Summary:  Dean always thought of himself as ‘slightly stupid’ just smart enough to get the job done, just dumb enough to have to work at it.
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Dean sat with his back leaning against the tree, eyes glazing at the fire, it was dying down to embers, he needed to get up, add some more wood, but he was tired, struggling just to keep his own eyes open, let alone Sammy’s. Knowing the sun would be coming up soon, he pulled Sammy closer up in his arms, bodies providing the warmth they both needed. It was cold out, but warmer than before. The last time he checked, it was around 3:45 a.m. He had been talking to his brother for a couple of hours now, shaking him gently when he felt him nod off to sleep. If he could just keep them both warm and awake till the sun came up, they could try to get out of this mess. He had tried his cell phone numerous times throughout the night, no signal. Why the hell have the damn thing, if you can’t use it when you need it! The painful throbbing in his ankle was making him very uncomfortable, as long as he sat still, it wasn’t so bad, beside, Sam was much worse off, so, he simply moved the pain to the back of his mind, storing it there till he could deal with it. Take care of Sammy. His little brother moaned in a low whisper, lolling his head to the other side of Dean’s chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay, I gotcha”. Dean brushed his callous finger across Sam’s check as his brothers eyes fluttered open to look slowly up at him, seemingly dazed, his trusting stare piercing through the darkness to Dean. Sam felt warm to the touch, Dean reached his hand down and pulled up the flashlight; flicking it on, he shined it at an angle, the slight glow illuminating Sam’s face, his eyes seemed to be equal, but he couldn’t be sure; it was too dark to really tell.

“….M’cold? Sam nuzzled his body into Dean’s chest, his voice quivering, his tone confused. Damn, he’s got a fever

Flicking the flashlight off, Dean rubbed Sam’s arms vigorously hoping the friction would provide some warmth to his brother. “You’re okay…Shhhh”, he whispered; his face nuzzled into Sam’s ear, he pulled his arms tighter around him. Tilting his head, he placed his chin on the top of Sam’s smooth hair, shushing sounds coming from his lips.

Dean didn’t know when he fell asleep, but, the next thing he knew he was dozing on the tree; Sammy curled up against his shoulder, Dean’s arms still wrapped tightly around his lanky frame. The sun was warm on his face, his eyes fluttering open. Shit, I feel asleep. Suddenly aware of Sam, he attempted to scoot his body up, taking a gangly Sam with him.

“Sam?” he pulled his brother with him, attempting sit them both up straighter, the pain shooting up his leg to his knee, he grimaced, looking at his brother’s face. Sam furrowed up his brow as Dean shook him, whimpering, his head lolling right, then left, nudging against Dean. He looked pale, face drawn up in a pain laden frown, breathes heaving in and out with the same gurgling sound in his chest from earlier. He reached his hand down and placed it on his brother’s face, feeling the heat coming off of him in waves.

“Sammy, wake up, we need to get out of here”. He held his brother’s shoulders as he leaned him up bodily against the tree, gently holding him there. He watched as his brother’s sleepy eyes opened, fever giving them a hazy look. “Hey kiddo”.

“…ean? His eyes open at half mast; he blinked as he looked at his brother. He attempted to shift away from his brother’s grasp, pain radiating through his body, air wheezing into his chest. “Ump” the only sound he could force from his lips, as he veered back into Dean’s hands, slumping back against the tree.

Once his brother was situated back against the tree, Dean stood, hand leaning on the trunk, eyes tearing up, pain in his ankle spiking to a peak, as it made it’s way to his brain. Boy that sure as hell hurts. Sam’s eyes blinked up at his brother, attempting to clear is vision.

“…Leg. Kay?” leaning his head toward Dean’s leg.

“Fine, I’m fine Sam” Dean hissed out as he blinked back the tears from his eyes. Sam wanted to argue with Dean, wanted to make him take care of himself, but he was too fuzzy, his head pounding, his chest aching with each pull of air. He knew his brother’s ankle must be bad for Dean to even acknowledge it, normally, he ignored any pain, stout upper lip attitude, he inherited from their Dad. Sam nodded slowly, tongue licking his parched lips.

“…ater?” Sam whispered little puffs of air floating around his lips. He leaned back against the tree, eyes blinking slowly, looking at his brother.

“No water Sammy, I’m Sorry”. Dean angrily berated himself, stupid, stupid, stupid. What was wrong with him, how could he have taken things his Dad always taught him for granted? Look at the mess they were in. Never again, Never.”

Sam licked his parched lips again, eyes closing slowly, breathes heaving down his dry throat. He attempted to make saliva come into his mouth, but it only made his thirst more predominant. Ignore it, you are not that thirsty. He could hear the anger radiating from his older brother’s voice, stress inflected in his tone as he said the word ‘sorry’.

“It’s okay” Sam whispered.

“Okay, Sam, we are getting out of here… NOW”. Dean’s voice rose to a loud roar as he leaned down, pulling Sam to a sitting up position, he guided his arms into the leather jacket and zipped it. Putting his hands under his brother’s arms, Dean pulled Sam to a standing position, both of them swaying with the motion. Sam let out a little gasp, the sudden movement, causing his head to swim, white dots dancing in his vision, the pain radiating across his chest. He hung on desperately to Dean, who held on desperately to the tree.

Dean was pissed, so pissed at himself. What the hell was he doing while Sam was researching this hunt? Why did he not even bring water? Jesus Christ, his Dad would be so mad at him, for lugging his brother out here unprepared. The anger with himself rolled over him like a fog bank, constricting his chest. He was getting his brother out of here….NOW!! He would disregard the pain in his leg, his ankle. He bent down and pulled his brother up to a standing position, Sam’s heavy body leaning into him as his ankle sent a large pain up and down his leg. He wrapped Sam’s arm around his shoulder, as he put all their weight on both his feet. If he had to drag his and Sam’s ass out of here, he would do it. Lips pinched together in a tight line. No pain, no pain, ignore it.

They staggered past the smelly Chupacabra, Sam hanging on to his brother like he was a lifeline, attempting to move his own feet, his mind was jumbled. Where were they going again?

Dean grimaced as the sweat grew quickly on his brow. He would not stop, no stopping, got to get Sammy out of here. He plowed ahead, dragging his brother, his ankle now numb, Sam leaning more and more into him with every step. Suddenly, his boot hit a tree stump, catching and causing them both to tumble toward the hard ground, as pain radiated up his ankle, through his knee, and on up to his hip, Dean let out a little yelp; arms clutching at Sam, attempting with all his strength to save his little brother from hitting the cold damp earth.

Sam felt himself falling, his brothers fingers tightening around his wrist, the back of the leather coat. He knew this was going to be bad, his foggy mind registering that he was going down. He reached a hand out to stop the fall, and then the pain; he would have screamed, but, the white hot pain overcame him, his body struggling for air. He saw Dean as he impacted, his eyes rolling up behind his lids, the pain unbearable, he thudded against the grass.

The pain in his head was the first thing he became aware of, a low throbbing ache, just behind his ear, radiating around the front of his face, and stopping just behind his eyes. He gave his head a slight shake, hoping to ease the pounding that was waking him up; he just wanted to go back to the emptiness of the dark. The low, dull pain shooting up his leg, to his knee, was a totally different issue. His toes were numb; actually his entire foot was numb. What the hell? His leg felt like it was not connected to that appendage. Hovering on the edge of semi-consciousness, he attempted to open his heavy eyes, lids refusing to budge. He rolled slowly to his back, the cold air attacking through his flimsy shirt and thermal tee with a vengeance. Damn it’s cold here. His head gave a vicious throb, as did his leg, and he blinked his eyes open, staring straight up at the waving tree limbs above him. He attempted to reel in his wayward thoughts, through his blurry head. Where was he?

Sudden awareness came rolling back to him in an instant. Chupacabra, ankle, Sam…. Where was Sam? He heaved his breath in, pulled his head up, and craned his neck against the cold hard ground. His eyes were foggy; he gazed around the area, landing instantly on his brothers still form, lying not three feet from him.

“Sammy”, his voice whispered, he turned himself on his stomach and pulled his shaky body over to his brother’s side, leg aching as his drug it along on the grass.

“Sam?” he touched his ice cold fingers to his brothers face. Jesus, he’s so cold. His brother seemed to be like an iceberg. He placed his hand under Sam’s chin, turning his head slightly, so he could look at him, rubbing his thumb across Sam’s flushed cheek, his own warm breath causing Sam’s long bangs to flutter in its wake.

“Sammy…come on, Sammy?” He could feel his brother’s soft wheezing blowing against his fingers, every breath seeming to be a struggle. Was that blood in his mouth, on his lips? Dean laid his weary forehead on his brother’s shoulder, short hair brushing his brother cheek, tears rimming up in his eyes.

“Please Sammy”, his voice begging. He felt Sam’s eyes twitch, raising his head up, a gentle hand patting his little brother face.

“Sam, wake up, open you eyes…Sammy”.

Sam felt it, something was touching his cheek, making a little tickle, so he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to make it go away. His head felt heavy, thudding to the beat of his own heart, his mouth was dry, humming ringing in his ears. Who was saying his name? His mind was blissful, the fuzzy whiteness was nice, but the voice just kept nagging at him. His brain began to register; the voice belonged to Dean; who was relentlessly calling his name. Leave me alone, I’m sleeping. He stirred from his white nothingness, as a wave of pain hit him, an onslaught so huge, it threatened to overtake him. He didn’t want to be here, wanting to return to the peaceful white nothingness. He gasped, struggling for air, a drowning sensation coming over him; his eyes blinked open wide, looking confusedly into Dean’s face. His arms grasped his chest, panic overtaking him, chest heaving, coughing, wheezing, he rolled to his side; choking, gagging, specs of red flying out from his lips, spattering on the dead grass. Air, he needed air.

“God, Sammy”, Dean leaned in, arm wrapping around his brother’s shoulder, steady hand clasping the back of his brothers neck, comforting, holding him steady.

“Easy, Sam, slow breaths….Sam, its okay”.

Sam’s body felt so heavy. His eyes blinked at his brother, his lids too weak to hold open. He’s head lolled slowly toward the ground, his arms trying, unsuccessfully, to push himself up. He felt his self being tugged into Dean’s arms, into his brother’s warm embrace. He felt Dean shuffling, scooting himself underneath him, his head lying against Dean’s chest. He struggled to get air in his lungs, pain radiating every time he took a breath, his body shivering uncontrollably.

“Dean” he murmured, breath hitching up in a painful wince, air not quite making it into his lungs. He was so tired. He would just rest here for minute, somewhere between wakefulness and sleeping. Dean had him, it was okay; Dean said so

Dean looked down at his little brother. He ran his calloused hand through his little brother’s hair, as he heard Sam whimper, struggling to breath. He continued the calming motion with his fingers, remembering, when Sam was a child, how this single motion always calmed him down.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Sam, it’s gonna be okay”. Sammy slumping into his brothers grasp, eyes lazily blinking closed.

Dean shook his head, anger radiating up to tighten in his chest. What a freaking mess. He looked from his brother’s face to the forest around them. They had not gone twenty feet; he could still see, and smell, the damn Chupacubra. His leg was throbbing, his boot felt so tight on his foot, his ankle, he thought it might burst out of its confines. He could hear his father’s angry voice in his head, as the breeze blew past him, hands clinging to his little brother. Dean, what the hell are you doing? Sammy is your number one priority. Always take the proper steeps to make sure he is okay. If you go on a hunt, be careful, be prepared. Sighing, anger at himself for not keeping his head in the game, he brushed the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. Never again.

“I’m sorry, Sammy” he whispered, his voice carrying on the wind.

Tom Baldwin pulled his Dodge Ram into the grass, right up next to the sleek black Impala, switching off the engine, he glanced around the area. He quickly opened his door, grabbing his shotgun off the gun mount, checking to make sure he had bullets; he sat the gun up against the truck. He quickly shimmed his large frame into his coat and gloves. He glanced at his cell phone, no signal, as usual. He hated that his cell phone never worked when he was out here, he threw it back to the truck bench seat as he stuffed some water, a blanket, first aid kit, and hand warmers in his backpack; throwing it over his shoulder, he slammed the door. It was nearly 9:30 a.m. and he had hoped when he got here, his concerns for the two young reports would have been put to rest, no such luck. Seeing the black car, frost on the windows from the night before, caused his concern to rise to fear.

He had not really planned on coming back out here, his brief encounter with the big ugly monster was more than enough for him, but, upon waking this morning, it was all over the news. Another unlucky person had encountered the creature, killed early this morning; two mile markers up. He was overcome with concern, when the news had announced a creature had mauled one hunter to death; the other barely escaping, his buddy killed right in front of him. He was very relieved, when the news showed the young hunter, he was not one of the two reports he had talked to yesterday. The urge to come out here, make sure they were not in the area, not on his property, had overcome him. His disappointment that the car was here, they were still here, caused his heart to skip a beat. He let his eyes scan the area as he walked hesitantly, gun at the ready, toward his tree stand.

Dean’s head fell lightly toward his chest, he jarred it quickly back up to an upright position, eyes glancing around the wooded area as he pulled his little brother in closer, for heat. Yea sure, his brother would be so disappointed; he was missing this ‘chic flick’ moment. Sam had passed out about an hour ago, Dean attempting to wake him, then deciding, Sam was breathing easier when he was unconscious, his panic at bay. Sam was feverish, sweat accumulating on his brow, wheezing growing loader with every breath.

Dean reached in his pocket for the fifteenth time and pulled out his cell phone, looking for any reception. Shit. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He knew he had to do something, go for help, get them out of here, Sam needed a hospital. His mind racing he struggled to put a plan together, knowing at some point, he would have to leave his brother alone. He figured if he got a tree limb to lean on, he could limp back to the car, maybe his phone would work, if not, he would have to drive down the road and hope he found someone. A tightening in his chest caused him to gasp; he did not want to leave his little brother, alone, in the woods, struggling to breath, unconscious. This was so messed up

Dean heard the rustle in the bushes, he cocked his head, eyes squinting into the woods. He slipped his hand to the back of his jeans, pulling out his handgun; his other arm hanging on to Sam. Dean pulled Sammy tighter into his chest, his baby brother letting out a small moan.

“Shhhhh.” Dean said with a firm, comforting tone, squeezing Sam a little tighter.

The rustling grew louder, a tree branch snapping in the breeze. Dean’s shoulders tensed as he pointed the gun toward the noise. The shadows of the tree limbs swaying in the wind caused him to hesitate, not really seeing anything, but sure something was making its way through the brush toward him, toward his Sammy. His lips in a firm line, eyes fixated on the movement, his finger paused on the trigger.

Dean’s eyes squinted, finger twitching lightly over the trigger of his gun, Sam whimpered, Dean tugging at him, pulling his baby brother up against himself as tight as possible. Sam’s head fell to Dean’s chest, blood slipping slowly out the corner of his parched lips.

Dean watched as the bushes trembled under the weight of the object, now, just out of his view. Holding his breath, gun shaking slightly, his vision blurred over. He blinked his eyes quickly, to clear his view, waiting, poised to take immediate action, as soon as he saw it. Suddenly, his eyes rested on a large creature, over six feet tall. Was that a camouflage coat? He blinked his eyes again. He recognized this guy, staring back at him, gun tucked under his shoulder, hands waving high in the sky.

“Whoa there, buddy. It’s me, Tom Baldwin, remember? I talked to you at the hardware store yesterday?”

Tom’s eyes scanned the sight before him, both reporters looked like crap, concerned etched up into his face as he waited for the older man to drop the gun.

Dean’s hand trembled visibly as the adrenaline he felt, just moments before, rushed quickly out of body, arms struggling to hold up his brother as the reality that someone had come to help them sunk in. Thank you, thank you thank you! He dropped the gun to the ground at his side, eyes peering at his limp baby brother, eyes shut tightly in a pain etched scrunch, breath coming out in little gasps, blood caked at the corners of his lips.

Tom stepped quickly to the reporters’ side, scrunching down on the balls of his feet, knees bent, removing his gloves, he placed his fingers quickly to the neck of he unconscious one.

“Okay, we need to lay him down. Can we do that?” his eyes leering up as Dean, who nodded his, head slowly, allowing the large man to take his brother from his arms, lying him on the ground. Sam sobbed softly with the motion, hands grabbing desperately at Dean’s shirt.

“Shhhh, its okay Sammy.” Dean’s quivering hands reached out and grabbed Sam’s flailing ones, pulling them gently to his little brother’s stomach, holding them there while Tom Baldwin attempted to help Sam. Hearing Dean’s voice, Sam slowly calmed down, eyes fluttering open, looking glassy at them both.

Tom Baldwin leaned his large frame down, ear listening carefully to the young man’s breathing.

“Collapsed lung, fever, he’s in bad shape. We need to get him out of here.” Tom’s hand reached into his bag, pulling out the small thermal blanket, he wrapped it over Sam’s quivering body. He yanked out the bottle of water, quickly twisting off the top, he brought it to the young man’s lips, Sam tasting the dampness on his lips, reached his quaking hands up to the bottle, eyes still blinking slowly, Dean reached up to try and steady the bottle, his own hands shaking with the effort. Water trickled into Sam’s mouth, and then tinged with his blood, drippled down his chin.

Pulling the bottle away from Sam’s lips, Tom Baldwin, tilted it toward Dean.

“Here, don’t drink much, it will make you sick. You look a little flushed too, where ya hurt’n?” Tom shuffled away from Sam and turned down to look at Dean; who nodded his head down toward his leg, swollen so big that the jean was tight up past his knee.

“Okay, I need to cut the leg of your jean up, on that bum leg, see how it looks”.

Dean smiled lightly up at the large man, at this point his strength was waning, he was just glad someone else was in charge. Just this one time.

Tom pulled the pocket knife out of his jacket, reaching down; he held Dean’s jean covered leg at the ankle, pulling the knife slowly up through the fabric. Dean grimaced as the pain radiated up his leg with the tugging.

“Sorry”, Tom panted out, eyes flickering up to Dean’s face. “This looks broken to me. I can’t take your boot off, you’ll never get out of here if I do, it is holding your ankle steady”.

“You think it’s broken?” Dean whispered as he placed his hand to his kneecap and squeezed it tightly.

“Yea, I was a medic in Iraq, for a year, its broken”.

Dean had a huge surge of utter respect surge through his veins. His lips quirked up in a grin.

“Glad you got back in one piece”.

Tom Baldwin smiled a broad smile at Dean, eyes glancing from Sam, and then back to him. He unzipped is camouflage coat, as Dean eyed him suspiciously.

“Here”, he handed it to Dean. “Put this on”.

“No, no, I’m fine”. Dean said as he scuffed the coat away.

“Like hell you are, put the damn coat on. I can’t carry you both out of here”. Tom’s voice was firm, military order in his tone. God, he sounds like my Dad. Dean was never one to disobey an order. He cocked his head up; grin curling across is lips as he proceeded to put the coat on, warmth feeling absolutely wonderful, he zipped it up as far as it would go.

“Dad?” Sam’s voice was a whisper as he turned his feverish face toward the voice of Tom Baldwin, unfocused eyes looking from Dean to Tom. Dean’s face tensed up. Jesus, Sam thought his Dad was here.

“Shshhhh, Sammy, I’m here”. Dean placed his hand to his brother’s face, drawing fingers up and through his hair; lingering there, smoothing his unruly locks.

Tom Baldwin looked from the man under the blanket, to the older one; they looked incredibly alike now; not like they looked yesterday in the hardware store. He looked over to the dead Chupacabra, not twenty feet away, he would have to burn that thing, the smell was awful. He would come back and do that later, after he got them both out of here. His eyes landed on two shotguns, lying on the ground near the Chupacabra. His curiosity peaked; he held questioning eyes up toward Dean.

“You’re not reporters, are you?”

Dean looked with concerned eyes from his brother, back to Tom Baldwin.

“No, no, we’re not. He’s my brother. We were just curious, we heard all the stories about the creature, we wanted to check it out ourselves”.

“Well, you ain’t too bright, cause after you heard my story, why the hell would you come out here?” Tom chuckled to himself as he pulled two hand warmers out of his backpack, breaking them open, he proceeded to place them under the blanket, in Sam’s coat pocket. Dean watched as he moved Sam’s hands into the leather jacket grasping his fingers around the hand warmers.

“Thank you”. There were no words to express Dean’s feelings at this moment, as he struggled to contain his emotions. Yes, he was not too bright, in fact, he felt slightly stupid at this moment. This was all such a fuck up. What if Tom Baldwin had not come looking for them, where would they be then?

Tom saw the emotional look in the young man’s eyes, realizing his words may have been a bit harsh, considering their predicament. He scrunched down on his knees, giving stress to his next words.

“We got to get out of here. There’s another one out here. It killed a man this morning, not two miles up.”

“What?” The anxiety in Dean’s chest rose to a peak, as he stammered to grasp what Tom Baldwin had just said, his hand moving faster over Sam’s long hair, fingers shaking as the realization hit him. His brother was still in danger, and not from his collapsed lung, concussion, or fever. He looked up at Tom, nodding his head; he reached his hand up for assistance in standing up. Have to get Sam out of here.

“Okay, can you stand on that leg?” Tom reached over and grabbed a large stick lying on the ground, handing it across to Dean; he pulled him up to a standing position. Dean leaned on the stick, wobbling on his bum ankle, the pain now almost gone, just a low throbbing, numbness taking hold.

“I can’t feel it” Dean cajoled, “Help my brother. I’ll make it out of here, as long as he does.”

“What’s his name?”

“Sam, Sam Winchester. I’m Dean”.

Tom reached his hands down to Sam, lightly tapping his face. Dean watched, his body swaying, weight resting on his good leg, hand steadily holding his new ‘stick’ to stay up.

“Sam”. Tom Baldwin placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering open, perspiration on his brow, cheeks flushed.

“Dad?”

Tom Baldwin glanced over at Dean, eyebrows rising; he grabbed the young Winchester up by his arms, pulling the blanket tightly around his shoulders. Sammy leaned into the large man, breathe coming out in little pants.

“Yes Sam, its Dad. Come on son; let’s get you out of here”.

Dean felt tears well up in his own eyes as he stumbled to follow, the large man, cradling his little brother, in strong arms, practically carrying him, urging him to move.

“H...Hu...rts Dad, can…can’t br...eath”. Sam panted out in little wheezes, head lolling into the large man’s shoulder, feet shuffling, barely moving.

“I know, Sam. You got to walk with me, lean on me, you can do it. It’s not that far, I promise”. Tom Baldwin’s voice was a low tone, soft, caring.

“Pro…mise”. Sam whispered, as Dean limped along beside them, his own breath heaving in his chest, tears stinging his eyes, trickling out the corners, down his face.

Tom Baldwin’s eyes leered cautiously around the ground, over the brushy thicket, and into the trees; his gun tucked under his right arm, left arm wound around the weak body of Sam Winchester. He needed to get this boy, yes, he thought, that’s what he was, just a boy, to safety. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the older brother struggling along behind him, eyes fixated on Sam’s slumping back, stick moving slowly, his left leg dragging as he moved.

“You okay back there?” Tom hesitated, pulling Sam’s arm tighter up over his shoulder; he was practically carrying the lanky figure.

“Yea, yea”. Dean’s voice was shaky, air coming out in little puffs, floating around his face.

“It’s not too much further”. Tom hesitated, tilting his head up to the side, listening, eyes glancing at Dean, as concern rose across his face.

Sam’s breathe was coming out in fast pants. Tom noticed immediately that the young man was in distress. He quickly dropped to his knees, lying Sam on the ground.

“What…what is it?” Dean hobbled over toward Sammy, eyes staring down at his brother.

Sam’s eyes grew wider, panic sitting in, the veins in his neck pulsing to the surface, bulging out of his skin, arms grasping up at Dean’s leg.

“He’s going into respiratory distress. Get him to look at you, talk to him, calm him down”. Tom voice was firm; he reached to grasp Sam’s arms, holding him steady to the ground.

Sam moved his head quickly back and forth, damp bangs sticking to his forehead, lips quivering, taking on a blue hue. Concern washed over Dean, Sam appeared to be struggling, face contorted, anxiously trying to suck in air.

“Sammy, calm down….look at me, look at me, Saaaaam”. Dean dropped to his knees, pain shooting up his leg, Sam his only concern. He brought both his hands to Sam’s face, clasping his brothers flushed cheeks between his palms, steering his bleary, wild looking eyes, to look at his face.

“Sam, look at me. Sammy…calm down ….NOW”. Dean’s voice was soothing, comforting, while at the same time, loud, and forceful.

Tom placed his hand on Sam’s wrist, counting silently to himself. He watched as Dean seem to take control of his little brother, the younger man looking to him trustingly.

Sam’s eyes filled with tears, he struggled to calm down, eyes staring silently into Dean’s, begging, pleading, wanting him to make it all okay.

Tom Baldwin quickly pushed Sam to a sitting position, Dean moving away momentarily, watching wide eyed, knowing and trusting that the former medic knew what he was doing. Tom dropped his gun to the ground, removing his backpack; he placed it in front of Sam’s chest, pulling both Sam’s arms in around it, crossing over his chest. He pulled his own strong arms around Sam’s waist, sturdy arms criss-crossing Sam’s chest, pinning his arms underneath his own. Sam struggled to get away, anxiety rising back into his face.

“Dean, Dean, tell him to hold the backpack, tell him he needs to hold it tight”.

Dean’s eyes looked from Tom back to Sam with a questioning stare.

“It will help him breath better, it will, please tell him”. Tom looked at Dean with pleading eyes.

Dean leaned back in to his brother’s face, hand cupping his cheek, he whispered in Sam’s ear. “Sam, Sam…listen to me. You have to hold this back pack, hold it tight, hold it Sam…it will help, hold it tight”.

Sam looked at Dean, curious look in his eyes, and then his hands pulled the backpack to his chest, arms grasping it tightly, Tom pulling him in tighter. Sam’s breathe eased up, air making its way through his throat and down to his lungs. Dean’s comforting hand still resting on his cheek, fingers brushing in a light soothing motion, firm arms wrapped around his; the pushing on his chest causing the pain to lessen, air slipped into his mouth, color coming back to his lips. Sam shivered, his eyes becoming clearer, a crooked smile coming across his lips.

“Better?” Dean nodded his head slightly at his baby brother, as he watched him taking in the much needed air. Sam continued sitting, stock still, clutching the backpack with all his might. Tom Baldwin smiled at Dean as he felt a sudden wave of relief rush through his own body. Sam’s long eyelashes fluttered slowly over his lids, as he slumped just slightly, a soothing calmness overcoming him as his body reacted to the air he was finally pulling in; Dean’s fingers caressing his check, lulling him to quietness.

“Good, good”. Tom’s voice whispered out, more to himself, then to Sam or Dean. He was glad he had remembered this from his tour in Iraq. He frowned slightly as he remembered all the young men, like Sam and Dean; he had seen fall, helped if he could, cried if he couldn’t. Yes, he was glad something good was coming out of his experiences.

Dean watched his little brother carefully, relief overcoming the older brother, as Sam seemed to be getting some air. He did not know where this Tom Baldwin had come from, and he didn’t care, it was not important; he was an angel, as far as Dean was concerned, this man was a frick’n angel.

They sat silently for a long time, Sam heaving in air, head clearing, Dean smiling, overwhelmed with feelings of thanks, and Tom Baldwin clutching Sam, willing him to take in air.

Tom knew, just as soon as he removed the backpack from Sam’s grasp, the pain would start again; the air would be struggling soon to make it in his one good lung. He hoped that his little reprieve had given the younger man some strength to continue, to make it out of the woods, to the car, the hospital, and an opportunity to recover. He had seen too many young people die, and he would be damned if either of these two ‘boys’ were going to die under his watch.

Tom whispered into Sam’s ear. “Sam, I’m letting go now, so the air will not come in as easily. I’m sorry, but just hold the backpack tight, hold it tight”.

Sam nodded his bleary head, fuzzy eyes twinkling up as he looked over his shoulder at the face just behind him. Was that his dad? Who was that holding him?

Dean patted Sam gently on the knee. “Sam, I got to stand up now, sorry.” Dean winced as Tom gave him his hand, pulling him to a standing position, his body swaying on the tree limb. Dean heard Sam wheezing below him; face scrunching back up as he pulled the backpack to his chest, hands turning white, his fingers grasping it tightly.

“You okay kid?” Tom’s eyes settled on Dean’s face.

“Yea, yea, I’m fine, let’s get the hell out of here”. Dean’s eyes crinkled up, grin curling up on his lips. “Thank you, Tom, for helping us”.

“You’re welcome, but come on; we are not out of these woods yet.”

The path back to the Impala was a mass of bushes, brambles, and thickets. Dean’s face contorted into a grimace. Damn, he didn’t remember all this crap on the way to the deer stand. He struggled to keep up with his brother and Tom Baldwin, who was now moving at a steady little clip. Sam was still hugging the backpack to his chest, struggling to take in air; and Tom was practically carrying his brother out, his legs dragging the ground as they went.

It was then that Dean heard it, a shuffling behind him. What the hell? He turned around; body swaying on the stick as he felt the eyes landing on his back, someone, or something was watching him.

“To...om” his voice wavering, he attempted to get the large man’s attention.

Tom stopped stock still, glancing over his own large shoulders to Dean, about five feet behind him. Dean’s head turning quickly back to Tom, eyes wide, pupils motioning silently behind him.

Tom leaned Sam gently to the ground, placing his back up against a tree. The younger man still had the backpack held gingerly to his chest, but his eyes were closed, his head slumping to his chest. Damn, he knew the kid had been dead weight for the last 100 feet.

Tom motioned for Dean to keep moving, fingers pulling the gun he held up to his shoulder, eyes leering into the trees. Dean moved slow and steady, gimping as fast as he could on a bum leg, finally making it past Tom, to his brother. He steadied himself with his hand against the tree, looking down at Sammy, who seemed to be unconscious now, body slumping over the backpack, breath coming out in small gasps.

Tom nodded at Dean, raising his finger on his free hand, he pointed toward the clearing to the left, Dean moved his head, there, he saw his Impala, and Tom’s big Dodge truck. Thank god.

Tom reached in his pocket, handing Dean his truck keys as he whispered.

“You go ahead, unlock the doors, get in the truck. I’ll be right behind you, with your brother”.

“Not a snowballs chance in hell”. Dean mouth babbled out, tone rising to levels.

The rustling in front of them caused them both to look from each other, back into the trees. Tom Baldwin’s face shrugged up in anger. This kid was a piece of work.

“Listen to me, damn it; if you want to get your little brother out of here, without a Chupacabra eating his ass, you do as I SAY”. Tom’s voice rose at the end of the sentence as his left eye twitched uncontrollably.

This guy was worse than his Dad. Dean’s mind struggled with the situation in front of him. He was hesitant to leave his brother, although, Tom assured him with his actions throughout the day, that he would take care of Sam, do as he said, get him to the truck. If Dean hampered this attempt, his brother could die out here. That was a risk he was not willing to take. Tom was right, if he gimped to the truck, Tom could cover him and Sam with his shotgun, then, once he was there, Dean could cover them both with his handgun. It would not kill a Chupacabra, but it would certainly cause them to slow up, stumble, and maybe fall. He reached in the back of his jeans, pulling out his handgun, smile spreading across his lips.

“Okay, but as soon as I get to the truck, you get my brother and you run your ass off, I’ll cover you from there as best I can”. Dean tucked his gun back in his jeans as he nodded his head at Tom. Tom’s head nodded in agreement. He really liked this kid.

The trees rustled and a silence fell over the area.

“Go”, Tom stated as he tilted his head, taking in the surroundings, hands gripping the gun, finger poised over the trigger.

Dean placed the tree limb on the ground, numb leg throbbing, running as fast as his feet would carry him. Shit, shit, shit.

Tom watched the bushes, the tree line, Dean making his way to the truck. He knew the man was in pain, he had been the unfortunate owner of his own broken ankle in Iraq, it was why he had gotten to come home. He knew it hurt like a mother, but Dean did not seem to waver, his steps were wobbly, but his gate was quick, stick slamming without hesitancy to the ground. Tom lips curled up, this kid certainly cared about his brother that was obvious as hell. He watched the young man, out of the corner of his eye, making a bee line to his truck.

Dean felt his breath heaving into his chest. He watched as the truck came closer and closer into his line of vision. He dared not look back, for fear of what he might see. He just needed to get to the truck, unlock the door, and then he would turn around, hoping that Tom Baldwin and his baby brother were still all he saw.