Ok. I am a horrible person. I am so sorry I have been so long uploading. Seriously, I don't know why someone hasn't sent people round to my house to kill me. HOPEFULLY next chapter will be up tomorrow. But I still have no clue where this is going so I NEED HELP.

Please, enjoy! And REVIEW.

Sam knelt next to his brother, positioning his hands carefully as not to disturb Dean's shallow-breathing frame. He grimaced slightly as he picked a thorn from the palm of his hand and then mentally scolded himself.

Really, Sam? Your brother's a bloody mess. Perspective, man.

He leaned forward and gently touched Dean's abdomen. His hand came away scarlet. The makeshift bandages of Sam's over-shirt were doing nothing to staunch the heavy bleeding. He contemplated using his t-shirt, but it was starting to cool down further, and while Sam would do it for his brother in a heartbeat, when he was their only chance of survival, catching hypothermia didn't seem like the smartest option. And walking shirtless through the woods would, no doubt, spark a series of 'Lautner' jokes from his ever-hilarious big brother.

He let out a shaky breath and sat back on his haunches. He trained his eyes through the trees hoping, praying for a sudden realisation of their location. But no such epiphany came. Sam avoided Dean's general direction; in his condition the last thing he needed was to see the panic in Sam's eyes.

But Dean knew better. He had had his gaze firmly locked on his little brother from the start. Watching him desperately trying to think his way out of this mess made his heart ache. He looked like a lost puppy. So helpless. And so young. He had to help.

"Sammy?"

Sam was instantly at his side, "Yeah, Dean?"

"We're lost aren't we?"

"Yeah, Dean,"

There was a small pause.

"Crap,"

"Yep,"

Sam collapsed next to Dean and rested his head on the tree. He looked over at his brother.

"Dean, I'm sorry," he said quietly, his head bowed in shame.

Dean's mind was going foggy. Patches of black were seeping into his vision.

"S'ok, Sammy, s'not your fault," he slurred.

"I should have been looking where I was going! If I'd have seen the freaking thing myself, you wouldn't have got in the freaking way and none of this would have happened! It's my fault!"

"Think you're forgettin' who jumped in front of a friggin' werewolf, man,"

"Yeah, well, that was stupid too,"

"S'my job,"

"Being a moron?"

"Lookin' after you,"

"It's a crap job,"

"I had a crappy guidance counsellor,"

Dean's speech was slowing and his words fumbling. Sam looked into his brother's eyes and saw reflected back 22 years of pain and love and sacrifice.

"Well, now it's my job to look after you," he replied, determinedly, jumping to his feet.

Dean watched his brother pace through the trees, venturing a couple of metres into one patch of foliage and then another; never out of eye-line. Dean frowned. What was that noise?

"Sm? S'that noise?"

"What noise?" he replied, distractedly.

"Beepin'"

"Beep-?" Sam stopped dead and span round, eyes wild. He sprinted back to Dean, skidding to the ground and scrambling for his phone. He held his cell aloft and a grin of relief spread across his face.

"Signal!" he cried, "1 bar! 1 bar's good enough for me!" He beamed at Dean how smiled back at his brother's giddiness.

"Winchester luck, Smmy," he grinned, teeth stained red. His head lolled onto his neck and rested on his shoulder.

Winchester luck. Sam scoffed at the irony as he dialled.

"What you doin'?"

"Calling an ambulance!"

"Nu-uh you're not,"

"What?!"

"I ain't goin' no hospital,"

"You have no say in the matter,"

"Ambulance can't come if we don't know where we friggin' are,"

"Then who Dean?! Everyone we know is either dead or disappeared off the face of the earth! Who else is there, huh? Who we gonna call?"

"Ghostbusters?" Dean mumbled, half-heartedly.

Sam ignored him.

"Bobby," he burst out.

"Bobby?"

"He's a friend of Dad's, right?"

"Was,"

"What happened?"

"Dad,"

"Right," It was remarkable how many old friendships had ended because of that. Sam noted how Dean was responding monosyllabically, which was never good.

"Well, we're not Dad,"

Sam dialled the number and held his breath as the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

'Come on, come on," Sam pleaded, his face screwed up in anticipation.

"Hello?" a gruff voice answered.

Sam felt weak with relief.

"Bobby?"

"Who's this?"

"It's uh, Sam Winchester- John's son?"

"Sam? Thought you were off at school, kid."

"No, well, yes, but no- it doesn't matter!" he stammered.

"Jesus, son, you ok?" a note of alarm in his voice.

"No! Well, I'm fine. It's- it's-, Bobby, it's Dean," he finished shakily.

"Dean's there too?"

"We were hunting a werewolf up in McEaney Park. Dean's- he's- he's clawed up pretty bad, Bobby. We need your help,"

"Got your coordinates?"

"No," Sam responded helplessly.

"GPS on?"

"Yeah…"

"I'll be there in 20,"

The phone clicked dead.

Hope you enjoyed it- please review any criticism you have and ANY IDEAS FOR WHERE I CAN TAKE THIS BECAUSE RIGHT NOW I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS HAPPENING.

Thanks!