The Wild One

By Ellen H.

Author's Note: No, I do not own anything. I am only playing with the characters for a bit. Spoilers possible for any given time from pilot through season 8 so beware. I have no beta so I apologize now for the issues.

Sam Winchester absently sipped at the soda that he had ordered almost an hour before. He set the glass back down next to the basket that had held the chicken sandwich he had eaten, not really looking at it as he did so. His focus was on the laptop he had been working on since he had come into this small bar that was in the town nearest their new base/home, the place that Dean insisted on calling the 'Bat Cave'.

It was barely a town, consisting of a post office, a general store that serviced fishermen coming in to the nearby lakes, a gas station and two bars. This was the better of the two bars, but only because it served food along with the drinks. Actually they had pretty good food and that was the reason that Sam had walked here from the base.

While he was comfortable with his own company, he would admit to being lonely without his brother, and being in the echoing and empty base by himself had suddenly become too much for him as he had been in the kitchen contemplating what to eat for dinner. Since the trials had started, and since the weight of them had fallen onto his shoulders despite Dean's plans to the contrary, his appetite had been iffy. Sometimes he did not feel like eating at all, but he knew that he had to save his strength for the third and final trial. The first two had taken so much out of him, and the continuing tuberculosis type symptoms that he was having were not making it any easier to marshal his strength.

He had been deeply surprised that Dean had agreed to go and work with Garth and leave Sam at the base alone. Of course he had been calling almost every other hour, with excuses of needing information from the Men of Letter's vast library. The fact that he and Garth were hunting a rugaru, something Dean had been doing since he was 13, and that Garth had access to almost as much information on as Sam did, told Sam that his brother was mainly calling to check on him, and he had better just get used to it. Each time Dean called he had calmly answered all of Dean's fake questions and had ignored his brother's not so subtle questions about his health and what he was doing. He had managed to get a pretty good night's sleep the previous night. However, the calls had started again at 8 this morning and had progressed on schedule throughout the day. He had taken the last call just before he had gotten to the bar and Dean had been slightly distracted as they were heading into the woods having pinpointed the rugaru's lair. Sam had wished them good luck and had told him to call when they were done. He hadn't mentioned that he had ventured out of the 'Bat Cave', since he was pretty sure that that had not been one of Dean's approved actions, and if he told his brother right before the hunt it might throw off his actions by just enough to be fatal. Since what Dean didn't know didn't hurt either of them Sam was happy with it. He figured he would be done with his little bit of social interaction and back to the base before Dean could call again, so no harm, no foul.

The waitress came by and dropped another soda on his table and bussed the empty basket. He absently thanked her and scrolled through another web page. He was trying to locate Kevin. They still were not sure what had happened to the young prophet. The wards had been in place on the boat, but Sam was not one to discount tales of evil beings inhabiting one's head. He knew from personal experience how that could wear on you, and if Crowley had taken a leaf from Lucifer's book and been mind-raping the young man, then there was no telling what could have happened. Did Kevin run on his own trying to get away from the voices? Had he destroyed the tablet? Had he ran only to be caught in his worst nightmare, unprotected from the King of Hell?

They had very little to go on beyond the raving of an obviously unbalanced prophet. Maybe if Cas had been around, but then Sam was just as happy the angel was not there. After what Dean had told him about what happened in the crypt Sam had had a difficult time forgiving the angel for what he had done, though Dean seemed to be shrugging it off. Cas had broken through Naomi's brainwashing and had repaired the damage he had done to Dean, but that pulled no weight with the younger Winchester., How many times did Dean have to have his heart ripped out by someone he considered family? Why couldn't the world just give them a friggin' break? They were trying to close the gates to hell; shouldn't they get a bye on some of this crap?

Sam had been tracing any and all leads he could think of, but so far nothing had panned out. He was typing in the address for the next site when his attention was caught by a conversation in the next booth.

"...I am telling you man, you gotta get those papers filed or you are going to lose your place and who knows what else. You keep dicking around with that two bit shark that you call a lawyer and you ain't gonna have anything, maybe including your kid if your ex finds out." The speaker's voice was rough, and Sam glanced casually over his shoulder, curious as to who might be choosing a bar to discuss important legal matters. His eyebrows rose as he saw two very large, very tough looking men who by their mode of dress and the amount of tattoos he could see had to belong to two of the twelve motorcycles that were parked outside the bar. They did not seem to be a 'gang' so to speak, but they were not your average weekend motorcycle tourists either. He gave a shrug to himself. He guessed everyone had those personal problems come up that couldn't be handled by a set of brass knuckles or a broken pool cue. He went back to his typing however one side of his mind was listening in on the conversation behind him.

"What do you want me to do? The legal eagle says he can have his girl type these up in an hour, all I gotta do is fork over the $500 fee for that and the arbitration fees..."

"Yeah and then go and rough up those dudes he wants out of that house he's got his eye on. I'm telling you man. That is a bad gig. You go in there and strong arm those old dudes and one of them has a heart attack or something and next thing you know you're doing a nickel up at state, your ex has your kid, your mom is on the street or in some state run nursing home rotting away, and your ex's new boyfriend is making the moves on your little girl when mommy's off at the diner working. That what you want to happen?"

"That piece of crap is not getting anywhere near my little girl! Monica may think he's the second coming or something, but I know what he is. All I gotta do is make sure that this dick of a home owner's association guy looses the case and my mom and my baby girl will be fine. This whole thing is really just, what do you call it, mediation anyway. But they are going to take one look at me and think everything he says is righteous. Hell if I had half a damn brain I guess I could fill the damn things out myself, but what I need is all the jargon and the smooth words to give them my side of the whole thing in a way they can't ignore. I'm in the right man, just gotta make them see it, and I'll do whatever I have to."

The ambient noise level of the bar rose after that and Sam was not able to make out any more of whatever was said, but then he really wasn't listening. None of his leads had paid off and a glance at the clock showed it was approaching eight and he needed to head back toward the base. Dean should be calling any time now, and he was sure his worry-wart brother would rather he was locked behind the wards of the 'Bat Cave' before the early summer sun set. He closed his laptop and laid some money on top of the check to cover the tab and a tip. He slid out of the booth and started toward the front door, making a detour around the pool playing bikers who showed every indication of staying till closing time.

Outside he took a deep breath of the still warm clean air, glad to be out of the musky air of the bar. Even though there had been no smoking allowed it had been redolent of beer and frying foods. The motorcycles were the only vehicles in the lot, and the rest of the town might as well have been abandoned as the only other life he could see was down at the other bar. He supposed someone would be by soon to roll up the short run of sidewalk that lined the road for about a quarter mile. Who would have thought they would end up in someplace like this.

He had taken a few steps toward the base when his phone sounded. He had to smirk to himself; Def Leppard's "Back in your face" was so Dean. He opened his phone and put on his best 'I'm fine' voice.

"Yes, I am fine. Yes, I had something to eat. Yes, I will lock up before I go to bed. No, I did not find out anything new about Kevin. And how are you and Garth getting along?"

"Sammy..." The voice that came through was not his worried big brother. No, this voice was another that he had heard too many times in his life. This was Dean in pain; this was Dean on the edge. And he was two hundred miles away!

"Dean! What is it! What's happened! Where are you?" He asked anxiously, stopping his forward pace. The night seemed to have gone silent, as if everything was waiting to hear the reply as hard as he was.

"Rugaru was a familiar...witch is usin' it like an attack dog...I frickin' HATE witches...Sammy..."

"Dean, where are you, where is Garth?"

"Old mine...salt line down...got our guns, knives, rest of the crap. Both a little...worse for wear." Sam knew his brother was trying to put as good a spin on it as possible, but he was obviously hurt, and while the salt might keep the rugaru out it wouldn't stop a human witch, and that meant that Sam had to get there as soon as possible. He knew where they had been working, and he could pull up maps once he got there.

"I'm coming Dean. You and Garth watch yourselves. I'll be there in a few hours."

"Careful..."

"I'll be careful Dean. Call me in two more hours." Sam hung up, even though he wanted to keep his brother talking, knowing that Dean's phone would be using power. He stood for a moment trying to think of what he would need to bring with him. He knew there would be supplies in the Impala, if he could find it, but best to go in with the possibility that he might not locate it in time. Another great thing about living in the Men of Letters warehouse-plenty of obscure supplies.

Thinking of the Impala brought up his next problem, transportation. Obviously Dean had taken their only car. Sam turned to look back down the road toward the little town. No super fast sport car had pulled up to the gas station in the last five minutes. No four wheel drive truck had pulled in to check the map stapled on the outside of the grocery store looking for the way to the nearest campground. Hell there wasn't so much as a Prius parked outside the post office checking that box for the latest issue of the Greenpeace Journal. Even as he watched the only car that he could see was pulling out of the parking area of the second bar further down the road. Crap.

His eyes turned back to the bar he had just left. The twelve motorcycles taunted him. He knew for a fact that the owner of the bar and his wife, the only two people staffing the place lived above it, and he wasn't even sure if they owned a car or if they did where it might be. That meant that his choice was extremely limited. He was going to have to take one of the bikes.

He had no problem with using a bike to at least get him somewhere he could find a car to hotwire. John Winchester had insisted that his boys know how to use any mode of transport available. Car, truck, motorcycle, horse, bike, unicycle, etc, anything was fair game when you needed to get somewhere and your primary mode of transport either failed or would not work on the terrain. Dean was hotwiring cars before he was 13, Sam could do it by 12 thanks to Bobby and some books he found on car electronics in Bobby's library. They had learned to drive both automatic and stick, and Dean had taught Sam how to ride a motorcycle one week when he was 15.

No, the problem was the huge picture window that was the front of the bar. The window in front of which the bikes were parked, and behind which were two of the pool tables where the riders of those bikes were playing. As confident as he was in his ability to start and ride one of the bikes, he had no such confidence in his ability to do it without someone seeing him, and probably beating his ass to death with a pool cue, or arrested. That would not get Dean and Garth out of that mine, and that was the most important goal.

If Dean was in his place he was pretty sure that he would swagger into the bar and in a matter of a few minutes have one of the bikers practically begging him to play pool for the pink slip of one of the bikes. And while Sam was good at pool, he was not as good as his brother, and he did not have enough cash on him to make a show of having an equal stake to put up. He needed another plan.

As he thought about it he saw the two men who had been talking in the booth behind him move across the bar with a filled pitcher and some glasses. Evidently the legal talk had given way to drinking. Sam's mind flashed back to the partially overheard conversation. The man needed paperwork filled out for some sort of arbitration meeting involving some trumped up, he said, violation of his homeowner's association bylaws.

Sam's mind flashed back to his years at Stanford. As a pre-law student he had looked for any opportunity to learn what he could, whenever he could. One of the volunteer positions available on campus had been working in the student legal aid office. As a volunteer he had been relegated to filling out forms, typing up legal documents from written briefs, and things like that. It hadn't been true legal work, but it had been highly educational. He had not just typed the information, he had readthe information. He had come to understand the language used and the format required for various courts and various types of legal documents. Since many of the students had housing issues, there were many different types of paperwork that he had helped with in that area. He was confident that if the man could give him a reasonable amount of information then he could put it in a format that would present it in the best possible light to the court.

He felt in his laptop bag and was happy to feel the small printer that he sometimes carried. He hadn't been sure that he had it. He bit his lip, but then he looked down at the phone he still held in his hand. Dean needed him, and he needed him as soon as possible. He had to do this. He strode back toward the bar jaw set in what his brother would have recognized as stubborn determination.

An hour later Sam was hitting the print button for the final time. He waited for the small printer to feed the last page and then handed it to the man sitting across the booth from him. "If your situation is as you have described I think you have a very good chance of winning the arbitration. You just have to remember when they start asking you questions about the addition, that you emphasis that you were making temporary accommodations until your landlord could make permanent changes as required by the ADA requirements. Your mother is on your lease and per federal guidelines the fair housing act requires that landlords make reasonable accommodation for disabled tenants. A wheelchair ramp is one of those accommodations and that law supersedes homeowner's association agreements. You say your landlord is backing you up with this so he or she can make an appearance or simply send in a statement supporting your story." The man, know by his friends as 'D-day', read the last two paragraphs and set it down with a satisfied sigh.

"Man, you got the legal juice. That is all the stuff I needed in just the right way. That bastard I hired didn't even mention the ADA thing. I owe you big time. I tell you, I get through this mediation thing okay and you can keep the chopper, that's how much this means to me man." Sam shook his head.

"That won't be necessary. I just need it for a few days. My brother is in trouble and I have to get to him quick. If I can't get it back I'll leave a message on your phone about where it is so you can come and get it."

D-Day stared at him for a moment, and Sam knew that the other man was reading between the lines of what he had said and coming up with possible scenarios. He hoped that the man would not renege on his promise to allow him to use his bike. It had been a chancy thing when he had approached the man as he was drinking with his friend. And for a moment Sam thought he was going to end up back outside via the picture window.

But instead, at the urging of his friend, D-day, who's real name was Malcolm Edwards, had listened to Sam's proposition and had agreed to let him attempt to write out his argument for the mediation. Sam had listened to the full story, writing down the pertinent information and asking questions about points he suspected the mediator would bring up. He was proud of what he had produced, and knew that his pre-law professors would have been proud of it too. It had been years, heck, if he counted his time in the pit it had been centuries, since he had last written anything like this. If it hadn't been for the constant gnawing worry about Dean that ate at his gut, he might have even enjoyed it.

D-Day slid the keys to his bike across the table to Sam. "Don't know what you are into, kid. Sounds like it isn't just your brother that might be in trouble. Ain't you got anyone else you can call to help out? If you don't mind me saying you don't really look all that well." Sam gave a weak smile and shook his head. He had been doing a little better today, however the coughing had not gone away and he still swayed a little now and then when he stood up.

"No, nobody but my brother. That's why it's so urgent that I get to him." He picked up the keys and stood. He needed to get his stuff and get on the road. It was already an hour down, an hour Dean might not have.

"Hey, you got any leathers, or a helmet? Gets a might cold out there even in summer when you're drivin' at night, and if you have a problem it's kinda nice to have something between you and the asphalt beside cotton."

Sam looked down at his jeans and t-shirt. He wasn't even wearing his usual long sleeved shirt because of the warmth of the day. He shrugged. "I was going to put on a jacket, I could use a helmet though, don't want to get stopped." Especially given the weapons that he was planning to be carrying with him. D-day looked around the room then called one of the other bikers over.

"Hey JD you think your brother's stuff would fit this kid? You still got it in your bags?" The man named JD looked Sam over and shrugged.

"Since Benjy is doing the thirty days in county I still got his stuff. Haven't bothered to take it out of my bags yet. He's about the right height, skinnier in the middle and bigger in the arms, but yeah about the same size. Why?"

"I would take it as a personal favor if the kid here could maybe borrow a few things if you got them."

That was how fifteen minutes later Sam was walking out of the bathroom still wearing his jeans, but with a pair of leather chaps covering them, a pair of mechanic's boots that had fit almost perfectly on his feet, he was carrying a black leather jacket that he could put on over his t-shirt once he was ready to roll and the bikers had found him an extra helmet. As he emerged one of the women wolf-whistled at him and he ducked his head to hide a slight blush. The woman laughed at him and patted him on the arm.

"You are just the cutest thing, honey. But you don't got no art. Ain't no one gonna buy you as a biker with no art. You need a few pictures to set off these guns." She purred as she squeezed his bicep. He disengaged himself as politely as he could and stepped away.

"I don't really need anyone to think I'm a biker, I just need to get somewhere as quickly as possible." She fished around in a pocket and handed him a rubber band.

"You'll need this. Don't want that pretty hair in a tangle." He took it and pulled his hair back as best he could into a short ponytail. It would be better than letting it tangle, but he needed to be sure to take it out before he got to Dean, or he would never hear the end of it. He could hear the comments about 'Biker Barbie' now.

He thanked everyone for their help and went out with D-day to the bike. A quick refresher course and he was ready to go. They exchanged thanks and good wishes for each other's coming challengers and Sam headed toward the base, getting used to riding again. Once there he quickly put together a pack of gear and was just getting ready to head out when his phone rang.

"Dean?" he asked anxiously. He was disappointed and worried when another voice answered.

"No, it's me, Garth. Dean is...resting right now, but he wanted to make sure that one of us called you on time so you wouldn't worry." The skinny little hunter was trying to sound upbeat, but Sam could hear the exhaustion and pain in his voice. He was deeply worried about his brother. He knew Dean, and the only reason that Dean would be 'resting' was if he was passed out. He bit his lip and tried to offer Garth some assurance.

"I'm on my way. I should be there in a few hours. Do you know where the witch had her altar?" He had not asked Dean that before, but if Garth had an idea it would help. Once he destroyed that her power would be gone, and so who her hold on the rugaru, he hoped. If he could separate the two, or turn one on the other his job would be easier. Garth gave him three possible places and then rang off.

Sam stowed his gear in the saddle bags of the bike and then settled himself on the seat. He pulled on the jacket and helmet. He had two hundred miles to cover and it was just now getting dark. His brother was laying unconscious in an old mine while two fugly's circled. He pulled the bike upright off the stand and fired it up. The rumbling of the v-twin rattled through him, and he knew the vibration would become a constant thrum on his nerves over the next few hours. He put the bike in gear and headed out.

Interlude-

Author's note: I thought I would take a pause as we all contemplated the picture of Sam in leather. Yummy!

And back we go-

Chapter 2

Three hours and fifteen minutes later Sam was pulling into the town where Dean and Garth had come to hunt the rugaru. It was a small mountain town, and as it was just after midnight there were few cars moving about. There were a few bars open and he saw an all night diner at the end of the main street. He also made note of the police station, windows dark except for one light at the rear next to what appeared to be the door to the jail cells. Best to avoid any interaction there.

He pulled up in front of the diner, deciding to avoid the bar as he noticed a few other bikes parked there. He was well aware that he did not fit the usual biker profile, even if he was dressed like one. He retrieved his laptop from the saddle bag and went inside, glad to see that the diner had wireless. He sat down, nerve endings still vibrating from his cross country trek. He pulled off the jacket in the warmth of the diner and asked for a cup of tea and a slice of pie. Once they had been delivered he booted up his computer.

With the information Garth had given him, and what he could access himself he soon confirmed the witch's identity. Now it was a matter of finding her altar and destroying it, then he could go after Dean and Garth. This close to midnight the witch would be at her most powerful, and it was not the best time to be hunting her, however he had little choice. At least if she were conjuring she could not be out at the mine destroying salt lines.

Their father had taught them that they never killed humans. Witches were almost always human, though they had met a few who had made deals and were possessed by minor demons. The demon possessed were fair game more or less. If they could successfully exorcise the demon all the better, however since the witch had willingly been possessed it was not that simple. At most they could burn the witch's alter and grimoire and hope that the trouble of rebuilding it all would dissuade returns. At worst they could count on the witch being out of action for a few years while she rebuilt her power. It didn't happen overnight, even for the ones willing to make deals. Most witches were relatively new at it, brought in by members of a coven and taught the ways. Truly powerful witches did exist. However, they were centuries old, and tended to keep to themselves, and knew how to protect the sources of their power, as he and Dean had found out with the feuding couple. New witches tended to flock together, finding strength in the coven. Garth had not felt that this witch had yet started to recruit, and that was probably why she was using the rugaru.

Sam made his plan. He would try her home first. Just because it seemed a little obvious did not mean that it could not happen. The witch was probably pretty sure that any hunters who came to town would be focusing on the rugaru, so she might have gotten careless. If that did not pan out then he could go to the next possibility. However he needed to take some precautions. Even a novice witch could throw around some pretty impressive power, and then there were the hexes and curses. He needed something that could counteract that.

He contemplated what steps he could take to protect himself, and as he did so his eyes fell on his arms. He suddenly heard the woman in the bar telling him how he needed some art. It just might be that she was right. He looked around the diner. He was the only one in the place. The waitress was sitting on one of the stool at the counter reading what appeared to be a text book of some sort and taking notes. She wasn't paying any attention to him. He dug around in his bag and found three fine point markers in different colors. That should work just fine.

Forty-five minutes later Sam was letting himself back out of the house of the witch. As he suspected her altar was not in the house. He did find enough to confirm that this was the woman they were looking for however. He made his way back to the bike and after a quick check on the map headed toward the second possible place. He had not heard from Dean in over four hours now, if he didn't count Garth's phone call. He was very worried. He did not want to call them, since he had no idea of the situation. A ringing phone could give away hidden hunters and even the noise of a phone on vibrate could mean death when a fugly was nearby. No, he needed to get this done and go out there himself.

He was at the second site within five minutes and as soon as he picked the lock on the seemingly abandoned warehouse he knew he was in the right place. He could smell the herbs burning, and as he listened closely he could hear chanting. At least the witch was here. He slid out of the jacket he had been wearing, leaving it near the door. He pulled out his knife and with that in one hand and his Taurus in the other he moved quietly forward.

The warehouse was partially filled with shipping crates and he used them as cover as he moved closer in. It took almost five minutes before he could get a look at the altar and the witch. The cloaked woman was in her sixties, according to his research, however she didn't look a day over twenty five. Evidently she had been using her magic to enhance her appearance. That was not what she was doing now.

Sam could hear the Latin she was chanting, and he recognized the herbs she was feeding into the brazier that stood atop her altar. To the side on a pedestal was an open book, her grimoire. She was controlling the rugaru, sending it into the mine after Dean and Garth. What she planned to do about the salt he didn't know, but if she was sending it in then she must have a plan. His eye was caught by a map that was pinned to the wall behind the altar. A big red circle had been drawn in one section and there were hex signs all around it. He was willing to bet that was where his brother was. Well that information was helpful. He would have to remember to thank her for that.

He pulled the small glass bottle that he had prepared out of his pocket. It was half filled with liquid and was stoppered with a wad of rag with a section left hanging down. He put the Taurus in his waistband and getting out his lighter he lit the rag. It burned quickly, already having sucked up some of the gasoline that partially filled the bottle. Once it was well lit he rose up from where he had been crouching and threw the Molotov cocktail toward the altar. As it hit the witch screeched and flung herself away from the explosion of flames that resulted when the bottle broke against the brazier.

She turned to face him, her pretty face scowling. She gestured toward him and he threw up his right arm. Whatever curse she had tossed at him he was sure it was supposed to have killed or at least disabled him, but as the first wave of power hit him it encountered the anti hex signs that he had drawn on his arm. The intricate drawing, along with several sigils and some Enochian signs turned the force of the power. He shook off the faint bit of what he was sure would have been excruciating pain had made it through the wards and rushed forward.

Once she saw that her power did not faze him she flung herself at him, long nails bent into claws. He caught her wrists and they wrestled around the open space, just managing between them not to fall into the fire. She was unnaturally strong, not unusual for a witch, and he struggled to keep her from clawing his eyes out as she screeched curses at him. He was pretty sure that she would have some nasty stuff painted onto her nails, his father had written of a hunter that had not been wary enough of a witch and had ended up dead from the poison she had worn on her nails. Sam was not planning on being that man now.

He finally managed to throw her off long enough to grab the grimoire and fling it toward the now heartily burning altar. As he did so, the witch seeing his intention, leapt through the air like a soccer goalie blocking the net, trying to intercept it. She managed to catch it, but as she landed her cloak caught the edge of the fire and was almost immediately in flames. The woman felt the heat, but she would not put down the grimoire to allow herself the use of both hands to divest herself of the burning material. She clawed at the ornate clasp with her free hand, but was too slow. The flames engulfed her. In a last desperate bid to take Sam with her she flung herself toward him. He, seeing her action, threw himself out of the way, narrowly missing being caught in her burning embrace. He really had lost a step due to the trials. He decided not to admit that to Dean. She fell to the floor, burning, and after a few moments she no longer moved. Sam was not deeply saddened by her death.

Sam looked quickly around as best he could with the smoke. He had not missed anything that needed to be burned that he could see, and from the appearance of the fire anything he hadn't seen would soon be gone anyway. Whatever she had been using to control the rugaru had gone up with the altar. He quickly made his way out of the building and back to the bike, pausing to grab the jacket. Slipping it back on he mounted the bike and turned it toward the road that he had looked up earlier that led out towards where the rugaru had been killing. To where he knew his brother was.

Chapter 3-

Sam cut the engine and rolled to a stop about half a mile before the trailhead that lead out to the old mine. The roar of the v-twin would carry a long way in the silence of the forest, especially this early in the morning. It was now just after 2 am. The mine was about two and a half miles from the trailhead on a branch of the main trail. Many of the rugaru's victims had been found discarded along the trail, bodies mangled beyond recognition. Since the police had assumed that the area had been nothing more than a convenient body dump since the victims had all been taken from town they had not put any kind of surveillance out here, for which Sam was grateful. He really did not want to run into a bunch of cops or Feds while carrying a machete and several unregistered handguns.

He staggered a bit as he got of the bike, but he decided to put that down to just getting his "land legs" back after riding so much in the last few hours. Once he caught the breath that he wasn't short of thank you very much, he pushed the bike into some bushes where it could be hidden from all but the most observant passers by. He checked his Taurus for silver bullets and then his back-up. He made sure there were both silver and salt rounds in the small revolver that he was carrying in his bootleg. He also had one regular knife in a sheath on his belt along with the machete. Armed to the teeth he headed down the road toward the trailhead, grateful for the light of the almost full moon.

It took him a lot longer than he liked to cover the distance to the mine. His stamina was crap, and how the rugaru couldn't hear him puffing like a steam engine he didn't know. He suspected that it was in the mine with Dean and Garth. That was what the witch had been commanding when he interrupted her process, and the two injured hunters would be a powerful draw to the rugaru now that it was off the witch's leash. It would take them as easy prey once it figured that they could no more leave the circle of salt than it could cross it. It would probably be willing to wait them out, knowing that hunger or thirst would eventually make them take a chance. If it had any experience with hunters it would not be counting on any back up close to hand. There were few hunters that worked in more than pairs. Looks like the third wheel thing that Sam had going was going to pay off this time.

He was sweating in the leather jacket by the time he found the entrance, but he was reluctant to remove it since he was sure it would be cool within the mine itself. In the end he kept it on and, moving as stealthily as possible and with the light from a small flashlight, moved into the main shaft. He hoped there were no sudden drops to lower shafts he really didn't feeling like breaking his neck in this hole in the ground and leaving his brother and Garth to the mercy of a no doubt pissy rugaru.

He had no way of knowing exactly where Dean and Garth had chosen to make their stand, and the information on line had been minimal regarding the mine layout. If it was him he would have found a short offshoot from the main shaft and salted the entrance. Knowing Dean he would have done the same. But he still had to check the off shoots as he passed them. Luckily there had obviously been few curious tourists that had made their way past the previously boarded up entrance and warning signs to explore. It wasn't like this was a gold mine or something really enticing after all. The lack of foot travel meant that Sam could tell when there had been no movement in a particular area in the last day or two. He had always been good at tracking, it was one of the few things he had managed to meet his father's stringent standards on in his early years of hunting. Dean had not been quite so patient as Sam, and it had pleased the younger boy to no end that he could surpass his older brother in something that their father valued.

He had gone about 300 feet along the main shaft when he suddenly stopped. He was being watched. He put his back against the wall and with his Taurus and flashlight moving together he scanned the tunnel both forward and back. He could not see anything, but his instincts were screaming at him. He had learned a long time ago to listen to that inner voice, and he did so now. He slid along the wall, keeping his back protected until he found a place in the wall that was carved out about a foot in. He suspected it had been put there when ore cars had moved through the tunnels, allowing for someone to step out of the way when the car went by. The rails were long gone, but the cutout remained. Now he was more protected on three sides. In the absolute darkness of the mine his small flashlight was a blazing beacon, but then the rugaru could probably smell him almost as well as it could now see him. The humanlike beast had enough of an advantage. He was not going to give it any more, so Sam left the light on.

He stood for several minutes doing nothing more than breathing and moving his light around the tunnel. He sometimes thought he had caught a glimpse of something, but it moved too quickly for him to pin it down in the light or get a bead on it with his pistol. He was very aware of how dangerous ricochets could be in the tunnel, so he would not fire unless he was reasonably sure that he could hit what he was shooting at, and no, that was not because of his recent little problem with his aim.

After several minutes more he realized he was going to have to do something else if he wanted to get this thing done. The rugaru was too wary to come in on him with the gun out and since Sam was not moving out of his protected area they were at something of a stalemate. Time to sacrifice a pawn in the name of winning the game. The fact that Dean would have a small cow and several litters of kittens when, or maybe if Sam could pull it off, IF he heard about what Sam was about to do aside, it was the best choice he had. He very slowly lowered his pistol and stuffed it in his waistband. As quickly as possible he drew out the machete and held it down beside his leg. The rugaru was like the werewolf it slightly resembled. It would die with silver in its heart or when beheaded. Sam was not picky as to method. Of course one was way more up close and personal than the other. He just needed to draw it in.

"The witch is dead. I burned her and her altar. You're free of her." He suddenly said out loud. His voice echoed through the cave. He waited, not sure how or if it would respond.

"Witch dead?" It was a low rumbling growl, slurred and barely recognizable as speech.

"Yes. She's dead. You don't have to do what she wanted anymore. You can leave." Sam said as persuasively as possible, not sure how much it understood.

"Witch dead good. Hungry." Okay, that was pretty clear. It was not just going to leave. He couldn't let it go anyway. Anyone who got in its way would be dead in no time.

"You can't get to my friends, and you can't get me. Cut your losses. Let me get my friends and go." He had to give it a try. He could always come back when he had Dean and Garth safe.

"No!" It snarled. "Hungry. You one. Me one." Well, that was plain. It was bargaining with him. He could take one of the two trapped men but he had to leave one for the hungry rugaru. Needless to say that was not happening.

"Not happening." He informed it. He went over his plan in his head. He could not afford to fail. His failure would mean that Dean and Garth would die in this hole, one way or the other. It would mean that the gates of hell would not be closed. It would mean that the world would continue to be tormented by demons. He allowed that thought to fill his mind. He would not let Dean down, never again. He wedged the flashlight into a crevice in the rock, allowing it to light up the tunnel in the direction he had heard the rugaru speak from. Once he was sure it would stay in place he tightened his grip on the machete and stepped out of his protected space. "Why don't you try to eat ME?" He taunted. "Maybe I'm a little too healthy for you? Maybe you can't take on someone that the witch hasn't hexed first?"

The rugaru came out of the darkness a little to the left of where Sam had thought it was. It was shrieking in an earsplitting howl that almost made Sam want to cover his ears, but instead he braced himself for the charge. It moved impossibly fast, but he managed to get a slash in before he staggered out of its path. He felt the long blade of the machete bit in, but it was not in the throat, but the shoulder. The angry howl turned to a pained scream and the creature jolted away. But it did not go far. It sprang at him again, and he was not able to get a blade on it before it was on him.

As they tumbled to the ground, spinning and rolling through the dirt and rocks Sam was deeply glad he had not removed the coat as the thick high quality leather too k the brunt of the rugaru's claws. A few slashes got his chest, but he ignored them in the usual Winchester manner. If it didn't debilitate you then it was not worth noticing. The rugaru was still screeching and Sam roared back at it, the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

They fought for what seemed like hours, but was probably minutes. The rugaru was strong, but wary of Sam's machete. Sam was weaker than the creature, but skilled in both hand to hand and knife technique. The problem he faced was that he could feel his energy starting to wane, even with the adrenaline. The pervasive weakness he had been fighting for months was taking its toll again, and it was only a matter of time till he could no longer keep the rugaru's teeth from his throat. He had to do something else. Time for that final piece of the plan, the fail safe part of it that he had added just in case, the part that Dean was really going to hate.

As he had scanned the tunnel earlier he had seen something, a shaft, with openings in the floor and ceiling of the tunnel. The wooden supports had either rotted or fallen away leaving only a gaping hole. That meant it was probably deep, going to the lowest levels of the mine, levels that he knew from what he had read were 100's of feet below this one. Even the rugaru might not survive the fall from that height, and even if it did, and eventually healed enough to try to make its way out, that would be plenty long enough for Dean and Garth to make a break out of here when they realized that the creature was gone, even wounded as they were. His brother would survive, and that was the important thing. He could start the trials again, Garth would help him, and they could track down Kevin and finish it, close the door to hell. Dean would not let the weakness bother him like Sam had.

He allowed the rugaru to roll them in the direction he wanted, fighting only enough to make sure that the rugaru didn't sink his teeth in him before he could get them to the brink. After that it wouldn't matter what happened, a few seconds either way were not going to make a difference, not if he wasn't incredibly lucky. Finally they were there on the edge, and it just needed one more roll. The rugaru was on top, was pushing at his throat, only Sam's leather clad forearm kept the snapping jaws at bay. He spared a quick glance to the side and firmed his resolve. This had to be done. He sent a brief mental apology to his brother and then with the last of his rapidly flagging energy he heaved them both over the edge and into the shaft.

Chapter 4

As Sam felt the pull of gravity take them he forced himself to let go of the rugaru with his left hand, and grabbing at a jutting piece of rock with it. With his right he put what energy he could into forcing the rugaru out and away. As they started to drop the rugaru realized what was happening and in its shock it jolted away from him. He swung against the side of the shaft, slamming into the cold rock. His hand cramped as he put everything he had into holding on. The problem was he seemed to have gained weight, about two hundred pounds of it if he was any judge. He looked down and in the faint light that managed to make it into the shaft he could see the rugaru hanging on his left leg.

He kicked at it with his free leg, scrabbling with his right hand for a hold and finding scant help. The rugaru ignored the first kick and tried to climb up, but Sam kicked again, catching it in the face and it fell back down. Sam grunted as the full weight fell on his left arm. He had known that his right arm, weakened by the trials in some strange way, would not have held him, and what small hold he had with it was lost at the jolt. He scrabbled again and kicked at the creature again.

Sam's energy was fading faster and faster. He knew that he would not be able to hold on much longer, especially with the rugaru hanging on. He curled his right leg up as far as he could and let go with his right hand, reaching into his boot top. He dragged his back up revolver out of his boot, almost losing it as the rugaru tried to grab his right foot. He managed to hold on and cocked it. He gritted his teeth at the strain which was spreading through his left shoulder and down his side.

He allowed the rugaru to start climbing up his leg, claws digging through the leather chaps in its desperation. When its head had moved up far enough that Sam was sure he could not miss he stuck the revolver in its face and pulled the trigger. He didn't know if it was a salt round or a silver round which was in the chamber, and in the end it didn't really matter. The force of the bullet hitting its face threw the rugaru backward, arms wind milling, and it disappeared into the darkness below with a howl of utter despair.

Sam dropped the revolver and desperately tried to find a grip with his right arm, but even when he did find a spot he could barely curl his fingers into it. There were no toe holds that he could find. There was not strength left in the arm, and his left hand was starting to cramp. He tried to pull himself up, over the lip of the shaft, but his muscles just could not respond. He had nothing left to save himself. He closed his eyes, his forehead against the rock. It was only a matter of time, he could not hold on forever.

His left arm was trembling now, his body fighting to hold on, but it was useless. Sam bit his lip. He would not go out crying like a little girl. He was a Winchester, damn it, and he would die like one. His arm was completely in spasm now; he had no control of it. He was starting to slip, starting to fall...

A hand flashed down out of the light, grabbing his wrist as his hand slipped off the rock he had been gripping for what seemed like eternity. A strong hand, a familiar hand. A hand that had held his for as long as he could remember. A hand that even now was dragging him back from more than one type of edge. He heard a voice screaming his name, coming from a far distance and echoing madly, but it didn't matter as he tried to help, scrabbling weakly with his feet. Another hand, unfamiliar grabbed his right arm and helped pull him all the way over the edge and onto solid ground.

He was lying full out on the ground, but his head and shoulders were lifted, lifted by something soft and hard at the same time. He opened his eyes, just now remembering that he had closed them before at the last minute and found himself looking into Dean's worried green eyes.

Dean's head was wrapped in a bandage, with blood showing through at the temple. His shirt was torn and stained with dried blood in several places and his paler than normal face was scratched and bruised. Sam figured out he was sprawled across Dean's lap and both of them were having trouble getting their breathing evened out. Movement to his other side made him turn his head to see Garth, his left arm strapped across his chest with what looked like a shirt, left pant leg split almost to the hip and a bloody bandage wrapped around his thigh. His face too was scratched and bruised. Evidently the rugaru had gotten them pretty good before they were able to get someplace they could defend.

"God damn it, Sammy. Can't I leave you alone for a minute without you getting into trouble?" Dean rasped, and Sam's eyes were drawn back to his brother, seeing a ring of bruises around his throat that Sam recognized from his several brushes with ligature strangulation. Seems that this time it was Dean on the receiving end of the choking.

"Nice to meet you Pot. You can call me Kettle." He rasped himself, and found himself overcome with a coughing fit. If he hadn't already been lying down he would have fallen over. Dean wrapped his arm around his shoulders and helped him into a sitting position so it was easier to get his malfunctioning breathing process back on track. It took a few minutes, but he was finally breathing normally again. However that just seemed to emphasis how weak he was feeling all over the rest of his body. He really wasn't sure how he was going to get out of here. Obviously the other two were in bad shape. They were dirty and pale and they all needed a shower, some first aid, and a drink, not necessarily in that order.

Dean heaved himself to his feet, staggering a little as he found his balance. He reached a hand down to Sam and when he reached up with his still trembling left hand Dean pulled him to his feet. They basically ended up propping each other up for a moment until they could get their balance. Once Sam thought he could at least stagger to the side of the tunnel on his own he pushed away from Dean and leaned against the wall. Dean helped Garth up and they stood there, staring at each other.

"Well, I can't say that this whole hunt worked out the way we had planned." Garth observed. "But at least we all made it through more or less intact. It sure was good to hear you Sam, and to see you too. We were beginning to think that the rugaru was going to be the last thing we saw." Dean snorted and gave Sam a slap on the back that nearly sent him to his knees.

"Maybe you did, but I knew Sammy would make it in time. Ain't no witch with or without a doggy on a chain going to keep my brother from coming to the rescue. Right Sammy?" Sam could see the worry in dean's eyes even though he was trying to hide it.

"Right Dean. Couldn't let you guys have all the fun. Now maybe we could get out of here? I think that I have had just about all the fun I can stand for one night." It had been a long night. After some discussion and a comparison of assorted wounds they decided to leave Dean and Garth's stuff where it was. They had been working with a minimum of stuff, and there was not really anything worth them dragging themselves further into the mine for. So they had started toward the entrance, basically all three of them holding each other up.

The reached the entrance and Sam was surprised to see that the sun was just now starting to light the forest. It had seemed like he was in the mine for days, but a glance at his watch showed it had only been just over four hours. God he was tired.

They stumbled down the trail. Garth leaning on a limb he had found that was just the right size to work as a crutch and Sam and Dean using each other as props. Once they got to the trail head it turned out that they had parked in opposite directions along the park road. Dean wanted Sam to come along with them in the Impala, but Sam did not want to leave the bike just sitting there and this was too far out of the way for him to just call D-day and tell him to pick it up. As tired as he was he just could not do that to the man that had made it possible for him to reach Dean in time.

After a short argument with his brother that he was pretty sure he would not have won if Dean was not dead on his feet and hurting, Sam found himself rolling the bike out of the brush where he had hidden it. He pulled on the helmet and started her up, waiting there at the road side for Dean to pull up. He was glad that it was a short ride back to town where Dean and Garth had a room rented. He could not wait to lay down somewhere, anywhere. He stifled a yawn as the big black car pulled up along side him.

"Hey Marlon, you ready to ride?" Dean asked through the lowered passenger window. Garth was hunkered down in the passenger seat, and already looked half asleep. The skinny little hunter was not used to this kind of hunt and he must be even more wiped out than Dean and Sam. Sam nodded to his smirking brother, knowing that he was in for a lot of teasing.

Chapter 5-

Once they had gotten back to town and to the hotel Sam had let his bossy side, so seldom able to get out and really stretch because Dean's bossy side was so much pushier, off the leash. He had demanded that he be allowed to take the first fast shower so that he could be ready when the other two got out and then he could do whatever first aid was needed. His own wounds, mainly scratches and bruises were minor and a thorough cleaning, which he could take care of while he was waiting for the other two to take a shower. After another argument with Dean, during which Garth fell asleep on one of the two beds, Sam had gotten in and made quick work of getting clean. He ached and he was tired, but things needed to get done, and he aimed to make sure they were done right. He emerged to find that Dean had gone out to the Impala for the first aid duffle and was now sleeping on the second bed. Sam was happy to see his own duffle bag, with clothes that were always kept packed for an emergency departure was sitting on the floor near the door. He got dressed and woke Garth sending him in to take a shower. The little hunter went, yawning all the way, and limping hard. The leg wound seemed to be the worst of the wounds and that was why Sam wanted to see to it first.

He had to go and get Garth out of the shower where he had fallen asleep leaning in the corner of the shower stall, a process that was way more traumatic for Sam than for the still mostly asleep Garth. He guided the towel wrapped hunter to the bed and let him lay down where he fell back to sleep almost immediately. That was probably for the best since Sam could see that he was going to have to clean and suture the weeping wound on his thigh.

Sam chivvied his brother off the bed and into the shower, warning him that if he didn't come out by himself he was coming in after him. He was called a pervert and received several threats of bodily harm if he so much as opened the door. It made him feel a little better as that was the Dean he knew so well.

Spreading out the first aid supplies on a handy table he got to work on Garth's leg and the rest of the wounds. He injected a local into Garth's thigh before thoroughly cleaning and then suturing it. He was happy with the stitches and that he had cleaned it enough to avoid any infection. However to be sure given all the smaller cuts that he also cleaned, including a nasty slash on the arm that he also sutured, he gave the smaller hunter a shot of antibiotics. Just like with the local Garth barely woke from the pinch of the needle. Once he was done Sam covered Garth up and let him sleep.

He had been keeping an ear on what was going on in the bathroom and he had heard Dean taking an almost twenty minute shower then getting out and shaving and brushing his teeth. For a guy that could get everything done in five minutes to the satisfaction of a time pressed, but still critical, John Winchester, Dean could sure take his time when he felt like it. Sam was dabbing some antiseptic on some wounds on the back of his left hand when Dean emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Sam could almost feel Dean's eyes zeroing in on him. He had intentionally put on a long sleeved shirt, even though the room was a little bit on the warm side with all the steam, so that the bruises which dotted his arms would not be as easily seen. He couldn't do anything for the ones on his face or hands however. He finished cleaning the deepest of the wounds on his hand and did not look up at Dean as he nodded toward the second bed.

"Go ahead and lie down. I'll clean out that head wound first and then take a look at all the slashes on your chest and back. I think the head wound is going to need a few stitches and it looks like one or two of the slashes on your back too." He said getting to his feet and hoping that Dean did not notice the ever so slight stagger as he started forward. The hand that latched onto his arm put paid to that hope and they moved to the second bed together. Sam resisted when Dean tried to make him sit, and his brother sighed and sat down, evidently prepared to do whatever was necessary to get this over with so that Sam could rest too. Dean thrust his chin toward Garth.

"How's the Worlds Littlest Hunter?" he asked with genuine concern despite the derogatory name.

"I think everything is good. I sutured the leg wound and the slash on the arm. Cleaned out everything else and gave him a shot of antibiotics. I'll keep an eye out for fever but I think he is going to do okay. He's a lot stronger than you would give him credit for."

"He is that." Dean agreed. He sat patiently as Sam cleaned and stitched his head wound, almost falling asleep despite the pain. This close Sam could see the signs of the concussion that Dean no doubt had in the uneven pupils. He cleaned the rest of the wounds, closing two on Dean's back with a few stitches each. He then forced a shot of antibiotics on his reluctant brother and steered the tired man under the covers of the second bed. He was turning to clean up the first aid supplies when he heard Dean softly call his name. He turned to see that Dean had shifted over so that half of the bed, the part furthest from the door Sam noticed, was empty. As Sam turned Dean lifted the covers and nodded his head toward the empty space. Sam met his brother's eyes, and knew that he had already lost this fight. In fact he had probably lost it some time before while Dean was building up to this with his own cooperation. He sighed.

He trudged over and turned off the overhead light that he had turned on for light while he worked and then made sure that the curtains were pulled all the way closed. He adjusted the air conditioner so that it wouldn't get too hot or too cold and then made his way over to the empty part of the bed, he sat down, and it was as if some switch inside his body was thrown. Every bit of energy that he had been using to keep going was gone just like that. He flopped over onto his side, grateful when he felt the covers pulled up and over him. With an effort of will he managed to turn over so that he was lying face to face with Dean who was also on his side.

Dean's eyes were at half mast, and Sam knew that his own were probably not a whole lot more alert. He curled up as much as he could given that they were two good sized men sharing a queen size bed, and burrowed his head into the pillow. Bliss. He felt Dean's hand close around his arm as his eyes drifted closed and he slid into sleep with his brother's familiar voice whispering to him.

"Don't think you're getting out of telling me how you became Biker Barbie when we wake up Sammy."

Epilog- Three days later, back at the ''Bat Cave''.

After sleeping on and off for the next 24 hours, with breaks for delivered food, follow up first aid, and some discussion regarding Garth's epic snoring Dean and Sam had parted ways with Garth there at the motel. They had more or less stuffed the small hunter into his 'classic' car since his leg was still kind of stiff and after his assurances that he would not push himself too hard sent him on his way. There had been another discussion regarding Sam's use of the motorcycle, he had still not told Dean how he had come to be using it, which Sam had won because he had simply refused to get in the Impala, and Dean did not want to have to hurt him to get him in. Dean had tried to get him to drive the car while Dean took the bike, evidently feeling that Baby would take better care of his brother than some unknown bike, but Sam had pointed out that there was no way that Dean would fit into any of the leathers. That had started a commentary regarding 'Biker Barbie' and a few references to the Purple Oyster Salad Bar which Sam ignored.

Dean had caved and 'allowed' Sam to ride, with the caveat that he go first and Dean followed directly behind in the Impala for safety, and that they keep it slow. Sam had pointed out that he had made the ride alone, at night, and at speeds that were well above most of the posted speed limits and had been okay, all of which made Dean produce his own form of bitchface. Sam, twigging to the fact that he might be on thin ice with that argument had agreed and they had made slow and stately progress back home. They had arrived, after several rest stops that Sam was grateful for, in the early afternoon and had both decided that naps were in order. They had made some grilled cheese sandwiches and some soup and then retired to their rooms for several hours of sleep.

Sam was up about four hours later. He poked his head around Dean's open doorway and found his brother dead to the world. He decided that he might as well head down to the bar and see if D-day and his friends were there, he had said they usually were, and return the bike. He was going to have to offer some cash to the guy, J.D., some money to replace his brother's leathers since there was no way that Sam could explain the rips and tears from the rugaru's claws. He was thankful he had had the leathers on; they had protected him from a lot of the creatures attack. The boots were also scratched and damaged, but Sam thought he could still use those again, and they were comfortable. He dug through his dresser to find the small box he kept his cash in. He had been saving what he could, and had close to a thousand dollars. He knew that a good set of leathers could be expensive so he stuffed half of it in his pocket.

He wrote a note to Dean, saying that he was taking the bike back to its owner, that he would walk back from the bar, and that he should be back by dark if not sooner. There was the possibility that Dean, still recovering from the concussion, might not wake up before he was back, but Sam did not want his brother worrying more than necessary. He took the keys to the bike and the helmet and went outside.

He decided not to wear the helmet for the short trip to the bar, and he enjoyed the feel of the early evening wind blowing through his hair as he rode. He would kind of miss this, now that he was not riding for Dean's life so to speak. Maybe he would talk to Dean about them getting a couple of bikes to use around the area, to have some kind of back up for when they did not want to use the car. Of course he would have to be careful about how he phrased the suggestion. He did not want Dean getting defensive about his Baby, and to tell the truth Sam himself would never dream of replacing the Impala. It was home, more so than the 'Bat Cave' was becoming even.

He was glad to see the other bikes parked in front of the bar when he rode into town. There were also a couple of cars and a minivan. He parked the bike next to the rest and left the helmet with it. He was wrestling with his hair as he went inside and was instantly glommed by the woman who had whistled at him last time. She reached up and brushed his hair back for him. "Told you that it would get all messy, of course that is a good look on you honey." She said with a smile. "Like the ink, too." She squeezed his arm and wondered back toward the pool table.

He looked down at his arms, where the hex signs and symbols were still showing in various colors below the short sleeves of his t-shirt. He had gotten used to seeing them there over the last few days and hadn't thought about it coming out. It would take a while for them to wear off, and he guessed he could live with that. Dean had not seen them yet, but it was only a matter of time. They had both gotten the anti possession tattoo many years ago, after that thing with Meg, but on the whole Dean had fallen in with John's dislike of tattoo's in general. It wasn't that he thought less of someone for having them, it just wasn't a personal choice, and he kind of extended that to Sam. Sam somehow felt like a teenager who had snuck out and gotten a forbidden flaming skull or something. Dean would probably make him scrub his arms until the top layers of skin came off.

He shrugged off his pondering about that and looked around. D-Day was sitting with his back to him at one of the tables. There were several pitchers and a lot of bar food spread out on the table and Sam could tell that the atmosphere at the table was jovial. As he approached he was surprised to see an older woman, somewhere in her seventies, sitting at the table, along with a small child sitting in a high chair and happily waving a piece of chicken in the air. As he approached the man he had heard counseling D-day about not doing what his so called lawyer wanted brought the other man's attention to Sam and he turned in his chair with a huge grin and then got to his feet to approach Sam with his hand out. Sam took it and shook.

"Here's the big hero now!" D-day said, dragging Sam toward the table by his arm. "You showed up at the right time, kid. Come and meet my Ma and my little girl." When they were standing over the table he got the older woman's attention from where she was cleaning off the little girl's face. "Ma this here is the kid that wrote up the papers for me couple of days ago. I was hoping that I could introduce you."

The older woman practically beamed at same and rolled out from behind the table in the wheel chair that he could now see she was in. She rolled up to him and beckoned him to bend down. With a glance at D-day who nodded he did so. She grabbed his head around the ears and planted a kiss on both cheeks. She let him go and he took a cautionary step back in case she made another grab at him. He was not used to such displays of affection, especially not from strangers. D-Day pounded him on the back and dragged another chair over to the table.

He soon found himself with a full beer mug, a plate of hot wings and listening to the story of D-Day's day in 'court'. He was seated between D-day and the little girl, and she kept reaching over and petting his hair. He was pretty sure she thought it was some sort of puppy or something. He was so happy to know that the arbitration had gone in D-day's favor and that his paperwork had paved the way for what was evidently a complete victory for the man and his family. It was not saving the world by shutting the gates of hell, but it was saving a family from an injustice, and it felt GOOD. Good in a way that he had not felt in a long time.

As much good as they did for both the individual people that they saved, and potentially the whole world if they succeeded in these trials, Sam sometimes felt that he did what he did for completely selfish reasons. He hunted because that was what Dean did, and at this point Sam could admit that he could not live without his brother. Dean was all he had, all he had ever had really, and he just could not give that up, as dysfunctional and selfish as it was. He had willingly taken on the trials, but not so much out of concern for the whole world, though of course it was a component of the decision, but instead he feared he was doing it mostly as a… penance. No matter what the suffering, no matter what price he had to pay, as long as it was not Dean's life, if he could do this one thing some small part of his soul might be shriven of the sins of his past. He might be able to redeem something.

He talked with D-day and his family and friends for almost a half hour. He had told the man about the destruction of the leathers, putting it off to part of the trouble his brother had been in, which was true, and D-day had refused to allow him to pay for anything. He had said he would take care of it with JD, who was not there that night. Sam had protested, but had been all but shouted down by D-day and his mother. He had returned the keys to the bike with his heartfelt thanks, moved when the man asked with genuine concern about Dean's safety. He was trying to figure out a way to gracefully extract himself when a hand fell on his shoulder, a hand he would know anywhere. He looked up into his brother's half concerned, half amused face as he felt a small hand again petting his hair.

"Hey Sammy, I thought I'd come down and we could get something for dinner here, but I see you started without me." Dean said. Sam knew there was no censure in the statement; it was just Dean's way of kidding him. D-day was on his feet instantly dragging another chair to the already crowded table. He practically pushed Dean into the new chair, and Sam could see his eyes noting the stitches at Dean's temple and the bruises that were still visible on Dean's face. What conclusions he drew Sam didn't know, but he was happy to see the biker filling a mug for Dean and serving up a plate of food from the ever refilled baskets of food that were on the table. Dean smiled at everyone around the table, his naturally gregarious nature coming to the fore. D-day made introductions around the table. Dean picked up a hot wing and then took a big pull on his beer. D-day, no doubt sensing a fellow spirit clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Did your brother tell you about what he did for me and my family?" Dean leaned back in his chair and looked out of the corner of his eye at Sam who was seated beside him.

"No, Sammy hasn't told me much about what he's been getting up to the last few days while I've been ….out of town." He drawled. He was obviously relishing this opportunity to get the whole story without Sam being able to leave stuff out.

"Yeah, I guess you probably been a bit busy. Well let me tell you a story…." D-day began, and Sam sat back in his chair, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Dean leaned over slight, his attention still on D-day as he talked, and their shoulders bumped and then stayed touching. Sam leaned into the strong shoulder that had offered him support through his whole life, and that he knew would be there for him in the future.

Life was good.

The End.