This story first appeared in Route 666 1 (2008), from Ashton Press

Equal Partner
K Hanna Korossy

Despite the unpredictability and many unknowns of outdoor hunts, sometimes they were exactly what Dean needed.

It wasn't just because the creatures tended to be a lot less tricky than the ghosts and poltergeists and possession cases. Nor was it the lack of people, because Dean wasn't anti-social so much as not so crazy about society's stupid rules, and the right kind of people—female, curvaceous, and willing—definitely had their pluses. It wasn't even because the urban world was more Sam's terrain than his own, with the research and the coaxing details out of witnesses and the tedious necessities, like tact, or money. It was just that out in the wild was where he felt free, where he could carry whatever weapons he needed and do with them whatever was needed, and it was just them against their prey without all the hoops of society to jump through. This was where he could be a hunter.

"So, Davy Crockett, any luck with that trail?" an amused voice asked from behind him.

Dean grimaced. And out here, he could also tie his brother naked to a tree and no one would be the wiser. "Yeah, actually." He pushed to his feet, smirking at Sam. "It went this way."

Doubt flickered in Sam's eyes. "Wait, you mean…You can actually read those tracks?" His hands dropped to his side, his head slightly tilted. "You've been watching Crocodile Dundee again, haven't you?"

"Heh, good movie, but no. Actually, I spent some time with Tom Winters while you were in school. Guy's intimidating as a ticked-off bear, but he's one of the best. Taught me how to do some tracking."

"Huh." Sam followed him a little more meekly now as Dean moved on, eyes scanning the area around them with every step. "Where was Dad?"

"Laid up. Remember that time you visited in the hospital?" It was the only time Sam came to see John during his Stanford stint, and only because their father was seriously injured and unconscious. Dean had never told John that Sam had been there, unwilling to start up old arguments and hard feelings, and still wondered if he'd made the right choice.

Sam grunted quietly behind him in acknowledgment.

"Besides," Dean said, glancing over his shoulder, "Dad did this kind of training with both of us, remember? Drop you off blindfolded, have to find your way back?"

"I've tried to block it out. It's not exactly useful information in college."

Dean's mouth lifted briefly. "Dude, admit it, you just got soft. No training, no exercises—I can hear you puffin' back there like you were a civilian or something."

"I was a civilian," Sam said with annoyance, because they were still brothers and competitive. "And it's not soft if you can't do twenty-mile hikes with packs in the rain, Dean. It's called normal."

Which was about the ugliest word Dean ever heard coming out of Sam's mouth. That, along with "I'm leaving." Dean shook his head. "Yeah, well, normal doesn't cut it when you've got a couple hundred square miles of terrain to find a potential wechuge or wendigo in. If you can't keep up—"

"I'm keeping up," Sam shot back, quickening his stride and soon passing Dean.

Dean just grinned at his back and kept walking, unobtrusively steering them a little more toward west.

They'd set out early in the morning, just after dawn. The sun was arcing downward now, and Dean rubbed his knuckle against his lip, debating on whether they should head back to the car or keep going and camp out somewhere for the night. It was true he'd found some tracks that were skimmed with blood and unlike any natural creature Dean had seen, but they were also older and not ones he could place. The truth was, although he wasn't ready to admit it yet to Sam, they could conceivably look for this thing, whatever it was, for days and still have no luck. The deaths it had caused were recent and all in the area, but that was no guarantee in itself.

Sam, for all he'd changed in the last three-plus years, still seemed to be able to read his mind with alarming ease once he'd started trying again. "We're not gonna find this thing tonight, are we?"

Dean sighed, glancing around the quiet forest. "No, probably not," he agreed.

"You wanna stay out here or head back for the night?"

He was a little surprised Sam was giving him the choice. His little brother enjoyed camping even less than Dean did, and it wasn't like they'd brought a tent or anything, so it would really be roughing it. But Sam just looked at Dean with patient, tired eyes, and Dean wondered idly if the lack of ceilings out there, and girlfriends burning on them, had anything to do with his willingness. Or that he wouldn't sleep well no matter where they were.

Dean made a face, shrugged. "Might as well stay out here, keep from covering the same ground again in the morning. If we strike out tomorrow, we can head back for more supplies."

Sam nodded, silently taking lead again, then jerking back when Dean grabbed his arm. "What?" he asked, irritated.

Dean just nodded at the ground. The hole was small, probably some rodent's burrow, but it was enough to catch a foot, possibly break an ankle. He watched chagrin chase sheepishness and gratitude across Sam's face. "City slicker," Dean teased.

"Dude, enough with the—"

The hair rose on the back of Dean's neck and he froze. Sam's tirade instantly fell silent. He sank down to his knees with Dean, eyes scanning the brush and trees around them. His question carried no further than Dean's ears.

"What?"

Dean shook his head, also doing a 360 of the area. Something, a smell, a feel: he wasn't sure. But something was out there. Something he knew.

Sam's hand closed lightly over his wrist, asking in silence, but Dean didn't have any answers. He started to shake his head again…and caught sight of the softly glowing amber eyes.

The blood in his veins chilled. He knew what this was, and it wasn't a wechuge. He twisted out of Sam's grip and grabbed his arm in turn, getting ready to run. "Son of a—"

And then it pounced, with the same frightening speed he remembered from the last time.

Dean shoved Sam away from him as hard as he could just before he was slammed to the ground, hot, fetid breath blowing in his face. He prayed that Sam had gotten away, that the creature wasn't what he thought it was. But as Dean's head hit hard, sending the world spinning away, his last clear thought was, Not again.

00000

Sam awoke with a start, then sank back, groaning. There was just no good way to wake after a head injury, but on a hard floor didn't help things. His head clunked hollowly on the dirt, and he stifled a second groan.

"Sammy?"

That cleared the cobwebs from his head fast. It was Dean's voice, low and a little rough and not close. Scared, and Sam knew immediately why. "'M all right."

"Yeah, you look it," came his brother's reply, bitelessly sarcastic. "Can you sit up?"

Sure, piece of cake. Sam rolled onto his side with a breathless wheeze, feeling the pressure of bruises along his back and side, expecting to feel Dean's hands helping at any moment. But no, he ended up sitting up on his own steam. Sam coughed once—dry, no blood at least—then pushed himself up with another groan caught between his teeth and opened his eyes.

The new vantage point did allow him to at least see his brother, however. And the bars between them. Sam blinked. "What—?"

"Nice, huh? His and her cages. Which would make you the girl."

He ignored Dean's apprehensive humor, examining his environment more closely.

They were in a cave, deep enough in that the entrance wasn't visible. The only light came from a torch jammed into a crevice in the wall. The area they were in was maybe irregularly a dozen feet square, the ceiling a few feet above Sam's head, the ground loose dirt over rock. And carved from the rock itself, a set of bars separating off an area of no more than four feet square around Sam and, across the way, another enclosure around his brother. Natural cages, with thick bars too close-set to squeeze between and too solid to break. The doors of each were jammed with boulders that looked to be the size of Connecticut.

Sam sank back on his rear, something hard and knobby pressing against his hip as he did. He glanced behind and blanched at the sight. The skeleton was completely disarticulated, but it was still recognizably human, the skull leering in the corner. It was the pelvis bone—hip to hip, Sam thought giddily—that had poked him, and with disgust, he skittered away from it.

"Dean…" His voice shook more than he would have normally been comfortable with, but screw normal for once.

"Adlet." And Dean suddenly sounded way too calm. "They like to keep their prey for a while, toy with them before they eat them."

"Great," Sam said through gritted teeth. "You've come across these before?"

"Once."

"And…?" he prompted impatiently.

"And…they're physical, they can be killed. Trick is to move faster than they do."

"They're also intelligent," Sam added, looking around the cage.

"Not like people, but yeah." Quiet, voice again dark with memory.

Sam breathed out in a whoosh, knowing there was more Dean wasn't telling him. But he wouldn't have held back anything that was potentially useful, so that was all they had to go on: smart, corporeal, and fast. "Okay." Sam worked to pull himself together. "Okay. So…you all right?"

"Peachy," Dean said, pushing himself up on his feet, hands curling around the bars. Even in the meager light, Sam could see some reddish spots on the rock. Dean had already tried brute force while Sam had been out. Quite possibly because Sam was out. "You?"

"Headache, not too bad," Sam answered. "You check if—"

"Took everything, even the wrist knife."

And their shoes, Sam realized belatedly, looking in dismay at his socked feet. His jacket had been similarly stripped. It was lucky the cave itself was on the warm side, and Sam snorted at the thought. Yeah, lucky.

"You think your friend over there might be useful?" Dean asked, and it took Sam a second to realize he meant the skeleton.

Grimacing, Sam made himself turn to reconsider the bones. The femur was long enough to act as a pry bar, but although it still looked relatively fresh, even strong bone was no match for rock. Sam shook his head.

Dean muttered something under his breath and settled down again. A scraping noise soon came from his cell, and Sam glanced over to see his brother rubbing a rock against the bottom of one of the bars. It looked like slow and tedious work, but also their only hope at the moment.

Sam breathed out slowly, taking stock of his own cage. Rocks, bones, dirt. Not much in way of tools. Turning his back on those for the moment, he bent closer to examine the bars instead, starting with the one nearest the wall.

He barely noticed when the scraping from across the way faltered and stopped. Not until he heard Dean's quiet, "Sam."

Sam looked up, brow furrowed.

Dean was looking at the wall past him. "I'm sorry, dude, I shouldn't have gotten us into this without knowing what we were up against."

A subdued Dean normally would have either worried or tickled him, depending on circumstances. Now, though, Sam only felt chagrin. "You didn't get me into anything, Dean. I agreed we should check this out." Something that was luring, saving its victims for a week or so, then eating them? It had to be something from their line of work. Sam went back to examining the rock bars. "I can make my own decisions, man."

"Yeah, but you've been away from it for a while. You're not always…"

Sam glared up at him. "Sharp enough? Experienced enough? Dean, if you don't think I'm up to watching your back, just say so."

"I never said that," Dean said quickly.

"Then shut up and use all that experience to find a way to get us out of here." Sam bent over his work again, annoyance and, yeah, a little wounded pride struggling through his veins. If Dean didn't get now that this was all Sam had left, that he wasn't student or boyfriend or lawyer-to-be anymore, just hunter, then Sam had nothing else to say. But it still stung.

A few beats, then, "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be out here with you." Then, almost hesitantly, "Bitch."

Sam's simmering anger died down to barely lukewarm. "Yeah, well…last time something got its teeth in you in the woods, I was the one who found you, remember? Jerk," he added forgivingly.

"A wendigo's a puppy compared to an adlet, Sammy," Dean said in that same emotionless voice, and Sam dragged his hair out of his eyes to look at him at that. But his brother was concentrating on sawing through the bars again.

There was history here that Sam didn't know, that he might never know, but it was clearly not a good memory. Fear wasn't one of the emotions Sam had any experience reading in his brother except for fear for him, but he was starting to get that whatever this was scared Dean, too. Which was oh so comforting. And if not an excuse, at least an explanation. Sam's lips flattened as he cast one more look of exasperated concern at his always-in-charge older brother, then moved on to the third bar.

The crack was so small and near the bottom, Sam nearly missed it.

"Dean," he hissed.

"What?" Dean looked up.

"I think…" Sam sat back on the ground, pulling his legs in to his chest. Then he snapped them out in a hard double kick right above the crack. The bar bent, crumbled a little, but held.

"Again," Dean said tersely, as if Sam didn't know, but he didn't care, already coiling for a second strike. This time the bar gave an ominous creak, vibrating under Sam's foot. He kicked out one more time, and three was the charm as the bar snapped halfway up, leaving a person-sized gap below the ragged break.

Peripherally, Sam hoped the loud crack hadn't drawn their host's attention, but he wasn't about to wait and see. Turning himself sideways and sucking in a breath, he pushed through the space, feelings bars scrape and snag at his hair, his chest front and back, then his hips. His legs slid free relatively easily, although he had to angle his big feet to clear the space. And then he was free, standing between his empty cage and Dean's, grinning at his brother.

Dean grinned back at him. "Not bad, little brother."

"Shut up," Sam shot back good-naturedly. Showing no sign of how good the praise felt.

His joy quickly faded as he realized he had no idea what to do next. Getting Dean out was the obvious plan, but it wasn't as if he could find a key to the boulder, or that their joined strength would be able to break another bar. Sam gave the large rock an assessing look and tried it anyway, bending to put his shoulder into it, straining with all he had. He could feel Dean struggling to push from his disadvantaged position, too.

Nothing. A tiny bit of rocking, but they might as well have been trying to move the cave wall itself. Sam slumped against the rock, panting, looking for another option.

"Get out of here," Dean said quietly.

He snapped his gaze back to his brother. "No. No way. Dean, I'm not—"

"I'm not saying go and never come back. Just…get help. Call Jim and ask him who else is in the area who could go up against this thing with you. But get out of here before it comes back, or we're both sunk."

Sam glowered at him. "I'm not leaving you here. You said it plays with its prey…"

Dean moved closer, inches away from him now. "Sam, don't worry about me. I've survived one before—I can handle this for a few days. Go get help and come back."

Sam's stomach churned, his heart faltering. He couldn't do it, couldn't leave Dean here with this…thing, but couldn't figure out how to get him out, either. His gaze ping-ponged around the cave. "Ma-maybe it's got our gear someplace close by. The shotguns—"

"—probably still wouldn't cut through this." Dean's eyes were dark and wide, as earnest as when Sam had told him Dean was capable of hunting alone, and brother had simply said, I don't want to. A rough, bloodied hand wrapped around Sam's on the bar. "Seriously, dude, you have to go. Please."

His eyes were watery, and Sam felt ten and hated hated it. But Dean was right. Big brother was always right. Sam had to leave him in order to save him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dean's expression immediately lightened, and he patted Sam's hand almost playfully. "Try not to get lost."

Sam glared heatlessly at him.

"Don't come back alone," Dean added, sobering again. "Head east, try to take it easy on your feet, stop someplace high and with good visibility for the night if you have to, and cross water if you can." A nod toward the entryway. "Dude, go. I'll be here when you get back."

"You better be," Sam said gruffly, and turned away. He didn't look back, knowing the limits of his courage.

The tunnel wound a bit, and Sam moved slowly, pressed up against the wall, both for lack of visibility and in constant fear of running into the adlet at every turn. He'd barely caught a glimpse of the creature, first knocked out of the way by Dean then, as he'd struggled to clamber up, something connecting with the back of his head so hard, he didn't remember anything after that. But it had managed to take them both prisoner, drag them back, and lock them in homemade cages. And Dean was terrified of the thing. That told Sam all he really needed to know. Moving soundlessly, he crept on.

The entrance to the cave was a relief to reach, even if the darkness outside meant night had fallen. Sam's watch had disappeared with the rest of his gear, but as he slipped out and studied the sky, he figured it was close to midnight. He looked around, searching for and not finding any sign of their captor, then again to make sure he had the location fixed in his head. Sam found the north star and headed out.

He knew the basics of stealth, knew how to navigate by the night sky, even knew how to find basic food, shelter, and weapons in any environment. But as Sam moved with hasty care through the brush, he couldn't help but think Dean was right. He'd gotten soft, if he'd ever even been honed in the first place.

Even when the three Winchesters had been together, Sam had been the researcher of the group. He could do things with a laptop that Dean couldn't even dream of—thankfully, or they might have already entered a whole new world of credit card fraud—and coax tiny details out of massive, ancient books. He knew the lore of a thousand entities, creatures, symbols, and myths, and more dead languages than live ones. John Winchester made sure he knew how to fight, too, how to use weapons, how to track and kill. But that had always been Dean's world more than Sam's, and keeping the skills fresh had been one of the first things he'd rejected when he'd arrived at school.

And now Dean's life was depending on those skills.

Sam doubled back twice, wincing as he stumbled over sharp twigs and roots. Shoes would have been no problem, but his socks were already shredding on the rough terrain. He crept on, being careful not to mark his way, stopping once to try to bind his feet with wide leaves when the socks gave way completely. He couldn't afford the blood trail, either.

How far had they come, anyway? On the way in, Sam's mind had been on trying to figure out what the creature was, not remembering their route. Which had been foolish in itself, but he'd had almost twenty years of relying on Dean for things like that. Even the three at school hadn't burned that out of him completely, not since his brother had returned, not since…since Jess's death had left him leaning on Dean more than ever. Their dad had tried to make sure Sam could take care of himself, then had sabotaged his own efforts by entrusting Sam to his brother.

Your turn, his mind repeated endlessly. Your turn to help Dean. And it scared the heck out of him.

Behind him, something stirred in the bushes.

Sam instantly went still and silent, pressed low against a tree. He scanned the bushes and trees, praying it was an animal he'd heard. He'd even take a hungry grizzly over the adlet.

Nothing moved, nothing breathed. Even the insects had gone quiet.

That wasn't good. Sam hunkered down even lower, moving like a ghost over uneven ground. He didn't even feel the damage being done to his feet anymore.

More rustling. Sam froze again, pressed down under a bush. He'd mashed some dirt onto his face before, and with his dark hair and clothes, knew he'd be invisible to most predators, including humans.

The amber eyes that shone not twenty feet away were definitely not human.

Sam cursed soundlessly and clenched fingers around a stick he'd snagged along the way, wishing he had taken the time to fashion a weapon even though it hadn't seemed then he could stop for that long. But the adlet was too fast to outrun, and apparently too good at tracking to hide from. Which left only hand-to-hand.

Without warning, the dark shape, eyes glowing, whipped toward him.

Sam rose and swung with one motion, putting the momentum of his body into the blow.

For the first time Sam had heard, the adlet made a sound, a shrill squeal that would have been universally recognized as pain. Followed by a growl that was just as surely anger. Sam took a step back for maneuvering room, feinted high and swung low.

And found the adlet could maneuver even faster. It was in front of him one moment, gone the next.

Behind him.

Fire suddenly raked down his back, pushing deep into his muscles. The pressure was terrible, and for a brief, wild moment, Sam thought he'd been stabbed.

He opened his mouth to cry out and found it filled with dirt, his body somehow having ended up facedown on the ground, convulsing. The pressure had stopped but the pain was relentless, slashing through his back, singing shrilly along his nerves, seizing his muscles until he thought they'd snap.

But the instinct to stay alive was strong, and Sam started crawling forward, breath a sob against the pain. If he could just get to some sort of shelter, something against his back…

Clawed feet stepped in front of his face.

Sam looked up, and up, along scaly, mottled flesh, grotesquely disproportionate limbs, and those terrifying eyes. They peered down at him as if they were trying to decide if he was worth squashing or not.

And fury replaced fear. Not because this was the end, not because this thing had killed him. But because it wouldn't let him save Dean. "Damn you," Sam spit out, voice husky and strained. "Damn you to—"

It vanished with that same blinding speed.

A relentlessly sharp, thick claw suddenly sank into the flesh of Sam's calf, forcing itself in through layers of skin and muscle until it hit bone.

Sam's defiance died in a gurgled scream.

It started to tow him, yanking his unresisting body along the forest floor by his impaled leg.

But by then, Sam, mercifully, no longer felt a thing.

00000

Every minute that passed without sign of either the adlet or Sam was good, Dean told himself. Although it might have been better if the adlet were there with him, which meant it wasn't going after Sam, but he'd take what he could get. There hadn't been any indication the thing had even heard the younger Winchester escape. So Dean counted minutes, and hoped.

After Sam had gone, Dean had inspected every inch of his bars looking for a similar crack or weakness as in Sam's. But no, the things were solid and thick. That Sam had been able to get through one at all was a miracle, and Dean felt another shot of pride for his little brother. Maybe some of his hunting knowledge had faded and dulled with the years at school, but Sammy was still a Winchester, and still one of the best hunters Dean knew. Not to mention the only one he wanted at his side.

Dean resettled in front of the bar he'd been working on the last hour and started scraping again. He really thought Sam knew that, that Dean wanted him there even more than he wanted to find Dad. And there were times Sam seemed to get it—heck, sometimes Sam seemed to get it way too much. But other times… Dean shook his head. His little brother could pick up on that one detail that cracked a hunt, but sometimes he couldn't see what was in front of his face. Not that Dean wanted him to know just how lonely his big brother had been without him, but to at least be aware how glad Dean was to have him back, that Sam hadn't lost everything in the fire? C'mon, did Dean have to actually say that out loud?

Grimacing, he scraped a little harder. An hour plus, and he had a fine sheen of dust to show for it, but it wasn't in him to do nothing. Besides, it kept his mind off where the adlet was.

He'd only met one of the creatures once before, on a solo hunt while Sam was away. Dean hadn't known what he was hunting then, either, nor enough to be scared when the thing captured him. But he'd learned, the hard way. The things it did… It was a week later before, dehydrated, battered, and half-crazy, Dean had managed to break free of the ropes the creature had him bound in and torch the place with the adlet still inside. Killing something had rarely been as satisfying.

He wasn't sure he could go through that again. And he knew he couldn't watch Sam do it.

There was a shuffle of sound near the entrance, and Dean stiffened, moving up into a crouch. The adlet would keep him alive longer if he didn't resist, but he wasn't going to just sit there and be a victim, either. He had to stay alive until Sam was back.

But Sam was back, and Dean's heart plunged into his feet.

The adlet should have freaked him out, the same nightmare features that haunted more than one of his dreams. But what it was dragging was what Dean's eyes were drawn to, and his hands tightened convulsively around the bars at the sight.

"Sam."

Sam looked beyond hearing, though. His eyes were shut in his dirt-streaked face, his body limp. His arms were stretched out above his head, the ground between them red-smeared in his wake as the adlet pulled him along. Dean choked in fury and despair at the sight of the claw hooked in his brother's leg, the blood that soaked the jeans around it. He couldn't even tell if Sam was alive or not.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean seethed. "I'll see you burn in Hell for this." His eyes darted back to Sam's face. "Sam, come on, wake up. Show me some sign, man." Not that he wanted Sam to wake up to any of this, but the silence, the lack of movement was terrifying.

The adlet rolled the boulder away with some effort, and dragged Sam back inside his cage. The creature seemed to study the gap in the bars for a moment, then it walked out, leaving the cage door open, apparently certain its prey was in no shape to escape.

Dean strained against the bars. "Sam! Sammy, can you hear me?"

A faint groan, then a cough that lifted Sam's spine an inch. When he fell back, he groaned.

Thank God. Dean's legs wobbled, and he clutched the bars tighter. "Hang on, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay." He hadn't the slightest clue how, but there just wasn't any other option.

Sam coughed again, head rolling in the dirt but otherwise not really aware. Dean opened his mouth to say more, to try to coax him back into unconsciousness, but the adlet's return interrupted him.

The creature carried a coil of rope this time, and Dean's heart stuttered a beat at the sharp jab of memory. Tied out, helpless, claws slicing along his skin just deep enough to draw blood, that hot breath…

But no one had been looking for him then. He was here this time for Sam. At his brother's moan, Dean shoved away the resurrected fear, gripping the bars so tight that he could feel his blood wet them again as it had when he'd first woken up to see Sam across the way, unconscious and caged.

"You leave him alone," he growled at the adlet, which didn't pay him any attention as it moved back into Sam's cage. "You hear me? You leave him alone or…" His mind blanked on any threat severe enough. Burning in hell seemed to cover it all.

The adlet bent over Sam's outstretched hands, and as Dean craned to see what it was doing, Sam twisted feebly, whispering Dean's name.

"Yeah, I'm here," he called, feeling utterly impotent. "I'm here, Sammy. Just try to go back to sleep, okay? I need to work something out."

The kid was always too stubborn for his own good. "What—?"

The question ended in a sharp gasp as they both found out what. The adlet had stood, threading the rope through a bar that ran along the ceiling, then yanking on it hard. Sam's body rose with it, bowing against the sudden tension, until his weight rested on his suspended wrists and the balls of his feet. Sam's head fell forward as he panted and shivered from the strain, making small wounded sounds Dean had never, ever wanted to hear from anyone, let alone his brother.

Dean howled in wordless outrage, attacking the bars bodily now, throwing himself at them in a frenzy until his shoulder and side ached and even the adlet turned to regard him with mild curiosity.

"That's it, you come over here and pick on someone who can fight back," Dean yelled at it. "Or you too much of a coward for that? Need to tie your prey up and lock 'em away so they can't get the drop on you, Buckshot?"

The adlet blinked at him blankly.

"Dean," came the whisper from behind the creature. Dean's eyes darted over, to see Sam's head try to rise but fail. His breathing was labored, either from the suspension or from pain. Probably both. "Don't."

"Shut up, Sam," he said gently. "I'll handle this." Dean glared at the creature. "So, you gonna show me what you got, Godzilla? Or you just all about the rope and cages?"

A low ripple of a growl, and the adlet took a step toward him.

Memory, old fear, collided with new. But the new was for Sam, and therefore trumped everything else. Dean let go of the bars, set his stance, fists balled. "Come on, freak. Don't tell me you've gotten soft."

A soft broken huff of a laugh from Sam, and Dean winced a little at the irony.

The adlet seemed confused by Sam's reaction, glancing back at him, then again at Dean as Dean yelled to recapture its attention. He kicked at the bars, cursed at the monster, and tried not to look at the hanging body dangling so far out of reach.

The adlet made a strange whistling sound, then walked out of Sam's cage and headed for Dean's.

"Yeah, I'm waiting for you, you ugly bastard," Dean coaxed it on darkly. "Let's see how you do in a fair fight." Well, as fair an opponent as something larger, faster, and with clawed appendages could be.

"Dean," Sam murmured again, and Dean's eyes instinctively tracked over at the summons. Sam had somehow managed to lift his head, propping it against his right arm, and eyes dulled with pain still watched Dean with awareness.

"It's okay, Sam. I've got it under control."

Sam's head shook fractionally, expression twisting in frustration. He shuddered, muscles cording briefly against the pull on his arms and what Dean suspected was a sliced-open back, and swallowed hard. His feet shuffled against the ground, and Dean frowned, not understanding.

The adlet was moving the rock in front of his cage door.

Sam's good foot slipped, dropping his weight on his bad leg and his arms, and he made a sound that was so near a sob, it twisted Dean's insides. He wanted to tell Sam to just let it go, to drift off somewhere pain-free and nice. But determination lined Sam's movements as he regained his balance, intention in his motions as he clipped one of the bones on the floor, so Dean didn't argue. He also didn't get it, however, and anger rose again that three years had left this much of a communication gap between them. The few years before that hadn't been their closest, either, but he missed the days of Sam's entrusting him with his secrets and fears, of the fast heartbeat against Dean's slower one, of that sunny smile. He missed his Sam.

The adlet was opening the door, and Dean's attention divided between it and Sam's awkward, slow movements. He'd maneuvered the femur to in front of him, but why…

And then Dean got it.

Sam pulled back and delivered one precise kick, immediately losing his balance and crying out, body shaking with strain.

The leg bone shot between the bars of Sam's cell, across the distance between them, through a gap between two of Dean's bars.

The adlet was inside Dean's cage.

He was already grabbing the bone, coming up in a swing.

The adlet's head snapped back at the strike. It roared something, lashing out with its claws.

Dean danced out of range, darting back in immediately, before it had time to regroup. This time he aimed for its head.

It had no room to maneuver, no room for speed, and it took the hit full on, staggering under the blow.

And just like that, all Dean's fury and helplessness burst out like a tidal wave. Like the sight of Sam writhing under the Woman in White, screaming for Jessica, standing helplessly against an advancing wendigo, being dragged like a bag of worthless garbage, bleeding across the ground. Like three years of not being able to protect the one precious thing Dean had.

He unleashed it all.

Dean pounded and raged and beat until the adlet was on the ground issuing small whimpers of pain not unlike Sam. And not unlike Sam's, the sounds just pushed Dean on, until there was blood and bone and mangled skin, and soft wet sounds whenever he landed a blow. Until it was dying but not dead. Then Dean darted out of his cage, grabbed the torch from the cave wall, and shoved it into the twitching body.

He listened grimly to it scream, watched until it was fully burning, and only then turned away in barely sated disgust.

That wasn't what he needed.

He was in Sam's cage a second later, gently lifting the hanging head, peering around the weakly arching back to survey the damage. All his anger burned out, just tenderness remaining.

"You're okay," he soothed. "You're okay." It wasn't true, but Sam still seemed to believe it when he said it.

There were tear tracks in the dirt on Sam's face, but he was fighting for composure. For a smile, for God's sake, even as his eyes slid out of focus. Dean hooked a shoulder under his arm, feeling chin and cheek rest against the side of his head as he struggled with the ropes. Felt every jerk that ran through Sam's body as injured muscle spasmed and trembled.

"You did good, Sam," Dean reassured him. Now he could say it.

A small slide of hair against his skin. "You're right…got soft." A bitter, hurt laugh. "S-sorry, let it—"

"You didn't let it do anything," Dean interrupted firmly. The knot was finally loosening, not so much complicated as pulled tight by the weight of Sam's body. "This thing's just an awesome hunter, man—it would've gotten me, too." Sam sucked in a breath, and Dean flinched. "Almost done. Just take it easy. You're doing great, Sammy."

Wetness slid down his scalp, either his brother's tears or sweat. Dean hated this, but Sam would be mortified.

"You did great, kiddo," Dean repeated as he slid the last rope free. "Hey, saved my skin, right? Nothing soft about that."

Sam's breath hitched and choked as Dean lowered his arms and took his full weight. He curled into Dean shamelessly then, pressing his forehead against Dean's collarbone so hard, it felt like he wanted to break right through it, burrow deep. Away from the pain, and Dean understood, holding him tight as he checked out Sam's back and leg and the soles of his feet. A lot of blood, but only skin and muscle damage. Non-lethal if he could stave off shock, not even beyond the Winchester clinic's ability to treat.

Sam's heart hammered against his, and Dean closed his eyes. He'd move in a minute, find their gear and his boots, carry Sam back to the car if he had to. After he got Sam calmed down and let the pain settle. After he held his brother again for a little bit.

Sam's breathing slowly evened, and then Dean was surprised to hear him breathlessly laugh. Shock? He twisted around to see under the loose bangs.

Sam looked at him lazily, exhausted and hurt but smiling.

"What?" Dean asked, unable to help smiling back even though he was worried.

"That kick? Didn't get that from Dad." A careful breath, long fingers tightening in Dean's shirt sleeve. "Learned that…in soccer."

Dean stared at him a second, then barked a laugh. Figured. Sam was just stubborn enough to pick up something from the sport their dad had made him give up for crossbow training.

He rocked Sam, just a little, feeling the unfamiliarly long body relax against him with familiar trust. And thought maybe he recognized this Sam, after all.

00000

They had some injectable lidocaine, and Sam was rarely as grateful for it as now.

He was stretched out prone on the bed, naked to the waist, blankets pooled around his boxers. The adlet's claw marks started a little past the middle of his back, curling nearly up to his shoulder, three deep gashes. Dean had been working on them for almost an hour, gently cleaning and stitching, talking about nothing as he worked. Sam had drifted in and out, listening lethargically to the sound of his voice and feeling oddly relaxed considering he was being pieced back together by needle and thread, and just a few hours before he'd been hanging in a cage about to be eaten.

The chuckle came out of nowhere, and made the hands working on his back pause. "Sam? You going loopy on me?"

"No," he murmured into the pillow. "Just…we live a weird life, man."

"Yeah, tell me about it," came the dry response. The feeling of tugging without the accompanying pain was weird, and Sam let his thoughts slide away from it.

"I didn't stop, not all the way."

"Stop what, Sam?"

"Training. Keeping in shape."

Another pause of movement.

Sam swallowed dryly, and felt his head lifted in one hand, straw against his mouth. He drank until he could feel the water hit his empty stomach, then pulled back. Dean had offered to get him something bland to eat, mashed potatoes, or pancakes, but he wasn't quite ready for food yet.

"Didn't do it like Dad—they looked at me funny when I went all out."

Dean snorted, and Sam, even groggy, knew what he was thinking. Remembering all the times YMCA staff or well-meaning bystanders had tried to separate them, thinking they were trying to kill each other. They'd finally learned to spar in off hours or in their room.

"But I kept it up." Sam paused. "Dunno why. Habit, I guess. And it just felt…wrong, getting so out of shape. Dangerous, y'know?" Sam lifted up enough to glance back into his brother's eyes, but Dean didn't look up from his task. His jaw was set, though, his whole posture one of listening.

Sam sighed, flopping back to the mattress. It made his leg, still unanaesthetized, throb angrily, and Sam pressed his forehead into the pillow.

Dean's hand squeezed his leg just below the knee until the worst of the pain died down.

"You should've said something," Sam whispered.

"About what?"

"Me being out of shape. If I'm gonna do this, I need to watch your back, Dean." His lethargy had burned away, replaced by something insistent and scared. Sam reached blindly back to grab Dean's arm and make him listen. "I'm not losing you, too."

Dean's hand grasped his, hard. His thumb probed Sam's knuckles for a long, silent minute, down the back of his hand as if searching for something, then around to the inside of his wrist. Then he carefully moved Sam's arm back up around the pillow he'd been hanging on to. But Sam could feel Dean settle a hand on the small of his back as he finished his stitching, maintaining the contact. "You're not gonna lose me, Sam." He said it low and firm, like an oath. "You've been doing fine. And Jess didn't die because you dropped your guard. You were supposed to be safe at school." He said it almost fiercely, under his breath.

Heat traveled up into Sam's cheeks, his eyes. "I'll be ready next time, all right?"

The last knot pulled tight, then Dean's hand rubbed the back of his neck. "I know you will. We'll start some training again when you're better, okay?"

"Uh-huh." Sam relaxed, breathing against the pillow until it felt warm and damp. "Dean?" he mumbled as he felt his brother pull the blanket up to his shoulders and move down the bed, uncovering his legs.

"Yeah."

"I thought you'd come to school with me. I wouldn't've stopped then."

A long pause this time. Then Dean, unusually rough-voiced, said, "I'm here now, Sam."

And he was, and while that didn't make everything all right, not by a long shot, it helped. A lot.

He wanted to ask about what had happened when Dean had run into an adlet before, and if he'd been alone, and what else he'd faced while Sam was gone. But then Sam was going again, slipping away in drowsy silence while Dean gently started to work on his leg. And Sam didn't fight it because, at least this time, they both knew he would be back.

The End