"January 24, 1979." John answered staring at the curtain.

"So, he's got a birthday in a few days." Janice stated unnecessarily.

"Sorry what?" John asked. Shooting her a quick glance.

Janice looked up from the clip board. "Dean's turning 19 this week."

"Yeah he-" John broke off erupting from the seat as a hospital orderly approached the curtain opposite pushing a portable X ray machine the man pushed back the curtain before pushing the machine into the room.

Sidling past Sam seated beside him he covered the small distance to the treatment cubicle trying to see past the staff surrounding the gurney. One of the nurses looked up at him moving to block him from entering and John caught a glance of Dean on the gurney or rather Dean's wet muddy boots, which was all John could see.

"Sir you'll have to stay outside."

"That's my son. I need to know what's happening." John said a little too loudly.

"It's alright Bev I'll take care of this. Dr. Marshall is in charge until I return." A woman wearing a white coat said, indicating the slightly built man on the other side of the gurney.

John gave the man a brief glance, the bow tie Dr. Marshall wore with his white coat looking odd and out of place before his intense dark eyes shot back to the lady doctor as she stepped away from the gurney. She was around John's age and tall standing eye to eye with John, shortish, dark, wavy hair framed her face. She slipped the stethoscope she held from her hand to rest around her neck and took John's arm in a strong grip, leading him away from Dean and the treatment area.

"Sir what the hell was it that attacked your son?"

"A dog. It was a huge dog." John answered her honestly.

"It must have been huge because the bite radius is enormous. It nicked his right carotid artery. He has lost a great amount of blood and his blood pressure is dangerously low. We've been pumping him full of fluids trying to stabilize him and bring his blood pressure up before we take him to surgery to repair the artery. I ordered an x ray of his forearm. I think the radius in his right arm may have a fracture.

"Is he going to be, okay?"

"If we can bring his blood pressure up and repair the artery, yes." The doctor answered.

"Can I see him?"

"Not at the moment, maybe for a minute before we take him down to surgery."

"Thank you."

"Now I need to get back to your son." She turned away.

"Dean his name is Dean." John said to the doctors back.

She turned back to face him, her face softening as she looked at him. "Mr.?"

"Winchester… John." He answered her inquiry.

"John, we're doing everything we can for Dean."

John gave her a curt nod and a small smile of gratitude, "Thank you." he repeated.

With an answering smile she turned back to the treatment room pulling the curtain closed behind her. Running through John's mind, up front, first and foremost was Dean and Sam, and then strangely the next thought was of the doctor and… he didn't know her name.

Turning back to the cubicle he had hastily exited a minute ago, he found Sam and Janice standing on either side of the desk.

Sam's eyes were charged with a myriad of emotions. "Dad?" The kid had heard every word the doctor said, and he needed reassurance that his big brother would be alright.

Moving over to the shivering teen he put a hand on his shoulder. "Sammy, it's going to be alright."

Sam had faith in his brother. Faith that Dean would fight because he knew Dean was a fighter. Sam had seen Dean's fighting spirit and courage on more occasions than he really wanted to; tonight, being no exception. He also had faith in his father. Faith that dad wouldn't lie to him and faith that somehow his dad would fix this.

(CP)

He was missing time. He knew it instinctively. His eyes were leaden and uncooperative, refusing to open, so he gave up for now and searched through the fog that shrouded his brain, trying to remember. His last recollection was of being poked, prodded and jabbed at by the hands of strangers. Then… nothing until just now.

It was quiet and to spite his foggy head and the missing time he felt safe, cocooned in warmth and comfort. He wanted to stay that way but… there was something he had to know. Sam... Where is Sam? Summoning the strength from somewhere he blinked his heavy eyes open. Now he was staring at a stucco white ceiling. Sensing someone close, he turned his head slowly to the left; dad, dad was sitting beside him. Dad looked exhausted but mustered a lopsided smile when he saw Dean was awake and watching him.

"Hey kiddo, welcome back, how are you feelin'?"

Dean smacked his lips trying to work the dryness from his mouth. "K… I guess. Where's Sam?" His voice sounded thick, scratchy, slurred.

John lifted his chin gesturing to the other side of bed. "Asleep."

Dean turned his head. Sam lay flat out on a low two-seater arm-less couch against the far wall of the room. Wearing pale green scrubs, he lay on his front his head turned towards Dean rested on his folded arms his feet were bare except for a flesh-colored bandage wrapped around his left foot and ankle.

"He okay?" Dean asked.

"Wrenched ankle one of the nurses wrapped it. He's just wiped. Paced the halls like a caged tiger and then as soon as he saw you and knew you were okay, he lay down and was asleep as if someone had flipped a switch."

Dean continued to watch his brother sleep for a minute longer then blinked sleepily at the thick heavy bandage wrapped around his own forearm, the image blurred cleared then doubled. "Whoa… that's freaky… I've got two right arms," he observed, then lifted his left hand and gazed at the IV port inserted in the back of his hand. "And two left." Dean then touched his left hand to the thick wad of bandages at his throat. Through the hospital gown he could feel the dressing covering the claw puncture wounds on his chest, "I got so many bandages… I must look like a… mummy."

"You know I can see a resemblance," John said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

They were giving Dean intravenous morphine and it always made the kid a little loopy. Although Dean was still a teenager this was not the first time he'd been on morphine. John felt a pang of guilt over Dean's lost childhood. It shouldn't have been… wasn't meant to be this way; but that was the life of a hunter, even one as young as Dean. When John was Dean's age he had already fought in a war.

Dean huffed out a small laugh at his father's remark, then sobered instantly, eyes opening wide darting frantically around the room. "Where's my amulet?" He asked, trying to struggle up higher in the bed.

"Hey, hey relax I've got it here," John said patting his jeans pocket and placing a placating hand on Dean's shoulder, "You need to take it easy; you've had surgery."

Dean relaxed back against the bed. Closing his eyes his anxiety fueled burst of energy gone. "How bad?" He couldn't tell from the way he felt but that was the pain meds they were pumping into him, and it gave him no clue as to his true condition.

"Nicked an artery in your throat, hairline fracture of a bone in your forearm and a grand total of 34 stitches inside and out."

"Oh… is that all?" Dean said without opening his eyes, "What time is it?"

John glanced at his watch. "Quarter after 2."

"AM?"

"AM."

"Have you… taken care of you know… the dog?" Dean asked so quietly John had to lean forward to hear the whispered words.

"No not yet I've been a little preoccupied."

"You'd better do it before someone finds it." Dean opened his eyes gazing dazedly at his father.

"You be alright?" John asked. What he really wanted to ask was, do you need anything more for pain?

But he knew Dean would answer no. He always did.

Dean glanced across at his sleeping brother. "Yeah, dad I'm good… got me on the… good stuff." Dean's goofy morphine smile was back.

"Get some rest." John gently squeezed Dean's left arm then stood moving around the foot of the bed.

Realizing Dad's intention to wake Sam and take him away, Dean whispered.

"Dad, leave him... let him sleep."

John glanced down at Sam, his hand hovering above the teen's shoulder then shifted his gaze to Dean. His green eyes were pleading. "You sure?"

"Yeah… I'll watch out for him." I need him nearby. He added mentally.

To spite his weakened state Dean was in full protector-slash-guardian mode. John felt a stab of guilt that Dean even injured thought only of Sam never himself. That was what John had wanted wasn't it? He had drilled into his oldest from the age of four since the fire and the boy's mother's death. Dean deserves more from me as a father. John knew it was too late to change that now and Dean needed to be able to do what he now considered his job his reason for being. Watch out for Sam. What else does he have? John asked himself. Nothing… and I'm to blame. Dean needed the closeness of his brother he needed to be able to do his job. "I know you will Dean." But who watches out for you Dean? It should be me. I'm supposed to be your father not your drill Sargent.

(CP)

He knew 2 hours into his shift as soon as he saw the handsome, barely conscious young man in shock and bleeding from nasty bight wounds wheeled in on the gurney that they would be pleased with this one. He was the perfect specimen was this Dean Winchester there was something special about him. He was just what they were looking for, what they were paying him for. Dean came from good stock if his father was anything to go by. Yes, they would pay him handsomely for this one. He would have to wait and bide his time for the opportunity to take what he needed from the kid. That time came two thirds of the way through his 12 hour 8 to 8 shift. The shift is commonly referred to as the graveyard shift. It was 4 am and the ER was quiet. A heroin overdose in 1 and an aging biker in 5 who'd taken a nasty tumble after hitting a patch of black ice. He'd told the head nurse he was taking a break and to page him if he was needed. He found out what floor and room Dean Winchester had been admitted to after his surgery.

He took the elevator to the 2nd floor. The corridor was deserted as was the nurse's station. He caught a glimpse of a blue uniform moving around in the staff break room and proceeded down the corridor stopping at the rolling cart pushed against the wall halfway along. Taking a green kidney-shaped dish from the stack at the back of the top tier of the cart, he put a sterile swab packet and a pair of latex gloves into the dish before moving further down the hallway. He glanced into an open door on the left a nurse was administering to a patient her back turned to the door. Room 215 was two doors further down, he double checked to make sure the corridor behind him was clear before entering. The room was in darkness, the only light came from the dimmed halogen above the bed.

Dean was asleep from the aftereffects of the anesthesia and the pain meds they were no doubt pumping into him which would make this easy. Also, asleep but from exhaustion was a kid he recognized from the ER as Dean's teenage brother.

He was lying flat out on the low couch positioned under the covered window. Slipping on the latex gloves and moving silently over to the bed he gently straightened Dean's left arm exposing the inside of his forearm before tearing open the swab packet and swabbing the skin with the sterile pad he pulled an empty syringe from his pocket and uncapped it before pushing the sharp tip under the skin into the vein and drawing back on the plunger watching as the syringe filled with blood he shot a couple of quick looks at Dean's pale face; a band of freckles stood out across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The young man's brows pulled together, and he turned his head on the pillow. Dean was feeling the jab of the needle buried under his skin. When the syringe was full the man withdrew the needle from the kid's pale flesh holding the swab firmly against the tiny blossom of blood that sprang from Dean's skin at the puncture mark. He looked back at Dean's face the kid's long lashes trembled and opened; a slit of green irises visible between the dark semi-circles around them gazed confusedly up at him.

"What's goin' on… wha' ya' doin'?" Dean asked dazedly, slurring the words ever so slightly.

"Just taking some blood for testing. Go back to sleep." He whispered.

"'k," Dean's eyes slid closed for a moment then popped open, "Where's… Sam."

The doctor took a look at the sleeping teen, he hadn't known the kids name but this was the Sam Dean was referring too. "He's sleeping."

"Good… tha's good," Dean narrowed his eyes at the man in the white coat above him. "Hey… you a doctor?"

"Yes I am." The man answered honestly.

"Wha'd ya do… wrong?" Dean asked.

The doctor pulled his head back in confusion. "I didn't do anything wrong. What makes you think that?"

"Cuz… dude only the nurses'… and the… you know… they have a fancy name phle… phle… something."

"Phlebotomists?" Marshall finished.

"Yeah… those guys, the blood taking dudes," Dean said before his eyes blinked closed and then opened slowly as if his lids weighed a ton, "and… they don't wear… white coats and… bow ties." He added before his eyes closed and stayed closed, his head rolling to the side, long dark lashes laying against the freckled skin of his cheeks, skin that was almost as pale as the white of the pillowcase beneath his head.

He smiled at Dean's last remark lifting the swab from Dean's arm, the bleeding had stopped. He threw the soiled swab into the kidney dish he'd placed on the nightstand. He recapped the syringe and pushed it back into the pocket of his white coat before pulling out a small snap lock bag, a pair of tweezers and a small fine-toothed comb from the other pocket.

Pulling the bag open, he leaned over Dean ran the comb through the soft light brown hair against his forehead a couple of times. Using the tweezers, he picked up the strands caught in the combs teeth and pushed them into the plastic bag. Sealing the bag he put it, the tweezers and comb back into his pocket and picked up the kidney dish before making his way to the door opening it a crack, he peeked out into the corridor then with a satisfied smile and a glance over his shoulder at the rooms sleeping occupants exited quickly pulling the door closed behind him.

Gillette, Wyoming January 24, 1998

Dean's wounds were healing well, the doctor had said the hairline fracture in the radius would heal on its own and didn't need to be casted. The best thing as far as Dean was concerned was that the doctor was discharging him today.

Sam couldn't contain his excitement not only because Dean was being discharged but because today was extra special, it was Dean's 19th birthday. Before the whole black dog disaster Sam had been working on a birthday present for Dean and he'd finished it only last night. Waiting until his dad was asleep to wrap it in the only paper he could find, a 3-day old Wyoming newspaper.

Sam really missed not having his brother around to talk to and bounce stuff off. Dean was always there for him no matter what. It just wasn't the same with dad, he had little patience half the time and none for whatever time remained. He was 95% of the time preoccupied with the family business. Being stuck in the motel alone with his father for 3 days and nights without Dean to referee had felt closer to a month. Dad and he had been at each other's throats for most of those three days. The only time they weren't verbally sparring was when they were asleep or at the hospital. Both were on their best behavior when they were at Dean's bedside. Dean didn't need the aggravation of his and dad's ongoing family feud.

They had gotten into a routine, a routine that if Sam had stopped long enough to analyze was not a clash of personalities, but because he and dad were alike in many ways. Upon waking, argue about who got the first shower. Arguing over breakfast in the motel room. Arguing as they drove to the hospital. Huff and fume through the fury-filled angry silence palpable between them as they walked side-by-side from the car to the hospital doors.

Today, however, was a little different. Dad had driven up to the hospital drop off point instead of parking the car in the lot.

Sam glanced at his father across the bench seat. "Why are you stopping here?" he asked; although he thought he knew. And said so. "You're not coming in, are you?"

John answered as he continued to stare out the windshield. "I've got something to take care of. I'll be back later to pick you up."

"What's so important that it can't wait until later?"

"Sam, don't question me, just go in and see Dean, I'll be back later."

"Typical, same old crap." Sam said under his breath but loud enough that his father heard.

John's eyes shot to his in their dark depths Sam saw fury matching his own.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me."

"Mind your tongue with me boy," John shot back in that marine voice.

Sam watched him closely, saw him take a breath, visibly trying to reign in his anger, "Can we not do this now? I've got something important to do. When I'm done, I'll come back for you and your brother." His dark eyes pinned to Sam's face.

Sam glared back angrily for a moment before he reached for the door handle exiting the car his precious newspaper wrapped gift tucked under his arm.

Slamming the car door harder than was necessary he strode towards the hospital doors. Behind him he heard the powerful motor accelerate away, only turning back when he reached the doors. The sun glinted off the Impala's shiny black duco as it turned out of the snow spotted hospital parking lot heading back in the direction of the motel the direction they had come from.

Sam had calmed himself by the time he entered Dean's room. Dean was sitting in the chair beside the bed fully clothed and ready to go, one of their duffle bags packed with whatever dad and Sam had brought in for him after he was admitted. Dean had his head down, reading through a War and Peace sized pile of paperwork, there was a couple of prescriptions the doctor must have written for him on the rolling bed table on the other side away from the bed. He looked up when Sam entered.

"Hey Sammy," He said his green eyes sliding from Sam to the newspaper wrapped parcel in Sam's hand, "What you got there?" Without waiting for the answer, he leaned over to one side peering around Sam and out the door. "Where's dad?"

Sam's anger that had reduced to a gentle simmer on the ride up in the elevator bubbled up to a full boil once more hitting the surface and spewing out like a volcano erupting. "I hate him." Sam spat, flopping onto the bed, burying his face in the disheveled bedclothes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You two still fighting? What'd he'd do this time?"

Sam's voice was muffled, "He's such a jerk. He dropped me off and said he had to go do something important."

Always the peacemaker Dean defended his father, "If he said it's important then it is Sam."

Sam lifted his head looking sideways at Dean, "More important than his son?"

Dean sighed; he had heard it all before. "Why don't you cut him some slack?"

"I've tried, Dean, but the way he treats us makes me so angry," Sam shook his head. "He treats us like we're soldiers, barking orders at us. Do as I say not as I do," Sam paused, sitting up swinging his legs over the side of the bed and facing his brother. "We're his sons his family not marine draftee's and he's not a marine anymore 'bout time he realized that."

Dean looked placidly back at him; his eyes weary and sad, eyes that belonged to someone older.

Then a muscle jumped in Dean's jaw and Sam saw the hurt as well.

"Doesn't it make you angry? Doesn't it hurt you?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

Dean seemed to flinch away from those words. "No Sam, it doesn't."

"I don't believe you; Dean I think it does hurt and make you angry. Why do you always stick up for him and pretend it doesn't Dean?"

"Because it doesn't. That's why."

"Still don't believe you." Sam stated.

"Believe me don't believe me I don't really care."

"Yes, you do care Dean. You care a lot."

"Sam listen," Dean made sure he caught Sam's hazel eyes before he continued, "You know dad's doing the best he can."

"The best he can?" Sam searched Dean's face for a moment, saw his brother's green eyes, saw the pleading in the intense stare and chose to ignore it, looking away out the window. "You always find excuses for him."

"It might seem that way to you and I get it, I do, I understand where you're coming from," Dean stopped and sighed again in frustration. "I know he's got his faults but he's our father and we're stuck with him," Dean paused then looked down at his lax hands lying on top of the paperwork in his lap. "He's never going to change… not now."

"Yeah, I know I just wish he was more like Uncle Bobby." Sam pouted.

Dean looked up again, "Well, he's not and he is who he is Sam."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means… shut up, bitch."

Sam couldn't help himself, he smiled at the familiar back-handed endearment.

"You're such a jerk."

"I know Sammy, I know." Dean replied, returning his smile. "Now you gonna tell me what you got there, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

Sam studied Dean's face for a few moments. His brother was still pale, dark circles shadowed his almond shaped eyes. Dragging his eyes away from Dean's he looked down at the clumsily wrapped present in his hands. His anger at his father had overridden everything else, even Dean's birthday.

"I'd like to see you try, you couldn't swat a fly at the moment," he said holding out the parcel. "Happy birthday Dean."

"Birthday… my birthday?" Dean sounded confused; his brows pulled down in confusion as he pointed at himself with an index finger.

"Yeah, Dean you know the day you were born? That's today January 24."

Dean's voice was filled with emotion and his eyes welled with moisture. "Oh… right. I forgot." He looked suspiciously at the parcel.

Sam thrust the parcel at Dean trying to find words to defuse the awkward moment.

Dean took the vaguely rounded package from Sam. "What is it?" he asked. Gently fingering it through the paper then shaking it tipping his ear to the paper listening for any sound that might give away the contents.

"Open it and see." Sam answered.

"It's not going to blow up in my face, is it?"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's comment, "Dean just open it."

One side of Dean's mouth lifted, and he began ripping the newspaper away. A few seconds later with a small pile of crumpled, shredded newspaper at his feet he held up the dream catcher that Sam had spent many hours working on.

"Wow a dream catcher. I always wanted one of these." Dean said holding the dream catcher up by the string at the top watching with a smile as the dream catcher rotated slowly the glass beads woven through it catching the light the white feathers dangling from the bottom waving in the slight breeze from the AC. "D'you make this for me Sammy?"

"Yep, for my awesome big brother."

"Thanks Sammy, I love it."

(CP)

Dad had appeared in the doorway some three hours later.

"You ready to go kiddo?" He asked leaning into the room a shoulder against the door jam, tapping the fingers of his other hand against the wall inside the door.

"Yeah. Been ready all morning." Dean answered standing from the chair.

"What's that you got there?" John asked, gesturing with his head to the dream catcher. As Dean packed it carefully into the duffle on top his clothes.

"A dream catcher. Sam made it for me."

Sam interjected heatedly. "Yeah, I gave it to Dean for his birthday. You do realize its Dean's Bir-"

Dean stopped him from continuing with one word. "Sam." He warned zipping up the duffle awkwardly with his left hand, his right arm still heavily bandaged.

John shot a glance at Sam, his dark eyes unreadable. "Let's get going."

Some twenty minutes later they were outside in the crisp, cold air of the hospital parking lot.

Reaching the Impala, John threw the duffle into the footwell of the back passenger side, closing the door he rounded the rear of the car then slid in behind the wheel. Dean as always was shotgun and Sam got into the back behind his father.

Dean squinted against the glare of the sun bouncing off the snow piled up around the car park. Dad cursed under his breath. Dean couldn't yet turn his head without some pain, the movement pulled on his stitches uncomfortably, so Dean half turned his shoulders to look at him. Dad was fumbling with the key having trouble getting it into the ignition. That's when he smelled it. Whiskey. It wasn't obvious until they were in the confines of the car. Dad had been drinking and it was only 2:30 in the afternoon, glancing over his shoulder at Sam, he could tell he had smelled it too.

"Dad what's going on?" Dean asked.

Finally shoving the key in the ignition John straightened and looked sideways at him. "We're going back to the motel pack up our stuff and heading out. That's what's going on."

"We got a job?"

"Why else would we be leaving town Dean?" John said scratching noisily at his stubble lined jaw.

Dean knew dad was in no fit state to be driving and he didn't think now was the time to mention that he had a follow up appointment at the hospital outpatient's clinic the day after tomorrow. "Hey Dad, can I drive?"

John looked at him across the bench seat. "What?" The one-word question was only slightly slurred.

"You look tired, and I just feel like driving… you know?"

John's eyes slid from Dean to stare vacantly out the windshield for a few moments before answering.

"Your arm? Is it alright to drive?"

Dean rubbed at his forearm feeling the bulk of the bandages through the sleeve of his shirt and jacket. "Yeah, yeah it is. It's good."

John dragged his eyes back to his son, "I am a little tired. Okay, you can drive."

Dean fumbled with the door handle using his left hand, the wrong hand for that side of the car. He got out, closed the door, rounded the front of the Impala to the driver's side, then took John's place behind the wheel. John slid across the bench seat into the corner created where the door met the seat leaning his head against the side window, he closed his eyes.

With the turn of the key the big motor roared to life. Dean let the familiar vibration sooth his suddenly jangled nerves; taking a deep breath using his injured arm he gingerly slid her into drive before lifting his eyes to the rearview mirror, knowing Sam would be looking back. Dean expected to see anger, disappointment and I told you so, but his little brother's expressive hazel eyes held only sympathy and sadness; and a look that said. 'I'm sorry."

Breaking eye contact with Sam Dean slid his eyes over to his father; the alcohol Dad had consumed was already dragging John down into the waiting arms of sleep and he was snoring before the car turned from the hospital parking lot onto the road.

(CP)

It wasn't until they were in the Impala and dad started cursing as he leaned over the steering column that Sam noticed the smell of whiskey emanating from his father.

He could see Dean had smelled as well. So, this is what was so important… getting shit-faced at some bar on his eldest son's birthday?

Sam said nothing, watching as Dean half turned in the seat the movement in favor of his healing throat, his eyes sliding sideways towards Sam for a split second then back to dad before he asked. "Dad what's going on?"

Sitting up straighter in the seat dad turned to Dean. "We're going back to the motel pack up our stuff and heading out. That's what's going on."

"We got a job?"

Dad scratched at his face, a rough sound accompanied the movement as his fingertips caught in the three-day growth on his cheeks, his wedding ring glinting in the sunlight reflecting off the mirror of the car parked next to them bouncing beams of light around the car's interior. "Why else would we be leaving town Dean?"

Dean's eyes darted around in thought. "Dad, can I drive?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" Dad slurred.

"You look tired, and I feel like driving… you know." Dean said with shrug of one shoulder.

Sam watched Dean's face, holding his breath waiting.

"Your arm? Is it alright to drive." John asked.

Dean rubbed gently at his forearm, at the bandages that Sam knew were beneath the canvas of Dean's jacket. "Yeah, yeah it is. It's good."

"I am a little tired. Okay, you can drive." Dad said after a few seconds of thought.

A relieved look settled on Dean's face. Quickly exiting the car Dean took dad's place behind the wheel. Dad slid into the corner resting his dark head against the glass of the side window.

As the car engine came to life Dean lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. Sam thought about the conversation he'd had with Dean a few short hours ago.

"The way he treats us makes me so angry, he treats us like we're soldiers. Always barking orders at us. Do as I say not as I do. Doesn't it make you angry? Doesn't it hurt you?"

"No Sam it doesn't."

"I don't believe you; Dean I think it does hurt and make you angry. Why do you always stick up for him and pretend it doesn't Dean?"

"Because it doesn't. That's why."

"Still don't believe you." Sam stated.

"Believe me don't believe me I don't really care."

"Yes, you do care Dean. You care a lot."

Sam saw it in Dean's green eyes, the deep hurt, the pain and this pain he knew didn't come from anything physical. "I'm Sorry." Sam said, reflecting that thought back to his brother using only his eyes.

(CP)

I-90 South Dakota/Wyoming border 2007

They had just crossed the South Dakota/Wyoming border. It must have been the road sign reading Gillette 249 MLS that had loomed up in the headlights flashing by in the blink of an eye, that had triggered the almost forgotten memories in Sam, memories veiled by time.

He remembered that neither Dad nor Dean had mentioned the incidents of that winter, of that hunt and the aftermath.

It was in the summer of the same year, a hot, steamy early August day, more than 6 months after the black dog and Dean's 19th birthday, 3 months after Sam's 15th birthday, more than a half dozen hunts and three schools for Sam later when Dad had pulled up out the front of the small home they had been renting for the last hunt in a shiny new truck, parking it beside the Impala on the front grass.

With a smile that was rare in those days Dad had tossed the keys for the old Chevy to Dean.

Dean caught the keys in the air, "What's this?" Dean had asked, a look of confusion in his eyes as he turned the keys over in his hand.

Dad smiled again, "She's yours... take good care of her or there'll be hell to pay."

"Seriously?" Dean said as if he thought it was a joke, and not a particularly funny one.

"Seriously." John answered.

Dean grinned. His face lit up, bruises, a clear reminder from the last brutal hunt finished only last night coloring his left cheek and jaw.

To both John and Sam's surprise Dean turned and hurried back into the house, emerging a minute later with the dream catcher in hand; since that day at the hospital in Gillette Dean never failed to hang it on the wall above not his but Sam's bed if the brothers were lucky enough to have singles and not have to share a double and then it hung over the double in whatever bedroom or motel room they were currently occupying. Today he had other plans for Sam's birthday gift. He had opened the trunk and the concealed weapons compartment, finding one of the brackets that held a sawn-off shotgun in place he tied the top string of the dreamcatcher onto the hook then he gave it a gentle push sending it rotating lazily, before he gave a tiny nod of satisfaction closing the weapons compartment and then the trunk.

"From now on wherever we go the three of us are protected," He'd said with a smile.

Worn by time, the web had faded from its original color, the feathers were discolored but the dreamcatcher hangs there today.

Sam looked across the car at his brother. The memory of that 9-year younger Dean collided, came together and morphed with the Dean of today, his pale, tired, pain etched features highlighted in the reflection of the glow from the dash. The face of now had lost that teenage youthful look, become a little more refined, his high cheek bones more prominent and angular and his hair was slightly darker and shorter. The current swelling, cuts and bruises on the left side of his face inflicted by Sam's own demon possessed hand from this angle were hidden from Sam's view.

Drawing his eyes away from Dean's face Sam looked down at his reddened, split and bruised knuckles, turning his arm, he saw the clean white bandage wrapped around his forearm covering the stinging, painful burn beneath.

The pain from the burn was a small legacy, a small price to pay for a debt so much larger. The pain a constant reminder of the last week and a half, the havoc his possessed body had wrought.

A mental list ran through his head. The gas station attendant, Steve Wandell, Jo, Bobby and… Dean. God what he'd done to Dean? More memories only half remembered like a cloth; a veil had been draped over his thoughts:

The call of a night bird.

The slap of water against the wooden pylons of the pier.

Dean stood at the edge of the pier with no gun, only a flask of holy water held in his hand.

Sam's hand raised, gun aimed, his finger depressing the trigger.

The loud report of the shot echoing in the night.

Dean had flinched to the side and back when the bullet had impacted his shoulder, falling from the pier with a resounding splash as he hit the water.

His possessed body had moved to the end of the pier, looking down into the water still churning in the wake of his brother's body.

And later at Bobby's house sending Dean flying across the room into the wall of the overflowing book filled library without lifting a finger, gripping Dean's jacket with one hand pounding the clenched fist of the other into Dean's face over and over as a litany of Meg's hateful words spewed from his mouth.

Bloodying Dean's nose, opening a cut over his brow, splitting his lip.

Grinding the heel of his hand into Dean's shoulder, into the torn jagged flesh of the bullet wound he was responsible for.

Dean's agonized groan of pain as he tried to pry away Sam's hand; and he'd only dug deeper into the ravaged flesh.

"I can see it in your eyes Dean, you're worthless, you couldn't save your dad, and deep down… you know you can't save your brother… they'd have been better off without you."

As he drew his fist back to strike Dean again Bobby grabbed hold of his arm.

Pain, the sizzle and smell of burning flesh as Bobby touched the red-hot poker to the brand on his arm severing the binding link and the hold the demon had over his body, black smoke accompanied by a long-drawn-out cry shooting from his wide-open mouth.

Now, in the confines of the Impala the silence was palpable like a living breathing entity filling the space between them, stifling and strangling conversation. It had been hours since they'd left Bobby's. Dean had pointed the Impala west and just driven with no real plan or any destination.

(CP)

Somewhere in the back of Dean's mind the sign proclaiming that they'd crossed over the South Dakota border into Wyoming registered. The forefront of his mind was playing in a loop, leading the way were the words Meg had said using Sam's voice and Sam's body to shoot, beat and dig at him, with those words and physically. "I can see it in your eyes Dean, you're worthless, you couldn't save your dad, and deep down… you know you can't save your brother… they'd have been better off without you."

That wasn't Sam, that wasn't Sam, that wasn't Sam. Dean repeated over and over to his whirling brain as the loop began again. Not Sam's voice… but it was my baby brother's body, Sam's body. And perhaps, just maybe some of what Meg said is what Sam really believes? No, no, no. It's not true… it can't be true. Stop it, Dean, stop it… stop it right the fuck now! No, Sam does not believe that and rehashing it over and over is not going to change it. It happened, shove it back, compartmentalize it Dean, you're good at that at least, and move on, move on… damn It Dean, move on!

To his right from the passenger seat Dean caught movement in his periphery, he almost heaved a sigh of relief, because it dragged Dean back from the knife's edge of his own thoughts. Moving only his eyes Dean glanced to the side, Sam was looking down at his split knuckles like they belonged to someone else.

The silence between them had grown the further away from Bobby's they travelled. It was heavy, cloying, palpable, Dean thought if he reached out, he would be able to touch it, and it would be solid. It was enough, it had gone on too long he had to end it, push it far, far away. This time a turn of head accompanied the glance he shot across at Sam, who was now looking down at the white bandage wrapped around his forearm covering the burn.

"You, okay?" Dean ventured into the silence. Sounded normal enough… right?

Sam remained silent his eyes lifted to stare ahead through the windshield. "Sam… is that you in there?" Dean tried to make it sound light, flippant, a joke.

When Sam gave him a look Dean lifted one side of his mouth in a semblance of a smile a moment before Sam turned away again.

"I was awake for some of it, Dean," Sam said.

Dean shot him another glance.

"I watched myself kill Wandell with my own 2 hands… I saw the light go out in his eyes."

Dean continued to look at the road ahead, trying to find the right words, "Must have been awful."

Dean could sense Sam was looking at him, "That's not my point." He said, "I almost carved up Jo too. But no matter what I did you wouldn't shoot."

"It was the right move Sam, it wasn't you."

"Yeah, this time," Sam answered.

Dean looked at Sam again.

"What about next time?" Sam finished.

Dean searched for words to defuse the tense situation.

"Sam, when dad told me… that I might have to kill you. It was only if I couldn't save you. Now if it's the last thing I do I'm gonna save you."

Sam continued to look at his brother for a moment, his lips pulled into a thin line.

Then Dean let out a small laugh.

"What?" Sam said intrigued that Dean could find something humorous in this whole fucked up mess.

Dean gave a small shake of his head. "Nothing."

"Dean what?" Sam said annoyed.

Dean was smiling a strained half smile due to the swollen bruised skin on his face, "Dude you like full on had a girl inside you for like a whole week." Then he started to chuckle.

Sam couldn't contain a huff of laughter.

"It's pretty naughty." Dean said still laughing.

(CP)

Outside Sundance, Wyoming 2007

He didn't need to see his face to know it was swollen, he felt it, the bruising spreading, deepening, coloring and reddening the skin. The stress and adrenaline of the last couple of days had kept him moving and functioning; the pain in his shoulder and the throb of his battered face having receded for the moment to a mild distraction. And now his adrenaline had drained away and exhaustion was dragging at him slowing his reflexes, making his head swirl and causing his eyesight to waver. He needed sleep or he would drive his baby off the road he'd already had to correct the steering 3 times twice after straying onto the wrong side of the road and once after running along the loose shoulder.

Sam had fallen asleep about fifty miles ago shortly after he'd unburdened what he could recall of his possession. Sam's head rested against the passenger side window he was snoring lightly his mouth slightly open. A glance in the rearview mirror showed salmon pink staining the eastern sky as the earth rotated creeping closer to the sun and another day. A road sign shot by Sundance exit 1 mile. He needed to stop moving even for just a few hours lifting his foot the powerful car responded slowing enough to take the exit at a safe speed. 3 minutes later he hit Sundance. Sundance, he knew, was small, so he didn't have to travel far before a neon light for the Mountain View Inn appeared.

Dawn was breaking as he pulled into the motel's driveway. Dean stopped opposite the motel office, the interior dark and unoccupied, he then cut the engine. It was still early; he would have to wait for the reception to open. He sighed rolling his shoulders, releasing the lingering tension, grimacing as the movement pulled at his damaged shoulder. The Impala's cooling engine ticked down as if in sympathy with her owner.

Either the cessation of the engine or movement or both was enough to wake Sam. He gave a small snort straightening in the seat and sitting up blinking out into the rapidly lightening sky.

"Where are we?" He slurred sleepily.

"Motel, Sundance," Dean answered squinting out at the darkened office of the motel again.

"Wyoming?"

"Wyoming," Dean parroted.

"It's morning," Sam stated unnecessarily.

Dean looked across at him, a smile lifting his lips. "Err yeah… very observant of you Sammy. You still sleeping or what?"

Sam sat up straighter on the bench seat, "I wasn't asleep." He denied defensively.

"Oh, really?" Dean questioned. "Dude you were snoring."

"I don't snore Dean." Sam said adamantly.

"Whatever," Dean was himself to sleep deprived to argue with a grumpy, semi-rested brother.

Sam must have heard the weariness in Dean's tone. He looked closely at him. The early light of day told a story Sam didn't really want to read about at this time. The skin of Dean's face that wasn't bruised, reddened, marred or broken was pale, the whites of his green eyes blood shot and shadowed by dark crescents.

"How you doin'?" Sam asked.

Dean shot him a look that said I hurt physically and mentally but answered with, "I need to sleep… preferably for a week at least."

Sam made light of it, "Dude your eyes are as red as a crossroads demon."

"Yeah? Well, you ought a see 'em from my side."

Sam chuckled, "Trust you to find the appropriate pop culture movie quote to suit the situation."

At that moment the light inside the motel office flickered and came on, drawing the brother's attention.

"Here we go," Dean said reaching for the door handle.

Sam touched Dean's arm, stilling the motion. Dean turned his head in Sam's direction. "I'll go book us in, you stay here and chill for a bit."

Dean examined him briefly before agreeing, "Okay."

Dean watched as Sam opened the door with a familiar creak, got out rounded the front of the car pushed on the door and entered the motel office.

(CP)

In the time it took them to get from the car to inside the room Sam had tried twice to get Dean to let him check the bullet wound but Dean had refused both times, dropping the duffle bag he had carried from the car onto the floor at the foot of the nearest bed and with a heavy sigh he flopped down across it; he then rolled onto his right side before Sam had even closed the door behind him. Dean had replied, his voice muffled by the pillow his head was currently half buried into. "It's fine Sam. Jo took care of it."

She may have done… but that was before he had ground his hand into the wound and done who knew how much more damage. But Sam had left it at that seeing Dean was beyond exhausted and already well on the way to sleep or unconsciousness. Instead, Sam moved to the end of Dean's bed pulling off Dean's boots before riffling through the weapons bag until his hand closed around the handle of Dean's Bowie knife pulling it from the sheath, he pushed it under Dean's pillow beside his head.

Sam pulled the heavy drapes across the window effectively shutting out the early morning sun then stripped down to his boxers before he lay down on the empty bed; the digital clock read 7.13. When he awoke what felt like an hour later it read a quarter after 12. Dean was still sleeping in the same position he'd been in earlier, it appeared he hadn't moved at all which was a testament to his utter exhaustion. The 5 hours' sleep and the hour worth of zees Sam denied he'd had in the car were enough for now. He showered and dressed in the cleanest clothes he could find, making a mental note that they needed to do laundry.

Dean was still out to it when Sam sat down at the table underneath the window, the drapes still pulled across it; he fired up the laptop connecting to the Motel's Wi-Fi and began surfing the web to see if there was any news on the investigation the police would have opened into Steve Wandell's murder. Sam was relieved when after an extensive search he found nothing new, so he then did a search for something the motel manager had mentioned in conversation when he was checking in.

"Been on the road all night?" The fifty something, balding man had asked, sliding the registration form and a pen across the counter towards Sam.

"Yeah." Sam answered picking up the pen.

"Where you heading?" The manager continued as Sam filled out the registration form.

"Nowhere particular. Road trip with my brother." He replied.

The man had looked over Sam's shoulder at Dean sitting waiting outside in the Impala. Sam was grateful that from here and in the early morning light Dean's cuts and bruises could barely be seen.

"Thought you might be on your way to Seattle to check out the lizard man sightings. Had a few guests passing through on their way." The manager said.

"Lizard man?" Sam questioned, mildly curious.

"You haven't heard? It's been in the news, and I also read about it in this week's Weekly World News. There's supposed to be a 7-foot-tall half man half lizard living in the tunnels under the city. Apparently, it comes out at night grabs rats and stray cats with its two-foot-long tongue and swallows 'em whole." The man paused as Sam pushed the completed form back across the counter. "Crazy right?"

"Yeah crazy." Sam had agreed. He knew, being cold-blooded, that there was no way a lizard could survive in the dark, cold tunnels and needed the warmth from the sun to survive and besides lizards did not eat rats or cats, except in the movies.

"You're in No. 3 it's across the way third door along." He said sliding the key attached to a plastic key holder with the number 3 on it, across the counter. "Probably some prank? Sure, has caused a stir though. Been pretty good for business."

Sam found a web site called Cryptozoology Sightings. Amongst the links to the latest sightings was one with a heading of: Lizard man of Seattle. The link led to accounts of 3 people who supposedly had seen the lizard man lurking on the back streets and alleys of Seattle. One said he'd seen it going down into the sewerage system. There were several drawings sketched from the descriptions of the creature. Shaped like a man, 7 feet tall, pale, scaly greenish/grey skin and a 2 feet long blue tongue that snapped up its prey.

He couldn't help but smile at the description because it sounded just like the creature from the black lagoon from that old movie he and Dean had watched on an old black and white TV in a rundown motel waiting for dad to return from a hunt when Sam was 9. But the funniest thing that made Sam chuckle was what the lizard man was said to be wearing; camouflage patterned fatigues and running shoes.

"What are you laughing about?" Dean's voice, husky from sleep broke into his humorous thoughts.

Dean was awake still stretched out on his side, looking over his shoulder at Sam. His hair was sleep mussed sticking up in spikey tufts, his eyes cloudy from sleep.

"Sorry didn't mean to wake you." Sam answered.

"'S okay. How long was I out?" Dean said.

Sam glanced at his watch. "'Bout 7 hours give or take."

"Huh. So, you gonna tell me what's so funny?"

"The lizard man of Seattle." Sam answered with mock seriousness.

"The what of where?" Dean asked scratching at the back of his head with one hand as his left hand slipped under the pillow coming out a moment later with the Bowie knife that he felt by instinct was there; wincing at the pull the movement caused to his wounded shoulder.

"The lizard man of Seattle," Sam repeated, "A 7 feet tall scaly green man with a 2-foot tongue wearing army combat fatigues stalking the underground tunnels of Seattle."

Dean's face pulled into a confused frown. "You been reading World Weekly News again?"

"It's Weekly World News and no, but the motel manager has." Sam answered.

"Okay, I must be still asleep cuz I'm having a freaky ass dream." Dean stated.

Sam chuckled again explaining. "The manager told me about this article he read in the Weekly World News about a lizard man living under Seattle. Apparently, it's been good for his motel business, people from all over coming in hoping to eyeball the lizard man. I found a web site with some, quote eyewitness accounts and descriptions of said lizard man."

Dean rolled over, swung his legs down to the floor and pushed up from the bed, the movement was lithe, and fluid spoiled by the wince of pain he couldn't suppress, he covered it well by dropping the knife onto the bed beside him then faced his brother. "Seattle huh," he said thoughtfully. "Some weird shit goes on in Seattle."

"You said that about Florida."

"Yeah, well it does." Dean said, with a jaw splitting yarn a yawn he came to stand next to Sam he braced one arm on the back of the chair leaning over Sam's shoulder silently reading the web page Sam had open.

Once he'd finished reading, he pulled out the chair opposite Sam and sat down leaning back against the backrest. He then wrapped his right hand around the back of his neck massaging the tight muscles for a minute. "Maybe we should check it out?" he said, dropping his hand away from his neck and lifting the drape covering the window above the table, peering out and squinting into the brightness of the afternoon sun.

Sam heard something in Dean's tone that told him Dean might be serious. "You're kiddin' right?" Sam asked studying Dean's profile. "Seriously? Weekly World News? Lizard man? It's got to be a hoax Dean."

Dean dropped the drape back into place and turned to look at him. "Might not be?" Dean offered, tentatively. "Come on Sam, even if it is a hoax could be a bit of fun. Plus, we can check out Seattle, you know you can take a tour of the old Seattle ruins that run under the city, then there's the Space Needle, mountains, Seattle coffee is supposed to be exceptional… the Space Needle."

"Dude, you said the Space Needle twice," Sam peered suspiciously at him. "What's with you?"

Dean sighed leaning back in the chair; he rubbed absently at his forehead with the pad of his thumb and index finger his head lowered. "I dun' no. After everything I think we need a break Sam. To do something like normal people. We can look into this lizard man thing shouldn't take more than a day and then I think we should sight see, drink good coffee, maybe check out the mountains. We could go skiing, I've never been skiing." He finished.

Dean was right after all they deserved to be normal just for a little while to forget about finding the yellow-eyed demon, the other psychic kids, uncovering the demon's plans for him and the others and Dean's quest to prevent him from going totally dark side and having to carry out dad's dying request.

"Yeah okay. Why not," Sam said with a smile. Dean lifted his eyes to Sam, a hopeful look shadowing his still weary, battered face so Sam added. "Seattle here we come."

(CP)

Continued in Chapter 2: Rocky and the Lizard Man