Greetings! I know it's been a while. Hope y'all haven't forgotten me. :) I promised this a while ago, but I just don't know where the time goes. This story is my first foray into pre-series, but it takes place right before Sam leaves for Stanford. I figured there had to be a reason Sam wanted to be safe. Something that pushed him over the edge. This is my take. I hope you enjoy! Thanks! ~ AJ

Nchaa Bu

By AJ Wesley

Chapter 1

This was just too easy.

Dean easily dodged the blow, elbowing his opponent in the shoulder blade on the carry-through. He smirked. The attack came again, and using a combination of martial arts and boxing, he blocked every strike, every kick. Even got in a few good ones himself. He bounced on the balls of his feet, offering a come and get me gesture that elicited a furious growl. That was when he knew he'd won, even before the final blow.

A strike, a counter, a sweep, and it was all over. Sam lay on his back in the grass, panting.

"Sammy, what the hell was that?" Dad called out. "Where's your head? Because it's certainly not here."

Oh, no. Here we go. Dean held out a hand to help his brother up, but it was swatted away. "Sammy, don't do this," he pleaded softly, not wanting their father to hear.

But Sam wasn't listening. He climbed to his feet and stalked off, leaving a bewildered Dean in his wake.

"Sammy, get back here, now," John yelled. "Sam!"

Sam ignored him and kept going.

With a sigh, Dean turned to his father, stopping him from following with a hand on his chest. "Dad, just…let him go. I'll talk to him."

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him." John raked a hand through his hair. "I can't have this, Dean. He's going to get hurt, or worse."

Dean could see the worry in his father's eyes as they trailed after the teen, watching him disappear into the woods. He waited expectantly for the okay.

John's shoulders fell. "All right. Just get him back here. He shouldn't be out there alone. It'll be dark in a couple of hours." He reached behind him, pulled the Glock from his waistband, and pressed it into Dean's hand.

Dean nodded, tucked the pistol away, and started after Sam.

John caught his arm. "Dean, don't get cocky during a fight."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, a pang of regret tightening his chest. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't like he ever got a Good job, son. He pushed the thought back to where it wouldn't hurt anymore and headed after his brother.

oooOOOooo

Sam didn't know where he was going, just away. Which was probably a really stupid idea considering what they were here hunting, but it wasn't night yet. He wished his father and brother would give him a little more credit.

He gave a short, bitter laugh. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. Even at seventeen, he still couldn't best Dean in a spar. And although Sam's last growth spurt had given him two inches on his older brother, it had also screwed with his balance and coordination. Finding his center again was not easy, but he couldn't explain that to Dad. Couldn't explain anything. It seemed as if lately every conversation just deteriorated into a fight. What was he doing that was so wrong?

The strains of a song reached his ears, and before he knew it, Sam found himself following the sound. The voices—children's voices—became clearer as he closed the distance, but he couldn't understand the words. Sam broke into the clearing and saw the camp and the children sitting in a circle, swaying as they sang in the language of their ancestors.

Victoria sat among them, long black hair brushing her back as she rocked with them, singing along, helping them with the words. She was Councilman Paul's daughter, just a little older than Dean, and she was really pretty. Sam felt something stir inside him as he watched her, felt the anger melt a little as he listened.

The song ended, and Victoria said something that made the children laugh. Then she looked up, saw him watching, and the next thing he knew, she was walking toward him. Sam felt his face warm. Damn it.

"Sam!" She greeted him with a smile that made him blush even more. But if she noticed, she didn't say anything.

Sam cleared his throat. "That was beautiful. What was it?"

Victoria glanced back at her students. "An ancient song to ward off evil spirits. Helps the children sleep at night."

Not an easy feat when Big Owl, Nchaa Bu to the Apache, was out there. The evil spirit of local legend had suddenly reappeared after a century of banishment and was claiming victims wandering in its territory: the White Mountains. The Tribal Council had contacted Dad for help.

But with the lurking danger, Sam didn't understand. "Why don't you go back to the reservation? Why stay here?"

"This is our annual retreat, Sam," the teacher explained. "It's important. Keeps us in touch with our forefathers."

"But with everything that's going on—"

"We can't live in fear, Sam."

Why not? I do. He stopped that thought, unsure where it had come from and relieved he hadn't said it out loud.

"And," Victoria continued, "'with everything that's going on,' we've been telling the children not to go anywhere by themselves. Yet here you are…" Her eyes searched left and right.

God, did everyone have to berate him? He straightened to his full height. "I can take care of myself."

Her smile was gentle and held no derision. "It's run off with warriors, too, Sam."

Did…did she just call him a warrior? Oh, God, his face had to be beet-red now.

A hand, soft and warm, touched him arm, sending a tingle through his body. "Be careful," she warned.

Sam could only manage a nod, then watched her as she returned to her students. With a final glance around, he turned and continued on his way.

oooOOOooo

Dean swore under his breath. Twenty-one and he had ulcers. Not because of the things he fought. Oh, no. It was because over the last three years, his little brother had been slowly turning into Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and there was no telling what would trigger the change. Dean felt like a freakin' referee. Okay, you in that corner, and you in that corner. Now!

Dad was no better. At least this time there hadn't been a yelling match. Those were scary, especially now that Sammy could get right in Dad's face. Okay, so maybe John Winchester wasn't the role model for Father of the Year, but he was a role model. One Dean looked up to, respected. He didn't understand why Sammy couldn't see that.

Speaking of… Where the hell did he go?

The squeal of laughter reached Dean through the trees, and with only a moment's hesitation, he turned in that direction. When he broke into the clearing, he saw Victoria herding a group of children back to the main camp. Dean hurried over to her.

"Hey!" he called. "Victoria!"

She stopped, waiting for him to catch up. "Hello, Dean."

"Have you seen Sammy?"

She smiled. "I'm well, how are you?"

"Sorry." Dean dropped his weight to one hip and affected a casual pose. "So, how's it goin'?"

Victoria laughed as a chorus of "Hi, Dean!" erupted behind her. Dean waved to the kids, but then his focus was back on her.

"So, uh…," he began.

"He looked upset. What happened this time?"

A week with the Apache and already Sam had a reputation. Dean laughed on a sigh. "I whooped his a—" Dean caught himself. "Butt," he finished with a shy grin.

Giggles from the kids.

Victoria shushed them, but there was still a smile on her face when she turned back. "Try down by the lake."

Dean nodded his thanks and took off at a jog. Sam hadn't had much of a head start, but those long strides sure carried him far. He couldn't ever beat Dean in a spar, but a race? The kid won hands down. Dean slowed to a walk as he got closer, trying to give his brother time to cool down.

The path to the lake meandered through a small copse of trees and emerged a few yards from the bank. Dean spotted his brother immediately. Sam was sitting by the water, his back to the path—Sloppy, little brother—but as Dean approached, he detected the slightest change in Sam's body, a minute turn of his head. Sam knew he was there. Attaboy.

Dean made no effort to conceal his presence now, and he saw the slump in Sam's shoulders as he approached. Without a word, Dean folded his legs and dropped down beside him.

"Dean." It was almost a whine.

"Hey, is there a law against sitting by the lake?"

Sam's head lowered and he picked at the grass.

"And I thought…you know…maybe…you'd want to talk." Boy was that lame, Dean.

A long-suffering sigh. "No, Dean, I don't want to talk."

Dean bobbed his head, his foot moving to a rhythm only he could hear. The water lapped gently against the bank. Flocks of birds flew across the sky in their evening dance. It was peaceful. Serene. It was driving Dean nuts. Time for some goading. "What, you want me to let you win? Is that it?

"No!" Sam insisted, agitated. "That's not what I—" He turned on Dean and saw the grin. "You're such a jerk."

"Bitch."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"When you stop acting like one. Sammy, this hormonal crap's gotta stop. One of these days it's gonna get you—"

"It's Sam."

Typical. Selective hearing. "Yeah, whatever."

Sam was still glaring at him. "It's gonna get me what, Dean? Killed?" He laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "Do you know how that sounds? I mean, what other seventeen-year-old hears that, huh?"

"Plenty," Dean answered without missing a beat. "'Don't drive too fast, it could get you killed.' 'Don't go into the city by yourself, you could get killed.' 'Don't do drugs.' There's danger everywhere, Sam."

A loud sigh; Sam hated losing arguments. "I just…I want to go to school."

"You will. Once summer's over, Dad promised we'd settle somewhere so you can enroll and finish high school. Senior year, dude!"

Sam gave him an are you for real? look. "You hated school."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I did. I hated it with a passion. I hated being cooped up like that. But I got my GED." He gave his brother a pointed look. "You know why? Because I had an obligation." He saw Sam's jaw twitch, knew he got the analogy.

Sam chose to ignore it. "I want to go to college. I want to make something of my life."

Ouch. Dean jerked back a fraction and raised his eyebrows. Excuse me. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and gazed out across the water.

Very quickly, Sam's demeanor changed. He twisted at the waist so he was facing Dean and lifted a hand. "No, Dean, I didn't mean…you're not…I just…"

Dean let him flounder.

Finally, Sam blew out a breath, thinking his words through. "You and Dad…you're good at this. Sometimes I feel like I'm just in the way. I'll never be as good as you."

"Sam—"

"You're my hero, Dean."

Dean's head swiveled back to his brother. Sam's eyes widened as if he suddenly realized he'd said that out loud, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Dean opened his mouth, closed it. He didn't know what to say to that, so he just stayed quiet.

Sam cleared his throat. "But I don't want to be a sidekick forever." His gaze lowered to the grass they were sitting on. "Even Robin became Nightwing. But he had to leave Batman to do it."

Dean swallowed, hard. The kid was completely serious. He wanted to leave. But…why? Okay, so the life they led wasn't always easy, but they were helping people. And normal people, they put too much emphasis on possessions. On things. Dean didn't have a lot of things. But what he did have—his father and his brother—he treasured. Didn't that mean the same to Sam?

Maybe they'd made a mistake sheltering Sam for so long. They'd tried to give the kid as normal a life as they could, and now that Sam was full-on hunting, normal was the life he craved. Oh, God. Sam was Dean's brother, his responsibility, his best friend. He didn't want to lose that. He couldn't…

What was that stupid-ass saying? If you love something, set it free…?

Lame. Who the hell thought that up?

Dean looked away, feeling the burn of tears in his eyes. He quickly pushed it down, regained control. Handled it the Winchester way. He cocked his head at Sam, eyebrows drawn in confusion. "Who the hell is Nightwing?"

His little brother looked at him askance, then snorted a laugh and punched Dean in the arm.

Dean slung an arm around his shoulders, drew him into a neck lock, and mussed his hair fondly. Mission accomplished. Sam was over his brooding, and Dean had successfully put off the conversation for a later time. He knew it wasn't over, but they had a hunt to worry about right now. He just had to make sure Sam's head was in the game.

"Get off," Sam growled, but it held no heat.

Dean let him go. "We gotta get back. Sun's going down." He pushed to his feet and offered Sam a hand up.

This time, Sam took it.

oooOOOooo

The sun at their backs created an orange glow across the valley. It wasn't until they entered the woods surrounding their cabin that Sam began to worry. The dense foliage blocked out much of the sun's light. It was a lot darker than it had been before. A lot darker. He found himself moving a little closer to his brother.

Dean shoulder-bumped him, knocking him off balance. Sam managed to catch himself, then gave his brother a shove, the force of which sent Dean stumbling.

He straightened with a wicked grin on his face. "Okay, little brother. You wanna play? Come on. Rematch."

"What…you serious?"

"'Fraid I'll kick your ass again?"

Sam's faced clouded over. He hated when his brother baited him.

"Ah-ah," Dean admonished. "Don't get mad, Sammy. Use your skill, not your anger."

Sam smirked. "Why? Because it leads to the dark side? You gonna tell me to use the Force now?"

A shrug. "Couldn't hurt." Dean pulled the Glock from his waistband and set it on the moss beneath a nearby tree, then fell into fighting stance.

Alert now, Sam followed him. They circled, each looking for an opening. Sam made a move that Dean easily dodged. Then Sam was falling, tripped up by his own feet.

Dean dropped his guard, laughing.

Just like Sam had known he would. He rolled into Dean's legs, swung up and hit him behind the knees. Dean went down with a surprised oof. Sam was on top of his brother in an instant, pinning his shoulders to the forest floor.

"Sneaky," Dean wheezed, "but not bad."

"Not bad?" Sam snorted a laugh. "Dude, I pinned you."

"Ow, man, my back—"

"Don't change the subject."

"I mean it, freak, get off!"

"No, not until you—"

"Sam."

"—admit defeat.

"Sam."

"What's the matter, big brother?" Sam crowed.

"Will you shut up and listen?"

Sam knew that tone, and what it meant. He instantly obeyed, his senses on full alert. He heard…nothing. No cicadas, no crickets, no birds. Nada. So not good. Sam scrambled to his feet, pulling his brother up with him.

Dean dove for the Glock. "You're not packin'."

It wasn't a question. Embarrassment colored Sam's cheeks. He'd been so angry, he'd left his father and brother behind without taking any weapons with him. Nice move, dork.

Dean took a step closer, a hand on Sam's arm moving him in the direction of the cabin. Eyes darting this way and that, weapon ready, Dean all but circled the wagons around Sam.

It was aggravating, frustrating, even embarrassing, but somewhere deep down where Sam wouldn't exactly admit it, it was an utter relief.

Whumph.

"What was tha—?" Sam began, but cut off when Dean gave him an urgent shove.

"Move!"

Everything seemed to happen at once. Sam staggered from the force of the shove, nearly falling, but managed to catch himself. Before he could even turn back to his brother, Sam heard the report of the gun and the shrill screech of what he knew was an owl.

He turned and found his brother right in front of him.

"Back to the cabin, Sam. Now. Go!" The urgency was clear in Dean's voice, his eyes, his stance.

Sam knew what his brother was saying. Go on ahead. I'll cover you. No way. "Dean—"

"Shut up and mo—"

Dean's body stiffened, his head jerking back as a strangled cry escaped through clenched teeth.

Sam grabbed his brother's upper arms, mouth opening in shock. But before he could ask what was wrong, a cloud of white appeared behind Dean, coalescing into a monstrous owl that had its claws embedded in the flesh of Dean's back below his shoulders.

Choking back a moment of blind panic, Sam snatched the Glock from Dean's grasp, swung the weapon to bear, and fired point-blank into the evil spirit.

The consecrated iron rounds dissipated it again.

Released, Dean dropped to his knees, his face screwed up in pain.

Sam carefully grabbed his right arm and hauled him to his feet. "C'mon."

Needing no more urging, Dean rose, cursing through gritted teeth.

Sam ran, keeping pace with his brother, making sure Dean stayed on his feet. Another screech filled the air. Then another, closer. How far was the cabin now, anyway?

Sam twisted and fired off another round. Had no idea whether he'd hit his mark. It was too dark. Damn it. Dad was going to—

"Boys! Down!"

Sam obeyed instantly. He felt Dean hit the ground beside him. There were just some commands so ingrained, there was no thought involved in following them. This was one of them.

An explosion of gunfire followed, Dad firing both barrels of the shotgun at the same time.

"Move. Now." John Winchester wasted no breath on extra words when things were urgent.

Sam scrambled to his feet, pausing only to make sure Dean was with him. He heard his father reloading as they ran past him, heard the next shot, and kept running.

Finally, the trees broke, and the welcoming sight of the cabin greeted him. Feet pounding the ground, Sam covered the distance with a burst of speed, leaped onto the porch, and slammed the door open.

Dean was several paces behind. He made it inside, then turned anxious eyes to the doorway and beyond, waiting.

Sam panted, his heart racing. He held the Glock up, ready, just in case.

Moments ticked by.

Come on, Dad. Please. Sam took a step toward the door.

Dean's fingers locked around his forearm. Don't.

Sam was about to argue when their father burst from the woods, running full-tilt toward the cabin. It wasn't until he was inside, the door closed, the salt line safely laid, that Sam could breathe again.

They all remained still, listening, waiting.

Nothing. Everything was quiet.

Dean leaned back against the wall by the door with a long, shaky sigh. Sam offered him a we made it smile, but the smile faded as soon as he looked at his father. Hazel eyes glared back with an intensity that told Sam he was in serious trouble.

Sam averted his gaze, waiting for it…

A small, quiet groan captured his attention, and he looked up in time to see Dean slide down the wall to the floor, a smear of blood in his wake.

Together in their concern if nothing else, Sam and John rushed to Dean's side.

In that moment, everything else was forgotten.

TBC