Summary: 
Spoilers: 
A/N: 
Disclaimer: 

Ripples spread out over the surface of the dark water as Sam moved down the flooded street.  The water had stopped rising, but every one of the volunteers working to evacuate the small hamlet knew it was just a temporary reprieve.  Several more inches of rain were expected in a few hours.  The old dam at the head of the valley was holding, but all bets were off when it started to rain again.

The majority of the heavy rescue efforts were taking place in towns farther downstream where the flood levels were already high enough to threaten lives.  Areas with less severe flooding were scrambling for volunteers to help with evacuations until the National Guard could get to them.  They welcomed the tall stranger who seemed driven to help, and the slightly less enthusiastic brother who shadowed his footsteps.

Sam ran the wide beam of his flashlight over the trailer on his side of the street.  A flash of red next to the front door caught his eye and he flipped the light off.  “This one was already checked,” he called out, grimacing at the way his voice wavered with exhaustion.

“This one too.”  Dean’s voice from across the street was cold and clipped.  Dean was still royally pissed.  He had morphed from brotherly concern to outright anger when he woke from a catnap to find his little brother had managed to avoid a mandatory rest period by sneaking out with a second rescue team.  Their current team was Sam’s third.

The long night was taking its toll.  Sam hunched his shoulders under his flimsy rain slicker as a breeze gusted.  The water covering his legs was warm, but his shirt was still damp from the earlier rain and goosebumps chased their way across his stomach.

Dawn filtered through the clouds in the eastern half of the sky, making it easier to see without the flashlights.  The small homes around them were dark and silent islands rising out of the water that stretched in every direction.  Islands that would turn into floating matchsticks if the dam went.  They were playing beat the clock and he hadn’t had a lot of success in that game lately.

A sense of helplessness washed over him.  It was the story of his life over the past six months.  Not enough time.  Sam lowered his head and forced his leaden legs into action, pushing against the drag of the water.  He kept pace with Dean as they leapfrogged past the two men checking the next two houses on the street.  “Anything, Percy?” he asked as he passed the heavyset man on his side of the street.

“Nope.  Thank the Lord most ever’body got themselves out.”

Sam nodded and kept walking.  Yep, thank the Lord for people who were able to help themselves.  Who were willing to help themselves.

Sam’s gaze sharpened when he reached the next home.  A wooden ramp rose up out of the water, ending at a deck in front of the door.  A wheelchair would make it tough to get out on your own.  The trailer’s door was opening before Sam was halfway up the ramp.  He turned his head and bellowed over his shoulder.  “Perce!  We need the boat!”

Sam waited for the sense of elation that he knew he should be feeling as he handed the child to the smiling man in the boat.  He turned away as soon as the small boy was settled on the seat next to his grandmother.  Two more people saved, and all he felt was empty.

Dean and the other members of the team were gathered in a loose circle around Percy.  A couple of high fives were exchanged and a small man with bushy red hair turned to Sam with a huge grin as he drew near.  “Did you hear that, Sammy boy?  The Guard is taking over!”

Sam avoided his brother’s eyes and looked to Percy for confirmation.  The big man nodded his head and grinned.  “They’re pulling us in and taking over the water operations.”

“What about the rest of these houses?”  Sam asked with a frown.  “We’re right here.  Shouldn’t we at least finish them up?”

It was telling proof of his exhaustion that Sam didn’t even notice his brother moving closer.  He was surprised when Dean’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“This neighborhood is clear, Sam,” Dean said evenly.  “The other teams are already heading back.”

“But what about the…”  Sam trailed off when his brother’s hand tightened harshly on his shoulder.  Dean’s message was loud and clear.

It’s done Sam.  Give it up.

The Impala’s heavy door creaked open and Dean slid onto the smooth leather with a contented sigh.  Sam was already in the car, his hair damp from a hasty shower in the high school-cum-evacuation center.  He glanced in Dean’s direction and slid lower in his seat, turning slightly away.  It took Dean a moment to realize Sam had his cell phone pressed to his ear and was listening intently to someone.

Dean sipped from the cardboard coffee cup in his hand, enjoying the warmth of the liquid as it trailed down his throat.  Hours of wet clothing had left Dean chilled to the bone.  Sam was in even worse shape, pale and shivering by the time they climbed onto dry land.  It was Sam’s own fault for sneaking off like a rebellious teenager while Dean warmed up between search rotations.

“Okay…yeah…Thanks, Bobby.”  Sam flipped the phone shut and slid it into his pants pocket.  He remained slouched in his seat, staring forward.

“So, what did Bobby want?” Dean asked with a forced a smile.  He would not be pulled into whatever hissy fit his brother had brewing. 

“Nothing.  I called him.”  Sam sat up in the seat and turned to face Dean.  “We have to head to New York.  Bobby knows a man there who’s got a copy of an ancient grimoire from—”

“No.”  Dean’s grip started to dent the sides of the coffee cup but he kept his voice calm.

“What?  Why not?  It could be exactly what I’ve been looking for!  It was written at the same time as the Grand Grimoire and Bobby said—”

Heat flooded Dean’s body and his eyes narrowed in anger.  “What part of ‘no’ don’t you get, Sam?” he bit out.

Sam’s cheeks flushed red.  “Damn it, Dean!  Why do you keep doing this?”  He lashed out suddenly, banging his fist against the dashboard.  “You’ve stood in my way every time I had a lead!  Hell, I still think you sabotaged the meeting with Pastor Jim’s old friend!”

“We’re not having this conversation now, Sam,” Dean said coldly.  “I’m tired and I want to get out of here before you decide to go play in the water again.”

“You can’t keep avoiding this Dean!”  Sam exploded.  “Six months!  It’s been six months, and we’re no closer…”  He trailed off and wiped a shaking hand across his face.  “You just don’t get it!  It’s killing me that I can’t save my own brother.  It doesn’t matter how many other people I help,” he waved his hand at the evacuees milling around near the school, his expression lost.  “They don’t mean anything.”

 “Pulling stunts like you did here, Sam?  That won’t save me.  Getting yourself killed won’t void the contract.”  He hadn’t been blind to Sam pushing himself unmercifully and taking more and more chances.  Deep down he’d understood why.  “Now you want to go chasing around the country…The crossroads bitch will drop you in your tracks at the first whisper that I’m trying to get out of the deal, Sam.”

Sam’s voice was low and pleading.  “Maybe I don’t care Dean.  If she’s coming for you no matter what, then maybe I don’t want to be here to see it.”

Dean’s eyes flew back to Sam’s face, shocked.  “Don’t you say that Sam,” he said, his voice breaking.  “Don’t you make it all be for nothing.”

Sam’s jaw clenched tight for just a second before he visibly deflated.  His shoulders slumped and he slid back down in the seat.  He turned away and rested his forehead against the car window.  He looked so defeated that Dean felt a quick pang of guilt.  He reached out to lay his hand on Sam’s shoulder but stopped before making contact, pulling his hand back and reaching for the car keys instead.  Eventually Sammy would be okay.  He’d survive.  Dean had to believe that.

The Impala’s tires hummed over the rain slicked road.  They had followed a circuitous route up and over the hills that hemmed the valley before turning north on a deserted county road that clung to the side of the hill.  Dean ignored the side roads that would have taken him down the slope and onto a rural highway.  Being outside of the valley was no guarantee that low lying areas weren’t flooded.

Dean jumped when Sam sat up suddenly next to him, his attention fixed on something beyond the window.

“Dean!  Stop the car!”  Sam’s hands were fumbling to open the door before the words were fully out of his mouth.  Dean jammed on the brakes, cursing as he fought his baby’s desire to perform pirouettes on the wet road.

Sam jumped out as soon as the car’s slide ended, slamming the door behind him.  He trotted along the shoulder of the road, finally stopping about ten yards behind the Impala.

Dean watched in astonishment, his hands still clutching the wheel in a white knuckled grip.  As soon as his heart slowed down he was going to kill Sam.  He threw the car in reverse and gunned it backwards past his brother.

He lost it before he was even fully out of the car.  “SAM!  WHAT THE HELL—” He broke off when his brother stepped off the edge of the road, completely oblivious to Dean’s tirade.

“Dean, there’s a car down there!” he yelled over his shoulder.

Dean stepped to the edge of the blacktop and watched as Sam moved down the barren and muddy slope.  A dark gray sedan rested in the mud almost seventy-five yards below them.  From the looks of the car’s mangled and muddy roof rack it had rolled at least once.  The driver’s door was open, but it was impossible to tell from the road if anyone was inside.

The slick slope provided treacherous footing, and Sam ended up sliding down on his butt several times.  He used the open door to steady himself and leaned down to look into the car.

“Well?” Dean yelled.

Sam backed out of the car and turned towards Dean.  “It’s empty.”  His voice was somewhere between relieved and embarrassed.

“Dude!  You’re not getting…”  Dean trailed off.  He could feel it through his feet.  A low vibration building to a rumble.  The edge of the road in front of him began to bow downwards and there was a loud crack as a fissure opened in the blacktop.  He watched in numb horror as part of the road began to break away.  The horror increased exponentially when the rumble built to a roar and an entire section of the hillside started to slide slowly downwards.

“SAMMY!  GET OUT OF THERE!”  Even as he shouted, Dean realized there was no place for Sam to go.  A pit opened in his chest and his vision wavered.  Just for a second he was back on a muddy street in South Dakota and his baby brother was on his knees, the light leaving his eyes.  The scene before him crashed back into focus and his breath left his chest in a gut-wrenching roar.  “SAAAAAM!”

Sam scrambled onto the hood of the car and wrapped his hand around a piece of the roof rack just moments before the mudslide hit.  The car shuddered and then began to move, shaking violently and throwing Sam from side to side.  It was lifted by the flow of liquefied soil and swept down the hillside, farther and farther away from where Dean stood on the side of the road, stunned and helpless.

Sam fought to keep his hand clamped around the mangled roof rack.  Loosened rocks and small boulders rode the top of the mud like pieces of wood tossed into a stormy sea, battering the sides of the car and smashing the windows.  The car hit a hidden obstruction and swung sideways across the flow with a tortured groan.  It shuddered to a stop and Sam’s body slewed across the mud-slicked hood until he was lying across the windshield with his legs dangling over the side.  He gasped at the blinding pain that shot from his abused hand straight to his shoulder, and then found himself coughing and spitting out the mud that tried to fill his mouth.

The mud washed over the top of the car and Sam turned his face away trying to keep it from his nose and mouth.  It was an overwhelming force pushing against his body, trying to tear his grip from the rack.  The car began to lift under him, tilting sideways, and Sam was hit with the realization that if the car rolled completely onto its side his legs would be crushed under it.  He did the only thing he could.  He let go.

He landed a few feet from the car and fought to stay upright.  Stressed metal creaked, and he looked up to see the car on its side, looming over him.  The mud caught him and propelled him out of the way just as the car came down.  The bulk of the car barely missed him as it was swept past.

He fought to keep his head and shoulders clear of the churning mess.  There was little he could do to protect himself from the debris in the mudflow except use his arms to deflect some of it from his face and head.  He grunted in pain as rocks pummeled his back and shoulders and scraped his ribs.

A vicious blow across the stomach drove the air from his lungs.  His vision began to white out and he sank lower in the mud.  He panicked when it washed over the top of his shoulders and frantically stretched his neck to keep his face out of the suffocating quagmire.  His world narrowed to the roaring in his ears and the burn in his chest as he struggled to breathe.

He barely noticed when he stopped moving.  He was too exhausted to open his eyes and see the slow spread of the mud past him as it turned a low lying field into a swamp.  His feet touched solid ground and the level of mud around his body dropped, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Sam!  Cavalry’s almost here!”  Dean paced restlessly, splitting his attention between his brother’s quiet figure and the rapidly approaching red lights.  The side roads he had shied away from earlier had been a godsend, leading him directly to the desolate stretch of road that bordered the newly created mud pit.  He had been frantic when he spotted Sam encased in the mud up to his chest, his head hanging, calming only when Sam’s head had lifted at his shout.

A red Yukon skidded to a stop behind Dean.  Its siren died away but the red lights on top continued to pulsate in the gray morning.  The shock on Dean’s face was mirrored by the driver when he climbed out.

“Percy?!”

“Dean?!”  The big man looked across the mud and scowled.  “Aaah…crap.  Sam.”

“What are you—”

“I’m the chief out this way.  Me and the boys were just helping out in valley.  How’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.”  He couldn’t hide behind a glib answer when Sam’s safety was at stake, but putting his doubt into words brought it home with a force that shredded his insides.  “He’s awake but he’s not talking.”

Percy eyed the mud coating Dean’s legs from the knees down.  “You tried to get to him?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted with a weak smile.  “Didn’t get too far.”

Percy scowled at him.  “Good thing.  We’d a had to get you out before we could get Sam.”

Dean ignored the reprimand and smiled hopefully.  “So how do we haul his ass out of there?”  His stomach dropped when Percy frowned.

“I know you boys, and I don’t think you like sugarcoating.  So here it is.  We’re fighting time.  The rain is already coming down westa here.  We don’t know how banged up Sam is.  And hypothermia is an issue.”

“A little sugarcoating wouldn’t hurt,” Dean muttered.

“Here’s where we stand.  Lotta equipment’s tied up in valley, but the feds’re sending a rescue chopper.  Quickest thing is ta lift him out.”  He shook his head at Dean’s relieved expression.  “IF it works.  That mud can compact like cement.”

Dean ran his hand over the top of his head as his eyes drifted to his brother.  Sam was too still.  “If it doesn’t work?” he asked quietly.

“Then I’ve got plan B in the works too.”  Percy gave a reassuring grin.  “This kinda rescue can be slow, and it’s tough on the victim, but I’ve seen Sam in action, and he strikes me as a fighter.  He’s got his whole life in front of him.  He ain’t gonna give up, and that’s one of the biggest things we got going for us.”

Percy’s words, meant to be encouraging, echoed in Dean’s mind.  He tucked his hands under his arms to stop them from shaking.

Dean tuned out the activity on the road behind him and focused on the jumpsuit clad man descending from the helicopter hovering above Sam.  An engine had arrived not long after Percy, and Dean was happy to see a number of familiar faces from the earlier evacuation efforts.  They were good men.  An ambulance and the ‘trench rescue’ unit from a neighboring town weren’t far behind.

“So they’ll lift him and just bring him to us here, right?”  Dean bounced on the balls of hit feet, desperate to help.  Sitting on the sidelines while other people helped his brother was eating an ulcer into his stomach.

“Yep, then the medics’ll get him packaged so he’s ready when the bird gets here.”  Percy stood at his elbow, watching the rescue attempt closely.

 Dean waved to get his brother’s attention and gave him a thumbs up, smiling when he received one in return.  It was useless to yell to Sam with the helicopter’s heavy thump directly overhead.  Sam seemed aware of his surroundings but his movements were sluggish and his attempts to talk were too soft to be heard.  Dean hadn’t missed the occasional grimaces either.

The rescuer was behind Sam, practically on top of him.  Sam tilted his head, listening to instructions.  He nodded and then raised his arms overhead.  A wide strop hung from the front of the rescuer’s harness.  He slipped it over Sam’s arms and adjusted it to fit around Sam’s chest as Sam crossed his arms over it.  Sam nodded again and the man behind him gave a hand signal to the crew above him.

The helicopter remained stationary as a winch inside of it started to slowly turn.  The strop pulled taut and Dean held his breath.  If the mud was loose enough this would be over in minutes.

Sam’s head snapped back, and one look at his face froze Dean’s blood.  He turned to Percy, his eyes wide and panic-stricken.  “STOP THEM!”

Percy yelled into his portable radio but his words were drowned out by Sam’s scream.  Dean was ankle deep in the mud before a rough grip on his arm hauled him backwards.  He fought the hands, his eyes fixed on his brother’s sagging form.

“You come off as soon as I say, you got that Dean?”  Percy’s glare would have been a lot more effective if he wasn’t still pale from the helicopter’s botched rescue attempt.  Dean didn’t blame Percy for what happened.  Even Dean had agreed that the attempt at a quick rescue had been necessary.  The rain was moving closer and every second increased the danger of another slide.
 
“I need to see my brother, Perce,” Dean repeated.

“I know that Dean, but if you don’t listen to me you’re gonna slow things down.  As soon’s the tripod’s set and the hose is pulled you get out of the way.”

Dean nodded his head jerkily and Percy waved to his men to let Dean through.  The trench rescue truck had contained large sheets of plywood that were used to create a walkway to Sam’s position and working platforms around him.  The wood distributed the weight over the mud’s surface.  Crew members in ‘drysuits’ were already on the platform setting up a tripod that would be used to lift Sam out of the mud.  The difference with this attempt was that a small fire hose with a long wand-like nozzle would be stretched to the platform.  The nozzle would be pushed into the mud next to Sam’s body and water pumped through it would loosen the mud’s hold on Sam.

Percy’s earlier warning had been accurate.  The rescue was a slow process, even with the extra personnel that had poured onto the scene.

The plywood moved under Dean’s feet and he stepped carefully from one piece to another.  His heartbeat raced faster the closer he got to his brother.  He couldn’t see Sam past a kneeling medic and he fought the urge to run the last few feet.

And then he was there, crouching in front of his brother and swallowing past the boulder sized lump in his throat.  Sam’s eyes were closed, a cervical collar holding his head still.  His face was pale, his skin trembling lightly.

“Hey,” Dean said softly.  Sam’s eyes opened slowly and he blinked owlishly at Dean.  “I always pictured you as more the Nehru collar type,” Dean said, pointing to the collar.

Sam grinned tiredly and reached his hand out from the confines of the silver space blanket someone had wrapped around his shoulders.  Dean grasped the hand in both of his and held it tightly.  “How you doing, Sammy?”

“Peachy,” Sam said breathlessly.

“Liar,” Dean grinned. 

“Learned from…best.”  Sam coughed lightly and gasped for air.

Dean turned to the medic, fighting to stay calm.  “Is he okay?”

She moved efficiently as she spoke, slipping an oxygen mask over Sam’s face.  “He’s doing fine.  His blood pressure is holding and we’ve been having a nice chat, right Sam?”

Sam’s eyes blinked lazily and Dean’s fear edged up a notch.

“The mud’s just putting a little pressure on his chest right now, and he’s a little chilly, but he knows he just has to hang tough a little while longer and we’ll have him out of here and warmed up.  You’re gonna do that for me and Dean, right Sam?  You’re gonna hang tough a little while longer?”

She turned to Dean with a meaningful look and he nodded.  He leaned forward until his forehead was almost touching Sam’s.  “We’re gonna get you out of here Sammy, but here’s the deal,” he said softly.  “You gotta fight, man.  You gotta hold on and give us a little more time.  I know you feel like you’ve got no reason to,” Dean’s voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard.  “But you’ve got to do it for me.  Okay Sammy?  For me.  I need you to get my ass out of trouble.  Okay?”

Sam’s eyes searched his face.  “I mean it Sam.  We’ll play it your way.  Whatever you want to do.”

Dean didn’t remember the rain starting as he walked back to the edge of the mud.  He withdrew into himself, fighting to keep sane while he silently watched other people save his little brother.  He was left with just brief impressions of the rescue itself.

The ropes and pulleys moved slowly but steadily.  A backboard was pressed to Sam’s back, keeping him straight as he was raised, inch by inch, until—finally—almost the whole length of his body was on the board, just his feet still trapped.  Their hands were on Sam’s ankles gently pulling his feet from the mud—where were his shoes?  They laid the backboard down and fussed around him, and the medic—huh, she was still out there—looked over and gave the ‘ok’ sign.  The rain began to fall harder, and at first Dean thought it was the sound of rain hitting the mud, that rhythmic noise, and then he realized it was people clapping.  Emergency workers lining the road were applauding the rescuers on the platform, applauding his brother’s survival.  Dean wasn’t sure when his knees had hit the mud, but kneeling seemed like a good idea, just until they got Sam off the platform.  They weren’t tears on his face, it was only the rain.

Sam floated in a cocoon.  It was neither warm nor pain free.  He was miserably cold, shudders wracking his body and bringing to life every bruise and pulled muscle.  Exhaustion pulled at him, begging him to slip away, but the pain of broken ribs held him in place.  It was a building ache, livened up by an occasional buzz-saw cut of deep pain.

Voices faded in and out around him as hands worked over him.  They were gentle and caring, but none were familiar.  None had the power to anchor him.

And then it was there.  A soft voice that reached his heart and warmed it.  A familiar touch on the side of his face that reminded him there were other sensations besides pain.

His eyes fluttered open and Dean’s reddened eyes were looking down at him.  “Hey bitch.”

Sam smiled but the smile faded as he remembered there was something important that Dean had to know.  Sam had to explain.  He fought to get the words out and past the oxygen mask.  Dean leaned close when he started to talk.

“You know I don’t WANT to die, right?”  He had to make Dean understand.  “But…I beat my ‘destiny’ once, because you were behind me.  It was over…but you brought me back.  I can’t beat…again…without you…and…can’t chance turning.”  It became harder to talk as the pain around his ribs bit deep into his belly and up to his shoulder.

Dean spoke softly into his ear.  “I’m not going anywhere.  You’ll save me.”

Sam tried to smile but the pain was hot and sharp and he bit down on a groan.  “Dean…hurts…”

“Sam?  Sammy?!”  Dean’s voice reverberated with fear.  “What’s going on?  What’s the matter with him?”

“Pressure’s dropping—”

“Tachycardic—”

Dean’s hand was on the top of his head, stroking.  Sam tried to hold on to that comfort as the world crashed around him.

“Get that line started—”

 “Marked rigidity—”

“We’re out of time here, people!  Let’s GO!”

Level 1 Trauma Center or not, a waiting room is a waiting room.  The staff had been solicitous, offering him coffee and towels.  Everyone had heard about the excruciating rescue. 

The mud began to dry and flake off as he waited, hunched in a plastic chair and staring at the floor.  Sam’s words had certainly come back to bite him on the ass.  He ‘got it’ now.  It destroyed your soul to stand by and watch helplessly while time ran out for your brother.

He couldn’t lose Sam again.  What kind of friggin cosmic joke would that be?

An eternity passed before scrub clad legs stopped in front of his chair.  “Mr. Norris?” 

Dean had been particularly proud of that name.  Sam had just rolled his eyes.

The doctor sat down next to him and Dean blew out a breath, preparing himself.

“I’m Dr. Valdez.  I was with your brother until he was taken into surgery.  Sam suffered two broken ribs, numerous contusions and abrasions, some slight sprains, and mild hypothermia.  There’s no indication of aspirated mud, but we’ll be watching for it.  The biggest danger is internal bleeding.  The CT confirmed a laceration to his spleen.”

Dean looked directly at the doctor and cut to the chase.  “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Oddly enough, the mud helped.  The pressure kept the bleeding under control and helped to stabilize his BP.  Once that pressure was gone, Sam crashed.”  Dr. Valdez smiled.  “Luckily, by then our chopper was ready and waiting.  It saved his life.”

Pressure built in Dean’s chest, but he refused to embrace the feeling yet.  “Saved his life?  You’re saying he’s going to be okay?”

“There are no guarantees,” the doctor cautioned, “but he stabilized nicely and the surgery is proceeding smoothly.  His surgeon is even hopeful that the spleen can be saved.  Sam’s a strong young man,” the doctor shook his head with a bemused smile, “and from what I’ve heard he has an amazing will to live.  Barring complications…I probably shouldn’t be saying this…but I think he’ll be fine.”

Dean knew exactly how strong, and stubborn, Sam was.  He dropped his guard and let the feeling sweep through him.  Sam was going to be okay.  He was as sure of that as he had ever been of anything in his life.

He listened to everything the doctor had to say, nodding when it seemed appropriate.  As soon as he was alone he walked through the sliding glass doors and turned his face up to the sky, relishing the cool rain on his skin.  His fist lifted to the sky and pumped once, joyously.  He had been given the gift of more time, and this time he wouldn’t waste it.

Oblivious to the stares of passerby and the smiles of the staff he moved back under the portico and turned his cell phone on.

“Hey Bobby.  I need you to get ahold of that guy in New York you told Sammy about…”