Author: RoweenaC
Title: Wolf Age
Genre: Crossover, hurt/comfort, action
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Galen, Rob
Warnings: Spoilers for Custodes Noctis: The Hunt; Spoilers for SPN up to 5.10

Summary: 'Let's go kill some werewolves, Sammy. It'll be fun. Time for some good, old-fashioned hunting, Winchester style. A little shore leave, take a breather from the Apocalypse.' Like Hell!

After The Apothecary and The Forest, the Winchesters meet up with the Emrys brothers again.

A/N: My thanks go out to MuffyMorrigan who has had no objection - yet- to let me play with her boys. There is nothing better - in my book - than a story that has both Emrys AND Winchesters in it. Plus Muffy kindly beta'ed this story. I hope you lot like what I have come up with. The story is set after 5.10 and after the second book "The Hunt" in the Custodes Noctis series. So, spoilers for everything up to SPN 5.10 and The Hunt. Go read the book(s) and watch the epis!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1: Sam

"Crap. Now what, Sammy?"

Sam turned around to find his brother standing with his back against a tall menhir roughly nine feet to his right, panting, irritation evident in his voice. The calf-high snow was melting around his legs, soaking the jean fabric in dark smudges. He couldn't make out Dean's face in the shadow of the stone, but he knew that tone and he would put all his money on his brother's eyes shooting daggers at him.

"Dude, I got no idea! I wasn't the one goin' all John Wayne on them! What did you have to yell at them for?" Sam shot back in a carrying whisper.

"Well, that's helpful! What was I s'posed to do, huh? Let them rip you to shreds?"

A threatening growl came from his brother this time, eerily similar to their prey. Sam scowled in his sibling's direction and furrowed his free hand through sweat-drenched strands. Judging by the tiny, white crystals tumbling idly from his head, his hair was already starting to freeze into silvery icicles in the nightly breeze. Great, just friggin' awesome. Hell of a plan. 'Let's go kill some werewolves, Sammy. It'll be fun. Time for some good, old-fashioned hunting, Winchester style. A little shore leave, take a breather from the Apocalypse.' Like Hell!

Sam took a deep breath ready to come back with an impolite response, when suddenly the world turned upside down, the ground beneath his feet replaced by the starry black velvet blanket of the night skies. He kicked at the air, desperately holding on to his Taurus, the other arm jabbing blindly at an unseen enemy.

Hot, humid breath billowed in misty clouds all around him, the coppery stench of blood was overwhelming. The younger Winchester almost felt relieved when his back made spine-breaking contact with the huge altar stone in the middle of the circle decorating the clearing. All the air swooshed out of his lungs, as a hot flare of agony wrapped around his ribcage. He felt weirdly disconnected from his body; even though he sensed the pain, his mind was still clear. Staring at the full moon above, he took a few shuddering gasps, just lying there, otherwise motionless. Silence was ringing in his ears like an alarm clock, and he shook his head, jaws chewing air to pop away the muffling sensation in his auditory canal.

Wow, that must've easily been nine feet from where I was standing.

He flinched when a warm breeze wafted past his neck, causing his skin to crawl away from the warmth.

Sam turned his head around to search for the source. Eyes widening, he stared right into a pair of bloodshot, thirsty canine eyes. Foaming flews shivered in the echo of an unheard growl. The werewolf seemed to grin at him, waiting, wanting its prey to be fully aware of its impending death.

And then sound came rushing back in one deafening crescendo. A cacophony of wolfish barks and howls, silver bullets being fired in all directions, scraping along wood, ricocheting from stone. Above all, Dean's panicked yells for his brother soared the midnight forest's sky.

Sam blinked, frozen in shock. The werewolf licked its mouth, saliva dribbling in long, thick threads tainting the hunter's thighs. Fangs bared, its shoulders stiffened as it readied itself for the murderous leap at the human's pulsating jugular.

Finally, Sam's body caught up with his panicked mind and he shoved himself further up the altar, snow melting instantly beneath him, the cooling liquid chasing away the lingering remnants of befuddlement.

The werewolf's hind paws dug deep into the snow-covered ground, as it hurled itself at the hunter. At the same moment, Sam rolled over onto his left side, arms raised in a desperate attempt to shelter his head from the beast's bared fangs and razor-sharp claws approaching him at the speed of light.

Warm, sticky moisture soaked his right arm instantly. Claws digging deep furrows into muscle tissue as they sliced smoothly along his arm. From wrist to triceps tendons were ripped, nerve tracks severed and vessels torn sprouting dark fountains of blood. Sam howled in pain as the remaining snow of the ancient altar turned a vibrant pink in the cold, indifferent moonlight.

In answer to his agony, he heard Dean bellow his name across the clearing, while the werewolf, missing its initial target by inches, slid to a halt on the flat stone, huffing and panting audibly in irritation. Growling, it turned around, sniffing the air, pawing the pink slush beneath its huge body. It advanced on Sam, slowly, cautiously, muzzle barely a foot above the ground, as if unsure whether its prey was still a threat.

Breathing through clenched teeth, his face a mask of torture, Sam held his useless arm cradled against his chest, left hand groping for the lost gun, hoping against hope it had somehow landed in the vicinity. Heavy, slithering footfalls, getting gradually louder, told him that Dean had obviously fought off his attacker.

"SAM! No, you don't, you sonofabitch!"

Sam jerked his head around into the direction of Dean's voice and terror wrapped a searing band around his heart. Gunfire blasted through the clearing as Dean emptied a full clip into the prancing, jumping and howling remaining members of the pack. Still racing at top speed, eyes alternating between his immediate opponents and Sam, his older brother fumbled with the backup clip, popped it back in place and dared to look down at his hands for an instant. Just then a very large werewolf rammed its head into the running man. Off balance, Dean stumbled and nearly fell to his knees. He could have made it, had it not been for the same monster renewing its attack and pushing the hunter with its immense power backwards against the nearest menhir, his head connecting with the unrelenting rock.

Sam winced when he heard the sickening thunk, and saw Dean's eyelids flutter. He watched his brother slide down the front of the stone, toppling down like a stringless marionette.

"No! Dean!" Sam pushed himself up, biting down on his bottom lip when his wounded arm protested violently, the werewolf behind him forgotten, all thought focused on Dean's lifeless form at the foot of the stone. The other five members of the pack closed in on the unconscious hunter as Sam finally found his Taurus lying in the deep snow. The tall hunter bent down, grabbed the gun and pulled the trigger, satisfaction warming the arctic cold inside his heart as the first werecreature yelped in surprise. Jumping from the sacred stone, Sam was advancing on the pack when a heavy bulk slammed into him, bringing him to his knees. The Taurus escaped his grasp again, sinking deep into the snow.

Sam struggled to his feet and turned around, expecting the attacker still behind him. Nothing. He took two steps to the altar and was thrown forward, torso thrashing against the sharp edge of the flat boulder, injured arm squashed between chest and stone. A low growl overlay the screaming nerves in his messed up arm. Head half turned to see what was looming behind him, fighting unconsciousness, he felt big paws on his scapulae, pinning him down. He bracedhis good arm against the side of the stone, pushing hard. A yapping bark and the hot breath on his neck told him he needed to get free now or risk ending up as puppy chow.

All of a sudden the pressure from behind lifted, enabling him to pull himself up and roll over onto his back, panting, trying to ease the tremors in his limbs. The pack seemed to have vacated the clearing completely. Dean! Sam sat up and hopped-fell from the altar, disregarding the agony pulsating in his arm at the sudden movement.

Swirling around to where he had last seen his brother, his breath caught in his throat. Dean wasn't moving. Sam took a staggering step towards him but was ripped back by claws holding him by the shoulders.. In one painful swift motion, he was yanked through the air again, landing with his full body length on the sacrificial stone once more. He hissed, fighting hard to stay awake, when icy rivulets found their way into his collar and down his spine.

Trying to keep his eyes from watering as the impact jarred at the raw flesh, he blinked and stared up, swallowing hard.

A different wolf this time. Less like a werewolf, its eyes differed surprisingly. Instead of the usual canine pupils, these were blood red and milky white mists swirled and curled over the eyeballs. Its mouth was huge, its tongue a dark purple color, framed by bright white, seven-inch long fangs, dripping with thick threads of mercury saliva. The soft fur on its neck stood up high, ruffled by the freezing breeze. Massive shoulders, wider than Sam's, twitched from excitement as the forelegs kept Sam in place, paws digging breathtakingly deep into the hunter's ribcage, squeezing his lungs.

Movement in the corner of Sam's eye told him his brother was stirring.

The huge wolf lowered its muzzle, saliva threading down into the deep slash, sizzling and stinging along the bones.

A muffled groan escaped the tall hunter wriggling and writhing in the beast's vice-like grip. The nauseating stench of rotten flesh wafting from its nozzle stole his breath away. The wolf licked his face as if to tease him even more and vanished, dissolving into mists that wove themselves around the gagging Winchester before vanishing, too. Sam closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the bile in his throat. He missed the stones all around the clearing lighting up with ancient, crimson runes.

The younger hunter focused on breathing, glad for the darkness encompassing him, slowly giving in to oblivion. A hand squeezed his shoulder, while another gently investigated his mangled arm. "Sam? Y'okay? Sssammee?"

His brother's slurred concern washed over him soothingly. Sam suppressed a relieved sigh. When he was sure the treacherous tears were gone he looked up wearily, directly into Dean's panicked yet equally tired face. The older man was white as a sheet, dark smudges beneath his eyes betraying his utter exhaustion. Dean's alarmingly unfocused stare wandered from Sam's face to the bloody mess of his arm, shock evident when his sight focused for an instant and every gory detail jumped out at him. The deep frown told Sam all he needed to know about the severity of his injury.

Weirdly enough, the younger Winchester couldn't even feel his arm at the moment. "So not a good sign," Sam mumbled.

A strong arm dug its way under his back, helping him up. His brother's hands trembled from the cold water as much as from exertion. Dean unwound his own belt and explained, panic still bubbling beneath the businesslike surface. "Gonna use my shirt to stop the bleeding. Dammit. One of my LedZeps. You owe me a new one!" A half-smirk spread across his brother's face, not reaching his eyes as he slid out of his jacket, pulled first his button-down shirt, then his t-shirt over his head. The icy breeze intensified and Dean shivered involuntarily, his bare chest wrinkling with gooseflesh.

And there he goes again, riskin' his sorry ass to protect me. I hate that. A shiver quaked through the younger man, almost resulting in Sam face-planting when he wasn't able to counterbalance the tremors. Dean grabbed him by his healthy shoulder and pulled his brother back, breaking his ungraceful descent at the very last moment. Okay, maybe this time he's got a point.

"'s cold." Funny how my mind is so much more elaborate than my mouth. Sam winced with exasperation at his own weakness.

"Yup. Mountains, winter, snow. I'm surprised, too," Dean snorted, shaking his head fondly. He shrugged his jacket back into place, tore the shirts into bandages and started wrapping straps of "Stairway to Heaven" lyrics around his sibling's lacerated limb, softly humming the tune.

Sam flinched more than once, vision increasingly graying out. When Dean pulled the last makeshift bandage into a tight knot, Sam sighed thankfully, letting out a hitching breath. The older man watched him attentively, one eyebrow cocked questioningly. When Sam smiled wearily, he worked the belt into a noose and slung it around the injured arm.

"Okay, bro'. As good as it gets." Huffing, Dean sank down next to him, pulling his drowsy brother against him, holding him upright. Sam allowed himself another deep breath, fatigue sweeping over him. A minute of relaxed silence followed, each Winchester contemplating their situation.

"Dude. What was that massive thing? Was like double the size of the others...'ve never seen one that big," Dean's question hung in the air and Sam shrugged one shoulder in response, cradling his slashed arm close to his chest. He felt a growing throb underneath the numbness now, pulsating in sync with his heart beat. Good, means there's still some circulation in it, his mind stated, oddly detached.

Slowly, Sam regained some control over his vocal cords and tongue. "I got nothin'." Surprised at how clear his voice was despite of the much needed sleep, he went on. "I mean, that wasn't even a werewolf. It was a real wolf ... kinda."

"Kinda? Well, that's specific. Guess the college education spell's wearing off, huh?"

Sam disregarded Dean's snark, knowing his sibling was only masking his own misgivings and ignorance. "You should've seen its eyes, Dean. Creepy. And I swear it was thinking."

Dean nodded, wincing as the movement obviously amplified his headache.

"And all those weirdo markings on the stones. Dude, we're so screwed...," Dean amended. "Plus, I only got a few shells left. Dropped the weapons bag back at the lake when they ambushed us. Well, whatever. Maybe we should call it a night, try and get back to a hospital... You need sutures."

Sam froze, mind dwelling on Dean's observation. "Markings? What markings?"

Howls in the distance cut off any further explanation from the elder Winchester as both men jerked their heads around. Dean slid from the stone.

"Let's play catch up later, Sam. We need to get out of here before Mowgli's family returns for a reenactment of Brotherhood of the Wolf."

"You saw a French movie?" Sam asked. Dean pulled his flabbergasted brother to his feet, balancing him against his side before reaching for the Colt in his waistband.

Sam watched as Dean checked the clip and nodded distractedly.

"Freakin' subtitles gave me a headache, much like the one I have right now minus the sight issues, though they would've been a blessing then. C'mon, let's get you back to the car."

A deafening yelp filled the forest, quickly followed by two more almost pitiful sounds of dying werewolves, leaving both Winchesters shuddering in their wake. Dean, tugging Sam along, marched off in the exact opposite direction of the massacre obviously being spread among their former prey by some unseen attacker. The younger Winchester stumbled over a hidden rock and grabbed his sibling's left hand, stopping his purposeful stride.

Dean looked at his shivering brother inquiringly. "What?"

Sam swallowed against overwhelming exhaustion. A violent tremor shook through him and he waited until the shudders abated to be sure his voice would hold. "'S the wrong way."

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

"I-impala's the other way, Dean." Swaying precariously, Sam sagged a little when the older man caught him just before he lost his balance completely. "An' I'm not shhhure I c'n walk tha' far. Tired." The tall hunter watched bleary-eyed as his brother's worry grew, visible only through Dean chewing his bottom lip lost in thought, calculating their options.

Sam was equally concerned about his brother losing his way. Normally, Dean would find his way – especially to the car – blindfolded. Him taking off in the wrong direction bore witness that the hunter was hiding something from Sam. "Sure y're okay, Dean?"

A nod and Dean set out in the same direction, pulling Sam with him.

"Dean?"

The older man rounded on him and Sam flinched at the sudden annoyance written across Dean's face.

"What? Yeah, my head hurts. So? Get a grip. It's just a concussion, Sam. End of story. Now, can we get our asses outta here or do I have to carry you?"

Pissed off, not good. Not at all. Better zip it for now.

"So we're not goin' to the car then? The lake then?"

"Hm, yeah, I got an idea. And we better hurry. C'mon, princess." Dean slung one arm around Sam, hooking his thumb into one of his brother's belt loops. The taller man leaned on him, vision tunneling, stars exploding in unnerving fireworks before his eyes. Blood loss. Was wondering when that'd start. Fun.

***

By the time they found their bag by the lake shore, both men were shivering and sweating. The single mile from the stone circle on the plateau back down to the valley had taken at least thirty minutes that seemed more like three hours. Their trip had been highlighted by Sam passing out half way, bringing Dean down with him. Whatever Dean had done to wake him again, it had worked and now they were dragging and staggering along an old hiking trail leading -according to the washed out sign- to a place known as "Hist'c 'lver 'ine".

Both hunters were drenched in melted snow and sweat, teeth chattering audibly. Sam's thoughts revolved around one thing only - rest.

Dean hadn't said a word in more than ten minutes, seemingly concentrating on walking. Judging by his uncharacteristic silence, the stumbling if determined strides together with the labored breaths hissing out between clenched jaws, he, too, was nearing his breaking point.

Abruptly, the path ended at the mouth of a cave bordered up with rotting, wooden bars and the rusted remnants of barbwire.

"We're here," Dean said, catching his breath.

"Where?" Sam blinked, swallowing. The numb throb in his arm had long since morphed into a sharp, constant pain. It took a few seconds for him to realize what Dean was talking about.

"An old silver mine. Looks like no-one's been here in ages," his brother walked closer to the entrance, tugging Sam with him.

"How'd y'know 'twas here?" He noted the slur himself and regretted he had spoken at all when Dean, wild panic evident in his pallid face, jerked him around to observe his brother him.

"'Nuff wasting time, dude. Let's get you in there, make a fire. Get you warmed up." The older Winchester almost carried his sibling's full body weight for the last steps. Sam was on the brink of passing out again, blood loss and resulting shock taking their toll.

"Mh-hm." Oh, hell. Very coherent. Tired, so tired. "Sleep."

"No, Sam. Not just yet. Lemme get you to that rock there. Looks cozy. Almost as good as the motel bed, ain't it?" Dean pushed and shoved at the younger man, navigating both of them around an ancient, derailed mine cart. Sam tried to help but his mind was swimming, his arm belting out an agonized aria along his bones, rendering him a useless heap of dead weight as he stumbled over the gravelly ground. Relief washed over him when his brother lowered him to the ground, made pillow of his leather jacket and hunkered down in front of him to investigate Sam's condition.

While Dean fidgeted with the t-shirt dressings, Sam felt his system shutting down. He tried to listen to Dean's comforting, snarky ramblings about freakishly huge wolves taking on an even huger Winchester and weird red graffiti on the stones, trying to hold on to reality a little longer but it was a fruitless endeavor. Oblivion took him in a stride, guiding him gently down beneath a midnight-blue, deep ocean of nothingness. He welcomed the darkness, welcomed rest.

"Sam, wake up, dammit!" A familiar hand held him by his left shoulder as he fought the lead in his eyelids. The urgent tone in his brother's voice added to his need to respond.

"Wha'?"

"That's it, Sammy. Come on, I need you to wake up, now!" Dean's voice changed slightly. Gently, he egged his half-conscious brother on to wakefulness.

A canine howl sliced through the cave, multiplying, overlaying, carving painfully sharp echoes into his eardrums. It brought him back instantly, his eyes popped open. Dean was hunkered down next to his brother, gaze switching between Sam, the mouth of the cave and his hands, loading several guns with their quickly waning supply of silver rounds by the light of their only flashlight. A selection of silver blades lay by his boots, ready to use should they run out of bullets. And sadly, that would happen sooner than later judging by the single backup clip for Dean's Colt resting next to duffel bag.

The older Winchester snatched up a silver dagger, slipped it into his ankle holster and chose a silver knife with a 9-inch blade to go into his waistband. Handing Sam the Taurus, he stood hunch-backed, looking over the rim of the mine cart, spying on the origin of the ghostly wails outside the mine.

And then the younger Winchester finally noted his brother's ingenious idea for what it was. Holing up in this cave was their best shot at surviving the night. Silver. Some silver veins must still be running like thin cobwebs through the rock surrounding them,too faint to be worth mining. If it came to werewolves however, this hairnet like system of silver might actually work to their advantage.

Sam leaned forward and whispered, his voice hoarse from lack of use. "Dude, good catch on the mine. Think they could still get in?"

"I dunno. I just thought it might come in handy..." Looking his brother over quickly, Dean went on. "How're ya doin', Sammy? You look like crap."

"Hm, yeah, feel like it, too." He shivered in the cool mine. Obviously Dean hadn't had time to light a fire yet. Sam guessed the wolves had surprised him right in the midst of things. A pile of dry twigs and brittle, splintered railroad ties lay forgotten next to Sam's rock.

A fierce growl close to the entrance of their cave jerked their heads around in unison, followed by a synchronous flinch on their faces. Dean massaged his temples, while Sam noted that his brother most definitely didn't look healthy. He had written the sweat-beaded forehead off to the hectic preparations for the impending assault by the werecreatures lurking outside. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Here they come, Sam. Let's kill us some werewolves." Dean straightened up, hands outstretched, keeping the entrance of their refuge at gunpoint. "Just stay down there, you can back me up. I'll try to pick 'em off one by one."

The next minutes were filled with gunfire, muzzle flashes, yelps, growls – from both Dean and the wolves - and clinking shells dropping to the ground. Sam had tried to haul himself to his feet but learned the hard way he was in no shape to join the shoot-out when he lost his balance and landed unceremoniously on his tailbone, silently bemoaning his demise. His brother shot him a quick sideways glance, scowled after making sure Sam hadn't hurt himself even more, and had taken the Taurus from him as a backup gun.

The younger brother felt useless, so he busied himself with building a small stake from the wood Dean collected earlier. A metallic click and a muffled curse made him look up at his brother.

"Last one. Dammit. Okay, guess now's the time we find out if the silver's actually keepin' 'em out." Talking more to himself, Dean put Sam's gun on the ground and freed his dagger from the holster with one hand, while the other dug for the knife in his waistband. "Here goes nothin'. Where're the angels when you need 'em? Damn that ribcage tattoo."

Sam grabbed another knife, slid it in his jacket pocket and bit down hard on his bottom lip when the movement jarred at his arm and resulted a thousand supernovas in front of his eyes. The pain in his lip cleared most of the foggy light-headedness. Pulling himself up with his left arm, he sensed his brother stiffen beside him. Dean shot him a worried look but nodded, understanding Sam's need to go down with him.

"Okay, this is it, Sammy. You ready?"

"Mh-hm," Sam replied, shaking his head a little to bring the entrance of the cave into focus. From the corner of his eye he saw Dean roll his shoulders.

An unexpected howl of pain cut through the expectant silence between the brothers. Exchanging a bewildered look, they peered into the dark night, trying to make out what was causing the pained sound. Another yelp and angry growls followed. Short barks and sounds of physical combat wafted over to the Winchesters.

"What the hell?" Dean hissed.

Sam refrained from shrugging at the last second and shook his head instead. "I dunno..."

"DOWN!" Dean bellowed and pulled his brother down, Sam hissed in pain. A silver-headed arrow buried itself in a crevice in the rough-hewn wall just at the height Sam's head had been seconds before.

"Thanks, that was close," the younger man huffed in between wincing.

They sat there, panting, listening to the ongoing fight outside their refuge. Soon enough the howls and yelps came at longer intervals until they died out completely, leaving the Winchesters behind in silence.

Sam looked at his sibling, watched him gulp and close his eyes, fists clenched around the hilts of the two blades, white knuckles standing out even against the pale skin.

"Hey, Dean? You okay, man? 'Cause you don't look so hot," Sam put his left hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed gently, trying to get his brother's attention.

Dean jerked around and Sam was taken aback at the pain and anger flaring behind his brother's unguarded stare before the wall slid back into place.

"I'm fine. Stop askin'!" Dean shrugged his hand off and hauled himself to his feet. "I'm more concerned 'bout that werewolf-hunting Kevin Costner out there. And we need to get the fire burning. Think you could do that while I go out and take a look?" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam. It's just... I got this feelin' there's more to this thing than meets the eye."

"Sorry...," Sam started but fell silent when he heard soft voices outside. Dean put a finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture and lifted his silver-bladed knife, signed to Sam to stay put, and slunk around the mine carriage out of his line of vision.

The younger man reached up to the rim of the cart and pulled up one-handed, biceps bulging, eager to see his sibling, to offer his support. Yeah right, since I can hardly stand upright, I'll be one hell of a hero... Sam huffed and held on to the brittle wood of the mine cart as if his life depended on it.

Dean slid closer to the entrance, keeping in the shadows, knife ready to strike. A tall figure appeared in the sparse moonlight, a black shape against the dark forest. Something flashed in the intruder's hand, reflecting the gleam of their flashlight.

"Dammit!" Sam cursed, dropped down, biting away his agonized moan when his knees scraped along jagged stones. He swabbed at the treacherous source of the light, tilting it to the side, dimming it to an almost-darkness and lay still, panting from over-exertion.

A muffled groan, metal clunking on stone, a gasp. The sounds of jabs and punches, something or someone hit the wall hard. A curse, Dean's low growl. A yelp of angered pain.

"Stop!" A new, vaguely familiar voice, harsh in the dark silence.

Sam held his breath, grabbed the flashlight, and pushed himself into a half-kneeling position. The beam of light cut through the blackness, eating the darkness, until it came to a rest like a spotlight on two men holding each other by the collars, breathing audibly, faces masks of belligerence. The one facing Sam's direction was Dean. The other one, almost the same height, stood with his back almost completely turned to the younger hunter, short middle-brown curls ruffling in a breeze. The third man, the one who had interrupted Dean and his opponent, stood roughly five feet to the left of them, a sword at the ready. Sam searched the man's face with his flashlight and gasped. He pulled himself up using the cart once more, and stepped closer, staggering a little.

"Galen? Rob?"

~TBC~

End Notes: Hope you liked this! Thanks for reading!