Summary:  What secrets are hiding in the forested mountains of Oregon? Truth can be elusive and one of the brothers doesn't have time to spare. After Dean is injured, Sam must finish the hunt and get his brother out of the woods, before the hunt finishes them.
A/N:  Dedicated to Heather03nmg for passing her nursing exams! Congratulations and happy graduation day on Monday!
Thanks to Wysawyg for being the best beta a girl could hope for. Truly, thanks.
Disclaimer:  Eye don’t own Supernatural, nor dew eye profit from this inn any weigh, sew their! (Ouch, I hurt me).

Sam snoozed lightly near the doorway to Mike’s hut. He’d managed to get the aloe and the ointment cream applied to Dean’s face, arms and back before crashing. He had all intentions of checking the cuts on his own arm and the snake bite, but his exhausted body had had other ideas and he had fallen asleep. The only noise other than Dean’s light wheezing was a large, black fly buzzing lazily through the one room abode.

When the canvas flap was pulled to the side, Sam snapped awake, his Beretta drawn. Behind him, he heard Dean move as well. “Easy boys, it’s me,” Mike said, throwing his arms up in a protective stance. “Just got back with your car.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied, flipping the safety back on and tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans. He turned to look at Dean just in time to see him ease himself back into a supine position.

“Did she miss me?” Dean asked.

“I’m sure she did,” Mike replied with a grin through his grizzly beard. “She’s as dusty as heck and she sure looked lonely down there.”

“You drove her nice and gentle?” Dean asked sternly.

“Course, be afraid not to,” Mike replied. He walked into the hut and tossed the keys to Sam on the way by.

Sam caught the keys deftly in his right hand. “Dean, are you ready to head to town?” Sam asked, carefully avoiding the subject of the doctor.

Dean narrowed his eyes and appraised Sam’s appearance. “Just some bleeding on your head?” Dean asked suspiciously. “That’s it?”

Sam started to deny anything else was wrong, but one look at Dean’s expression and he knew he would never get away with the lie. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Really, Sam?” Dean asked, awareness glinting in his moss green eyes. “Because if that’s true? Then you look like crap.”

“Nice, thanks,” Sam replied sardonically. He slowly pried himself off the hard-packed ground and limped towards Dean. His ankle had stiffened considerably in the few hours he had been inactive. He caught the look on Dean’s face and decided distraction was the best defense. He gathered the flashlight and confiscated the knife Dean had managed to get his hands on while Sam slept, shoving them both into the duffel bag.

“Hey,” Dean protested. “I had that.”

“And now I do,” Sam stated with a raised eyebrow and a head nod. Dean sat up, reaching for the duffel bag and hissed in pain.

“Why don’t you boys have something to eat before we head down to the car?” Mike asked, presenting the boys with a type of hot grain cereal he had obviously just whipped up on his makeshift sterno-burner stove.

Dean eyed the cereal and quipped, “There’s no special ingredients in here, is there?” His stomach gurgled in anticipation of food. He really was hungry.

“Special?” Mike asked with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah, special. You know, like special brownies?” Dean asked, holding up the bowl.

Mike laughed. “Nah, I wouldn’t waste it like that. You both were hurting before I left and I figured you’d actually get some rest if you were feeling better.”

“We wouldn’t have agreed to that,” Sam piped in, his face wrinkled in disapproval.

“I figured as much,” Mike replied good-naturedly. “Worked though, didn’t it?”

Sam frowned, but didn’t belabor the point. Obviously Mike had their best interests at heart even if Sam did not approve of his methods. He dug into his cereal with gusto when his stomach overpowered his reluctance to taste anything Mike had concocted.

“It’s good,” Dean said when Mike set down a mug next to him. Dean looked down into the cup and stated with a frown, “I said, no tea.”

“It’s more like coffee,” Mike corrected. “Dried dandelion root.” He placed a cup beside Sam before taking a seat on the hard ground with his own bowl of cereal.

“How far is it to the car?” Sam asked, swallowing a large mouthful of cereal.

“Less than a mile and it is mostly downhill to boot,” Mike replied. He pointed his spoon at Dean and continued, “Should be able to get him there in less than an hour.”

“I’m not going anywhere until Sam ‘fesses up,” Dean stated, his eyes sparking in defiance. “You may have slipped it past me last night, but I can tell something’s wrong.”

Sam flushed guiltily and spoke into his bowl of cereal. “I’m fine…”

“Don’t,” Dean warned him angrily. “Sam, don’t lie to me.”

Frustrated hazel met angry green and Sam caved. “It’s possible that I’ve been up close and personal with the area fauna,” he confessed.

“That dead cat was you, wasn’t it?” Mike asked. “I was tracking it and found it under a bush near your car.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “But, I managed to walk away with only a few scratches on my arm.”

“And your ankle?” Dean asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Uh, no,” Sam replied hesitantly. “Actually, it’s more like a snake bite.”

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean said hotly. “I’m not going anywhere until you let Mike take a look.”

“We’re an hour from the doctor,” Sam disagreed. “It’s nothing that can’t wait until then.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Dean on this one, kid,” Mike interjected. Dean smirked and Sam tossed him a look of pure annoyance.

“Hey, you were more than happy when he agreed with you, earlier,” Dean stated. “A snake bite can get infected if it isn’t taken care of.”

“Fine,” Sam huffed. “As long as we still get going soon.”

“Can you roll up or take off that long sleeved shirt?” Mike asked. “I’ll take a look at that first. Don’t think you’re getting out of anything,” he added at the smug look on Dean’s face. “I’m going to check you over once more before we head out.”

Sam made a face at Dean, but quickly replaced it with a neutral look when Mike turned back to him. “Shirt?” Mike asked, pointing to Sam’s arm.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam replied. He unsnapped his outer shirt and removed it, folding it carefully before setting it down. He glared at Dean when he started laughing. “What?”

“OCD much?” Dean asked. “You’re being awfully particular with a dirty, torn shirt there, little brother.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Sam replied. He winced when Mike pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and poked at the cuts on his left arm.

“They don’t look too bad,” Mike observed. “Looks like you did a pretty good job cleaning them up.”

“They’re not very deep,” Sam replied.

“That’s surprising,” Mike commented. “Those cats have big claws. Must have only been a glancing swipe.” He released his hold on Sam’s arm and moved to his right ankle. Sam’s boot and sock were discarded next to Dean and Mike hiked up Sam’s jeans to his knee before he could react.

Mike whistled and Dean leaned in closer to look, ignoring the tight pulling of bruises on his back. “That looks bad,” Dean muttered quietly to Mike.

“Sam, I’m going to clean this up a bit, but you need the doc to take a close look at it when you get to town,” Mike cautioned. He cleaned the wound, applied some home-made ointment cream and placed a light dressing on it within minutes. “Now you,” Mike stated, turning to Dean.

Dean uncharacteristically offered no protest as Mike moved around to his back and examined the bruises. “You’re wheezing a bit,” Mike stated. “I’d say you definitely have some type of rib injury.” Dean nodded, watching as Sam carefully pulled on his sock and boot. How the heck Sam had managed to hide the injury from him yesterday escaped him, but he was back on full alert now.

Sam pulled on his shirt and walked slowly behind Dean. He had to stoop to walk with the low ceiling and the limp slowed him further. By the time he maneuvered to Dean’s back, Mike was finishing his cursory inspection. “If you can get some more aloe on that burn and cream on those cuts, we can go,” Mike said.

“Got it,” Sam replied, picking up the white cream. It smelled a little of lilac and Sam wondered what exactly Mike had mixed into it.

Mike collected the bowls and the empty mugs. He nodded to the brothers on his way out the door. “Holler if you need help getting out of here. I’ll be outside checking on my mushrooms.”

“Of course he grows mushrooms,” Dean smirked. “That is one happy hermit.” He bit back a groan when Sam hit a sore spot.

“They may not be that kind of mushroom,” Sam replied. He handed Dean the jar of aloe and returned Dean’s grin. “Okay, I’m sure they are that kind of mushroom.”

“Hand me my shirt, will ya?” Dean asked. “What time is it, anyway?”

“I’m not really sure,” Sam replied honestly, wiping his hands off on his jeans and pulling out his cell phone. “Oh man, it’s already one-thirty.” He tossed Dean his t-shirt and resisted the urge to help Dean as he struggled into it. He shoved Dean’s folded coat along with his own into the duffel bag and returned with Dean’s socks and boots.

Dean pulled on the first sock and boot easily. He winced as he slowly pulled the second sock over the purple and red swollen ankle. He sat, trying to muster the gumption to pull the boot over the enlarged limb when Sam broke in, “Dean, you’re never going to get that boot on. Don’t even try.”

Dean was about to argue when Sam ripped the boot out of his grip and tucked it into the burgeoning duffel. “You take anything else away from me today, Sam, and I’ll kick your ass,” Dean warned.

“That’d be a trick,” Sam teased. His expression grew serious and he stood as much as he could in the small space. He pulled the duffel over his right arm and reached down to help Dean to his feet.

“This is gonna suck,” Dean said with a small groan. He gripped Sam’s left arm tightly to remain upright and immediately loosened his grip when he felt Sam stiffen. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“S’okay,” Sam replied. “Let’s go.” He steadied Dean and together they moved towards the door.

They made slow progress out of the hut, both of them hunkered down and limping. Mike was standing right outside the door, his hand up shading his eyes. “Looks like we’re in for a summer rain tonight. Better get a move on.” He moved in towards the Winchesters and took his place on Dean’s left side. “We’ll stop every fifteen minutes, rest and drink some water. It’s only going to get hotter for the next three hours.”

“Great, it already feels pretty hot,” Dean complained.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Sam replied. “Let’s get hopping.”

Dean glared and slapped Sam on the chest his free hand. “Funny.”

Sam chuckled and Mike pulled Dean’s arm around his neck. His smaller stature made him a better leaning post than Sam. “I think we can be down to the car in forty-five minutes.”

The brothers both nodded and the trio walked slowly through the thick grove of trees and headed downhill towards Waldo road.

Dean sat on a flat rock in the sun-dappled space under a very tall, old-growth tree. He sipped carefully from the re-filled canteen and tried to control his wheezing breath. He glanced over at Sam, hoping he had managed to hide his growing difficulties from his brother. Sam’s concerned hazel eyes flicked over to him and he could tell that Sam knew. This was the last stop. According to Mike they should be able to make it to the car within about ten minutes from here. He breathed a small sigh and mentally prepared himself for another leg of the journey. He tuned into the conversation Sam and Mike were having just in time to hear Mike’s reply.

“I can do better than that,” Mike replied. “I can draw you a map to the site and if you give me some time, I can draw you pictures of the shrine. I hoped I could catch a ride with you boys to town. I’m going to pick up some provisions and have a bite to eat at Tubby’s. I should have the drawings done by the time you are finished at doc’s place.”

“That’d be great, Mike,” Sam replied with a dimpled grin. “Thanks.”

“I’d take you there myself, but I ain’t stepping foot inside the boundaries of that thing at night. You’ve seen some of those spirits, haven’t ya?” Mike asked, rubbing a hand over his beard.

“Yeah, but there’s more to it than just spirits,” Sam said, his voice cracking slightly. If Mike noticed he made no mention of it, but Dean noticed.

“I’m ready to get going,” Dean stated, screwing back on the lid of the canteen.

Sam and Mike stood and walked the short distance to Dean. Both of them grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet. “We’re almost there,” Mike reassured them.

As promised, ten minutes later the Impala’s black paint glinted in the afternoon sun despite the layer of dust covering her exterior. “Ah, baby,” Dean said fondly, tapping the Impala on the roof. “I’m sorry for leaving you out here so long.”

Sam smiled as he opened the passenger door and allowed Dean to climb in, shutting the door behind him. Admittedly, he was a little surprised when Dean didn’t try to slide over to the driver’s side. Unlocking the back door for Mike, Sam hobbled around to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. He sighed, relieved to be on the final step of getting his big brother to a doctor. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, slipped them into the ignition and took a great deal of satisfaction as the Impala roared to life. As he drove quickly down the road, great clouds of dust kicked up behind the car.

“We don’t really have a lot of money for a doctor,” Sam stated, glancing slide-long at Dean who was panting shallowly with his arms cradled around his ribs. He realized, belatedly, that their fake insurance or credit cards would not work because Mike already knew their true first names. “We don’t have insurance and…”

“Don’t sweat it,” Mike interrupted, shifting noisily in the backseat. “Doc B doesn’t charge much and he’ll let you work something out. You don’t have any of that new money, do you?”

“I, uh, I don’t think so,” Sam replied. “Why?”

“The government uses the computer chip in the metal strip of those new bills to track your whereabouts and what you buy,” Mike explained. “But those state quarters are even worse. They’re cursed.”

Dean snorted and then groaned when the movement jolted his ribs. Sam frowned at Dean. “They’re cursed?” Sam asked, managing to keep the laugh out of his voice.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t heard about the curse on the state quarters?” Mike asked incredulously. “I would have thought smart boys like you would know all about it.”

“Guess not,” Sam responded with the lift of an eyebrow.

“It started with the New Hampshire quarter,” Mike stated. “The face of the Old Man in the Mountain crumbled to dust in early May after the quarter was minted. There’ve been odd things happening with every one since then.”

“Huh,” Sam replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He looked over at Dean in the passenger seat. Dean was already asleep with his head resting on the window.

“He’ll be fine,” Mike said, making eye contact with Sam in the rearview mirror. “Some proper rest and fluids and he’ll be back at ‘em.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sam replied. Unable to resist checking Dean again, he glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean’s breathing was still shallow and even asleep he wore an expression of pain.

“I am right,” Mike assured him. “Turn here.” Mike indicated a dirt road on the right several feet in front of them.

“I’d like to get him on a smoother road,” Sam contradicted.

“It’s not bad and the doc’s clinic is on this road. It goes all the way to town and it’ll save us a few miles,” Mike explained.

Sam did not reply, but he turned on the side road all the same. It was a smooth gravel road and within minutes they were pulling to a stop in front of an old, two-story farmhouse. The moment Sam killed the engine, Dean’s eyes popped open. “Where are we?” Dean asked, lifting his head off the glass and looking around.

“The doctor’s,” Sam replied, pocketing the keys. “I think,” He added taking in the shabby house and the overgrown weeds in the front yard.

Mike was already out of the car and knocking on the front door. When the door opened a short, balding man with horn-rimmed glasses appeared. He was dressed in vibrant green Bermuda shorts with an equally bright orange t-shirt. “Ah, Sam, is the good doctor dressed like Aquaman?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowed attempting to bring things into focus.

Sam laughed. “I think so.” He slid out of the car and walked around to the passenger side as the other men approached the Impala. As Mike reached for the passenger side door handle, Sam stepped in front of the door. “I got it,” he said.

Mike nodded and turned back towards the doctor while Sam opened the passenger door. He reached inside, but Dean batted his hand away. Dean shouldered his way out of the car and stood leaning against the side to catch his breath. “I’m ready,” he wheezed, after a pause.

“Take him directly into the exam room, Mike,” the doctor boomed, his deep voice in direct contrast with his small frame.

“Gotcha, Doc B,” Mike replied. “Let’s get you boys inside,” he said, taking up his spot beside Dean.

It was slow going, even the short distance from the Impala to the front porch. The steps into the house were the most difficult to navigate with the three of them on the narrow stairway together. Realizing Sam would not surrender his place at his brother’s side, Mike stepped out of the way. On the third attempt, Sam hefted Dean onto the porch and bodily through the door.

“To the left, to the left,” Mike called out from behind them.

Sam steered Dean into the small exam room on his left and lowered him none too gently onto the hard exam cot. “Oof,” Dean said as the air was forced from his lungs.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized. He swung Dean’s legs onto the table, forcing him to lie down. Dean propped himself up on his elbows and jutted his chin at the doctor when he walked in.

“Mike tells me you took a tumble into the old Waldo well,” Doctor Bailey stated, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He pulled a short, rolling stool from under the table and sat down. He turned to Sam and gave him an appraising look. “Son, there’s a shower third door on the right. I suggest you take advantage of it.”

Sam’s faced turned a deep plum color as he blushed with embarrassment. “Yessir,” he mumbled. He fumbled with the door handle and beat it out the door.

Dean chuckled lightly until Doctor Bailey turned his kindly gaze back to him and stated, “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. What kind of injuries did you manage to inflict on yourself?”

Sam pushed still damp bangs out of his eyes and examined the map Mike had left for him while he was showering. He had to admit, he felt better after cleaning up and the fresh set of clothes went a long way towards improving his personal aroma. He smirked and tapped the map with his finger. It would not be too difficult to find the shrine, but the path to it would not be easy. A suspension foot bridge over the river and rugged terrain stood between them and their destination.

Exchanging the map for the detailed picture of the shrine, Sam was impressed with Mike’s drawing ability. He had barely a moment to look at it before Doctor Bailey emerged from the exam room. “He has three cracked ribs, a moderate concussion and bruised kidneys,” he remarked without preamble. “There may be a bit of renal bleeding, but I have him on intravenous fluids. That combined with some actual rest should make him as right as rain before you know it.”

Sam felt an eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline and he squashed a snort. “He’s resting? What about his ankle?”

“Ah yes, the ankle,” Doctor Bailey replied, running a hand through his thin hair. “Nothing’s broken, but I suspect there could be torn ligaments. It’s difficult to tell with the swelling.”

“But, he is resting?” Sam asked, carefully folding the map and the sketch of the shrine. He stuffed them in his back pocket as he stood.

“Well, no,” Doctor Bailey admitted, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “You see, the only room I have for patients to sleep in is down the hall and I’ll need some assistance getting him there.”

“No problem,” Sam replied, shouldering the laptop messenger bag and walking towards the room. When the doctor did not enter the room or move out of his way, Sam asked, “Is there something else?”

“Yes, it seems your brother is a bit – concerned, with your well-being,” Doctor Bailey said, releasing a sigh of long suffering. “He refuses to be moved or take any medication until he’s sure I’ve looked at you.”

Sam frowned with frustration and shouldered past the doctor into the exam room. “Dean, stop being stubborn and let’s get you to bed.”

Dean blinked lazily at Sam. “What’s the matter, Sammy? You seem a little…”

“Twitterpated?” Doctor Bailey supplied helpfully. The sudden image of a gangly limbed Sam skidding about on the ice popped into Dean’s head and he chortled lightly.

Sam whirled abruptly to face the doctor. “I thought you said he refused medication?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

“He did,” Doctor Bailey replied congenially. “I slipped a Mickey Finn into his I.V. when he wasn’t looking. Sometimes the doctor knows best.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sam,” Dean chirped. “Not until you let Aquadoc take a look at you too.”

Sam sighed, what was it about the people in this area and drugging others without their knowledge? “Come on, Dean,” he said. “I’ll let him look after we get you to bed.”

“I’m not that out of it,” Dean replied with a frown. “No offense, but I want to see for myself that you’ve let the doctor take a look at you.”

“He actually became more fixated on it after I gave him the pain reliever,” Doctor Bailey commented. “Quite unusual.”

“That’s not really helping,” Sam muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “How long do you think we have until he’s out for the count?”

“Based on physiological strength or sheer cussedness?” the doctor asked, “Because he seems to be amply supplied with both.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, how about we get you moved and I have the doctor take a look in the other room?”

“Fine,” Dean replied, struggling to sit up. Sam wrapped his good arm around Dean’s upper back and helped him up.

“Can you get him by yourself?” Doctor Bailey asked. “I’ll gather a few supplies and meet you down there.”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Sam replied with a grunt as he helped Dean stand and supported most of his weight. “Where is it?”

“Second door on the right,” the doctor replied, handing him the I.V. bag. “There’re hooks by the bed for this. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Right,” Sam replied. He staggered out the door, big brother in tow and managed the few steps to the next room. Dean was not as drugged as he initially assumed and he hopped beside Sam at a steady pace.

“A real bed,” Dean sighed contentedly as he sank into the mattress. He crossed his arms behind his head and gazed up at Sam. “You’re tall,” he remarked.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam replied, finding the hook and hanging the I.V. bag. He set the laptop down next to the bedside table. “And you’re stoned. Again.”

“Nah, just less,” Dean replied.

“Less what?” Sam asked, scrunching his brow. He sat down on the opposite bed, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Just less,” Dean replied as if that explained it all. Sam took a good look at Dean and realized the description was apt. He still had an intense expression on his face and he looked ready to spring into action, just less so.

The door squeaked as Doctor Bailey entered. His arms were full of supplies and he dropped several small items on the floor as he walked closer to the brothers and deposited the lot on the small bedside table. “Let’s see it,” he said without fanfare, kneeling down by Sam.

Sam held out his leg and tried not to wince when Doctor Bailey started his ministrations. Doctor Bailey pushed up his glasses and quickly set to work cleaning the bite on Sam’s ankle. He efficiently cleaned the wound and applied a fresh dressing, moving on to the cuts on Sam’s arm no longer hidden by a long-sleeved shirt. When he pulled out a syringe and filled it, Sam held up a hand in protest. “Whoa, no.”

Doctor Bailey used an alcohol wipe to clean a spot on Sam’s arm. “It’s a strong antibiotic, nothing else.” He grinned widely at Sam and while Sam debated whether or not to trust the doctor, he took advantage of Sam’s hesitation and drove the needle home. “There you go, all finished. It’s a good thing you both came to see me. His condition needs monitoring for a couple of days and that bite was on the verge of becoming something pretty serious.”

“But, he’s good?” Dean piped up, his eyelids drooping.

“Sure is,” Doctor Bailey replied. “You can get some sleep now.”

Dean made eye contact with Sam who nodded. Dean visibly relaxed and settled back into the pillows.

Doctor Bailey stood with cracking knees. “Don’t ever get old, son,” the doctor stated tapping Sam lightly on the leg. “It’s not fun.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“What?” Doctor Bailey asked, looking over at Sam. He was busy throwing away package wrappers.

“I said, thank you,” Sam replied. He pulled the diagram of the shrine out of his back pocket, turned in the bed so his legs were stretched out in front of him and started to examine the picture. Some of the symbols looked familiar and once the doctor left, he’d get on the computer to begin researching.

Doctor Bailey puttered around for a bit longer, before heading out the door. “Let me know when he wakes and I’ll give him a stronger painkiller. Try to get more rest,” he lectured, looking over to the sleeping Dean. “It looks as if you both need it.”

Sam nodded politely, but the moment the door clicked shut, he pulled out his computer and booted it up. He didn’t know what William Gibbs had created out there in the woods, but whatever it was, it needed to be stopped.

He tapped the keys lightly, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb Dean. He hated when Dean was hurting and he wished they could forget about the replay hauntings in the woods. In fact, he wished they could forget all about their obligations and responsibilities for awhile. He understood Dean’s feelings so much better now, when he was buckling under the weight of the burden he carried. Sam wanted to let everything go, especially with the looming year ahead promising demons, pain and if Sam could not stop it, a trip into hell - because if that’s what it took to save his big brother – he could do no less.

Shrugging off the melancholy feelings, Sam looked over at Dean again. Dean appeared to be resting peacefully for the first time in two days. He stopped typing and took in the nearly perfect moment. For this one small snippet of time, they were safe and they were relatively okay and that made everything all right in Sam’s book.

With a sigh, Sam hijacked the doctor’s wireless connection. He hoped he could assemble the pieces of the puzzle into a picture they could use to stop the replay hauntings in the extinct town of Waldo.

The smell was wrong. Not strongly antiseptic like a hospital or faintly musty like a motel room. The bed did feel like a motel, but the light hiss of air on his face made him think of a hospital again. He felt light-headed, disconnected, almost as he had when he was flying high on Mike’s happy plant. He could not really tell where he was, but he could sense Sam nearby. Growing frustrated with the number of times he had awoken disoriented lately, he cracked one eye open.

Sam lay asleep on the other bed turned towards Dean. His hand rested on the open laptop sitting on the bedside table. Sam had fallen asleep doing research again. Dean smiled fondly at his little brother, the one constant in his life. He shifted uneasily in the bed trying to get more comfortable and in an instant, hazel eyes appeared beside him alert and concerned.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sam asked. Sam sat on the bed, his long form stretched across the short expanse between him and Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his voice rusty from disuse. Something in his tone must have given him away because Sam frowned, sprang to his feet and disappeared out the door. He returned moments later with someone who looked familiar. It only took Dean a heartbeat to recall Doctor Bailey. Doctor Bailey wore sandals, royal blue, shiny biker shorts and a tie-dye t-shirt with an AC/DC emblem. “Like your shirt,” Dean commented hoarsely.

“Thanks,” the doctor replied with a wide smile. “I picked it up from Hippie Dave. He has a stand along the highway during the summer months.” Doctor Bailey pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose and bent down to get a closer look at Dean. Not that he had far to go, the doctor could not be taller than five foot seven.

Dean jerked away when Doctor Bailey placed a cold stethoscope on his chest. The doctor moved it several times, making little harrumphing noises. Dean smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Sam, who grinned wide.

“How’s the pain?” Doctor Bailey asked finally. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed lightly. That was never the right question to ask Dean. Sam mouthed along with the patented Dean response.

“It’s fine. I’m good,” Dean replied, keeping his expression light. He knew Sam was watching him, waiting to catch him in a lie and he was not about to give Sam that opportunity.

“Let’s get you sitting up so I can have you take some deep breaths,” Doctor Bailey instructed.

Dean felt something pull tight across his face when the doctor helped him sit up. He reached up and tugged on it gently. “Leave it alone,” Sam chastised him from the foot of the bed. He wanted to know what it was and he tugged again.

“Stop it,” Doctor Bailey admonished, slapping Dean lightly on the hand. Dean glowered at the doctor. “You need the extra oxygen right now,” Doctor Bailey added hastily. Dean dropped his hand and shot Sam a sheepish look. The slightly warmer stethoscope was placed on his back. “Breathe deeply and hold it,” the doctor instructed.

Dean started to take a deep breath and hitched slightly when the pain hit. “Exhale,” doctor Bailey instructed and Dean released the breath in a stuttering wheeze. With a gentle push, Doctor Bailey encouraged Dean to lie back down.

Doctor Bailey waved his hand indicating he wanted to exchange places with Sam in the small room. Sam moved up by Dean’s head and sat down on the opposite bed. Dean caught the look in Sam’s eyes and knew, in that instant, that Sam was already planning something he wouldn’t like.

Dean threw his brother a questioning look and when Sam caught the gaze he looked towards the ankle Dr. Bailey was holding. Gotcha, Sammy, Dean thought. What are you planning? “Ow,” Dean protested.

“Sorry, son,” Doctor Bailey apologized. “The ankle looks better this morning.”

“Morning?” Dean asked. He flicked his eyes over to his brother for confirmation, but Sam still avoided his gaze. The only response Dean received was a light in his eyes. “Hey!”

“Pupils are equal and reactive,” the doctor observed. He held up a bag and peered at the contents. “Looks like the bleeding’s stopped too.” He replaced the bag in its hiding spot and tapped Dean on his good ankle. “All in all, you’re doing much better.”

Dean’s face burned hot with embarrassment. “How long?”

“Two and a half days,” Sam replied, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. The look Dean had noticed earlier was gone. “You’ve been in and out of it since we got here.”

“Mostly out by the looks of it,” Dean replied. He fidgeted until he was propped on his elbows. “Sam, make yourself scarce for a minute, okay?” Sam tilted his head in question, but stood up and grabbed the laptop on his way out. When the door clicked shut, he focused his attention on the doctor. “This thing?” he snapped, giving the cord to the bag a shake. “Comes out now.”

Doctor Bailey startled at Dean’s tone and turned to grab a small scissor out of his supply kit on the table. He wiped the smile from his face before turning back around to his patient. Dean may not be from around these parts, but he certainly had the disposition of the earthy mountain men in this area. Stubborn.

Sam paced the tiny waiting area. He had caught the knowing look in his brother’s eye. Dean knew he was hiding something, Sam just hoped he did not realize what it was. He thought he had figured out what needed to be done to stop the replay hauntings and due to the remote location, he could do it alone without a lookout.

What he did not want to do was drag his injured brother out into the woods again. Dean had started to heal during the last two days and Sam did not want to jeopardize that. He had thought about ditching Dean and going up to the shrine while his brother had been sleeping, but he knew if Dean had woken up he would have left the clinic and gone in search of him. Sam felt he should be able to end the supernatural hold on the dead with a salt and burn, plus the disruption of key symbolic elements. He could…he would do that alone. The trick would be getting past his ever watchful big brother.

When Doctor Bailey appeared, muttering something about stubborn mules, Sam followed him into the exam room. He found the doctor rummaging through a small closet. “Can I go back in?” Sam asked. He wanted to feel Dean out and find out what he was thinking.

“What?” Doctor Bailey asked, spinning around. “Oh Sam, best give me another minute.” He turned back to the closet and began noisily searching through the items inside. Several small items rolled out of the closet.

“He’s not doing anything…uh, anything he shouldn’t be, is he?” Sam asked, picking up a glass jar of tongue depressors, a stress ball and a green yo-yo.

“Well now, that’s a loaded question,” came Doctor Bailey’s muffled reply. “Aha!” Doctor Bailey backed out of the closet carrying a large, black boot in one hand. “Thank you, Sam, just put those anywhere in the closet.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam replied. He set the jar on the shelf. He debated where to put the stress ball and the yo-yo, opting to stuff them into a shoe box full of other odds and ends. He emerged from the closet only to find the doctor had already disappeared. He sighed deeply and went back to the small room to wait.

Sam was knee deep into continued research when the doctor returned. “You can go back now,” he said waving a hand at Sam on his way through to his tiny office. “See if you can talk some sense into him.”

Sam huffed. “I’ve never had any luck with that before,” he mumbled, standing up to head back to the room.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Doctor Bailey called over his shoulder.

Sam did a double-take, amazed the doctor had heard him. He shook his head, grabbed the laptop and quickly went back to the bedroom. He found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly pulling on his mocha Henley. “What do you think you’re doing?” Sam boomed with more of an edge to his tone than he intended.

Dean looked over towards Sam, his arm only part-way through the Henley. “Dangerous tone to take with me, Sammy, when I’m already pissed,” he stated, his voice calm.

Sam walked cautiously into the room and sat down on the opposite bed. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Sam, I know the look. You’re planning something,” Dean replied, pushing his arms through the sleeves. “And by the amount of guilt on your face, I’d say it is something you know I won’t like. You know…like leaving me here and going off on your own.”

Sam looked away to gather his thoughts for a response. When he looked back, Dean’s angry green eyes were flashing. “I, uh, I thought,” he fumbled. He stopped trying to explain his reasoning when Dean’s eyebrows climbed so high they were nearly lost in his hairline. “What did Doctor Bailey say?”

“You know how doctors are,” Dean replied dismissively. “So, you’ve got it figured out?”

“I think so,” Sam replied. “And unfortunately, I think it needs to be done on either the twenty-third or the seventh day of the month. So, either we do it tomorrow or we wait another two weeks.”

“Right, so we go tomorrow,” Dean agreed.

“No, Dean, it’s not going to be easy to get to the shrine and to release the spirits, it has to be done between midnight and three a.m. while they are active. It…” Sam explained.

“Sam,” Dean interrupted. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m going with you.” He tossed his pillow at Sam and grunted when his ribs ached. “Give it up now. You and I both know how this is going to go down.” Dean ticked them off on his fingers. “You’ll give me a list of reasons I shouldn’t go. I’ll blow you off. You’ll sulk and I’ll gloat. Why don’t we skip all that and fast forward to you explaining what we need to do.”

“I don’t sulk,” Sam protested with a frown. He wiped the expression off his face at the look of ‘I told you so’ from Dean and sighed loudly. “Okay, I’ll fill you in, if you lie down and keep your ankle up.” Dean shot him a warning glare. “Come on, Dean, work with me here. You just woke up, really woke up for the first time in two days. Did you even let the doctor give you any pain medication when he was in here?”

Dean mumbled something that Sam couldn’t quite catch, but that he assumed was a no. Without a word, Sam stood up and left the room. “Well that didn’t go well,” Dean remarked to the empty room.

Dean swung his legs onto the bed and obediently rested his injured ankle on the pillow by his feet. His back still ached and taking a deep breath was nigh impossible, but he was leaving with Sam tonight. There was no way Sam could talk him into lying around while he went back to face the spirits up there alone. He was drifting off to sleep again when Sam entered the room with Doctor Bailey in tow.

“You’re ganging up on me?” Dean asked with a smirk. Sam shot him a disapproving look as he sat down on the opposite bed.

“Not at all,” Doctor Bailey replied with a smile. “Sam tells me you boys are leaving after dinner tonight. That means I expect you to eat a little something this morning and I’ll get you a prescription for Percocet. In the meantime, I’ll give you a lighter med than the one you’ve had the last two days. It’ll allow you to get some sleep, but it shouldn’t knock you out.”

“I’m good, really,” Dean stated. He squirmed to the edge of the bed when Doctor Bailey advanced with a syringe in hand.

Doctor Bailey smiled congenially. “It really is the light stuff, Dean,” he reassured him. “Sam made me promise. I wanted to give you the stronger meds and keep you here another day. It seems your brother is on your side.”

“I’ve got your back,” Sam said with a head nod in Dean’s direction. “Trust me.”

“Always,” Dean replied with a lop-sided grin.

As it happened, the purported ‘light stuff’ still knocked him for a loop. He had had barely enough time to eat breakfast and listen as Sam explained the history of Waldo and William Gibbs before drifting off to sleep. When he awoke, he immediately looked for Sam and was relieved to find him catching a little sleep himself.

Sam’s eyes popped open when he rolled to his side. Sam glanced at his watch and said, “It’s ten-thirty. I’ve already packed the Impala, filled your prescription and settled up with Doctor Bailey, so we’re good to go. Are you hungry?”

“Drive through?” Dean suggested. He tried to sit up, but failed when his ribs protested loudly. On the second attempt he tried to casually sit up and hope Sam had not noticed. The look on Sam’s face was clear – he had.

“Do you remember what the town looked like when we drove through before?” Sam asked, ignoring Dean’s failed attempt to sit up. He knew no matter what he said, Dean was going and pointing out a weakness would only make Dean try harder to hide it. “Nothing’s open. I did grab us a couple sandwiches at the market deli earlier and the staple to any good salt and burn.” He held up a newly purchased thermos and waggled it in front of Dean.

Dean eyed the thermos with appreciation. “Real coffee? Dude, you rock.” He grabbed the soft cast boot the doctor had brought in earlier and slid his leg in.

“You remember that,” Sam replied, leaning forward to help Dean fasten the straps he was fumbling with on the boot.

“Why?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“You can’t drive with that thing on,” Sam explained. He stood up and helped a scowling Dean to his feet. “Ready?”

“Let’s go,” Dean remarked. He stepped gingerly on the sore ankle and was pleasantly surprised to find it stiff more than sore. He wondered if it had healed that much in two days or if the drugs were better than the doctor had led him to believe.

It was slow going, but they made it to the car without incident. It took Dean three tries to get his leg into the car with the bulky boot on. He certainly would not be making any speedy exits. Sam slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. “I hate to tell you this, but I think I missed some of your explanation earlier,” Dean confessed. He really did hate to tell Sam because now he’d have to suffer through the entire history as well as possible causes and solutions.

“I know,” Sam replied, flashing Dean a grin. “You started snoring by the time I told you William was married to a Takelma woman.”

“A who now?” Dean asked. He picked up the thermos that rested between them and unscrewed the lid. He took a huge whiff of the coffee aroma and sighed contentedly. “I can taste it already.”

“Takelma. They were the Native Americans living here at the time William Gibbs moved into Oregon from California,” Sam explained. “Waldo was their son.”

“Wasn’t he killed in a raid?” Dean asked, thinking back over fuzzy memories.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, turning onto Waldo road. “William buried him and built the shrine Mike told us about. He combined Takelma, Chinese Buddhist and Catholic symbolism in the monument to his son and I think it is that particular mix that caused this whole thing.”

“You lost me,” Dean admitted. He unwrapped one of the sandwiches and took a large bite.

“The Takelma buried artifacts the dead would need on their journey to the spirit world. They would break the items before placing them in the grave, rendering them useless to the living. They were also buried with their heads pointed south to follow the river to the ocean which they believed was the beginning and end of all life. Now the Chinese buried the dead with their heads pointed out of the home for the same type of reason. So they would not be tempted to stay in the home with their loved ones, but head on to another plane. Unfortunately, some of the dead remain in limbo unable to move on, due in part to the belief that the dead face many obstacles sometimes, in the form of trials, torment and torture for their sins. I think that’s what happened here.”

“Why?” Dean replied. “Most of the spirits we’ve seen aren’t Chinese.”

“No,” Sam said. “The statues at the four corners of seven circles of stone are Chinese, but placed in the location of north, south, east and west symbolizing earth, air, fire and water. It combines pagan, Chinese, Takelma and Catholic belief. The cross on Waldo’s monument is the same Coptic cross that Sue Ann Le Grange used to control the reaper. I think William put together elements from the different cultures in the area and ended up creating a spiritual vortex of some sort.”

“He ended up trapped as well,” Dean stated, recalling the rancher in the well. “So, he was simply living out the last few moments of his life. He wasn’t really talking to me; it was just a freaky coincidence.”

“Probably,” Sam replied, pulling the car to a stop along side the road. “This is where we get out.”

“There’s still one thing I don’t get,” Dean said hesitantly. “Why…why did yours appear?”

“I don’t know,” Sam confessed quietly. He ran his thumb over the grooves in the ignition key, not looking at his brother. “It could be that what are really here are imprints. Vivid instant replays of the final moments and not the actual spirits.”

“That’s gotta be it,” Dean reassured him, placing a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Sam, look at me,” Dean demanded. Sam slowly lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s. Dean could see the emotions, the doubts swimming in his brother’s eyes. This was part of the reason he’d never told Sam what the yellow-eyed demon had said to him in that graveyard. Sam was plagued with feelings of doubt and self-recrimination on a good day. “Sam, whatever you’re thinking. It isn’t true. You came back, all of you. I’ve seen it. I do see it.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Sam contradicted, gripping the keys tightly in his fist. “What if not all of my spirit came back or it came back, I don’t know, damaged somehow?”

“Don’t you think I’d notice if something was different about you?” Dean asked. He gently pried Sam’s fingers open and removed the keys. There were deep marks in Sam’s palm from the keys, but no cuts. Pocketing the keys, he scrunched down to make eye contact with Sam’s downcast eyes. “You’re the same pain in the ass little brother that you’ve always been.”

“Thanks,” Sam huffed.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean quipped, before changing the subject. “How far is it the shrine?”

“About a mile,” Sam answered. “Mostly uphill and through some pretty rugged terrain. It isn’t too late to wait…”

“I’m going,” Dean interrupted, opening the door and swinging his legs out. He heard the driver’s door slam shut and Sam appeared in front of him before he could pull himself out of the car. He reluctantly accepted Sam’s help and allowed Sam to pull him from the car. He stood propped against the side of the car, wheezing lightly.

“Keys,” Sam stated, holding out his hand.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Dean said, placing a hand over the pocket that held the keys.

“I need in the trunk,” Sam argued. “I’ll give them back to you, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“Right back,” Dean responded, placing the keys in Sam’s open hand.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sam said, walking around back to the trunk.

“I mean it, Sam,” Dean stated firmly.

Sam’s muffled response was lost behind the lid of the trunk, but Dean decided that he probably didn’t want to know what Sam said anyway. Sam returned with the duffel bag over one shoulder and the rifle held in his hand. He dropped the keys into Dean’s waiting palm, pulled a map out of his back pocket and opened it for Dean.

Dean squinted in the meager light from the waning moon until Sam shone a flashlight over it. “We’re headed up this hill,” Sam explained, pointing to the map and then to the area in front of them. “Once we hit the top, the going should be easier until we hit the suspension foot bridge.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Dean obfuscated. His ankle was already throbbing in the confines of the soft cast. He handed Sam back the map and subconsciously wrapped on arm around his ribs in support.

“Uh-huh,” Sam replied, obviously not buying Dean’s posturing. He folded the map and tucked it into his back pocket. “We have three and a half hours to finish this. We only have to wait two weeks if we miss this window, so if one of us needs to stop, we stop.”

Dean rolled his eyes under the cover of darkness. There was no mistaking who Sam was referring to no matter how he couched it. “I won’t hold us up, Sam,” Dean remarked, snagging the flashlight from Sam’s grasp before pushing past his brother. His defiant exit would have been more convincing if not for the pronounced limp.

“Dean! Dean!” Sam called. He stopped to pull another flashlight from the duffel and followed Dean into the thick manzanita bushes. He caught up to his brother easily, only to find him with his boot entangled in swee’pea vines. “Let me help,” he stated, reaching down to pull away the vines.

“I got it,” Dean snapped, attempting to pull his foot away. He hated the thought of being a liability to Sam.

“Just let me help,” Sam insisted, tugging on the vines.

“I said, I’ve got it,” Dean barked. He ripped the boot free and continued up the hill. As they climbed deeper into the trees, pine needles littered the ground and dead branches cracked under their feet. Crickets heralded their return to the forest and moments later a lone bat swooped low on the hunt for insects. The rich soil sprang beneath their feet, cushioning the impact, but making navigating the uneven terrain all the more difficult. Dean stumbled again and behind him, Sam made a harrumphing noise.

“That’s it,” Sam stated, leaving no room for argument. “Sit down on the log. It’s time for a break.” Dean threw his brother a death glare. “We’re almost to the bridge,” Sam continued softening tone.

“If you need to rest, we can,” Dean wheezed, plopping down onto the log.

“Just for a minute,” Sam replied, playing along. “I need to check the map.” He set down the duffel, pulled out the map and made a pretense of examining it.

Dean caught Sam watching him surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. He could see the indecision in Sam’s eyes and wondered if he regretted not sneaking out of the clinic when he could and leaving him there. He knew his brother and there was no way Sam had not at least considered the possibility. Dean’s chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. It was lucky for Sam he had not chosen that course of action. He would have been angry, although he would have gotten over it…eventually. “Are you done pretending to read that thing?” Dean asked, after he caught his breath.

Sam felt heat climb his neck at being found out. “It shouldn’t be much further,” Sam announced, folding the map and standing. He offered a hand to Dean and was surprised when he accepted.

“You gotta admit, Sam,” Dean said with a wheeze. “This life? It’s not boring.”

“You know, I could go for a little boredom right about now,” Sam responded, taking the lead. If he led, he could slow things down. Dean had been setting a pretty good pace in spite of his sprained ankle.

“Ah come on,” Dean replied, panting. “And miss all this?” Sam stopped short and Dean nearly ran into him. “Sam, what the hell?”

“We’re at the bridge,” Sam explained. “It’s definitely only wide enough for single file.”

Dean peered around his gargantuan brother and stared down the hundred foot bridge. It creaked as it swayed slight in the breeze. “This sucks,” he stated unnecessarily.

“But not boring,” Sam quipped.

“Ha, ha,” Dean replied.

The bridge swayed wildly as they slowly progressed down the length. Dean groaned when the swaying tossed him hard into the support ropes. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Sam turned back to Dean.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his hazel eyes reflecting concern even in the dim light. “We’re more than half way there. Do you think you’ll be okay?”

Dean panted hard, unable to answer right away. “Yeah,” he replied, finally. “Ah, crap.”

“What?”

Dean nodded to something behind Sam. Sam spun around to the sight of a man at the end of the bridge. He wore an odd combination of pioneer and Native American garb. A shell necklace adorned his neck and he carried a long knife in his hand. He shouted angrily at the brothers in a language neither understood. As he shouted, he raised the knife high.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Dean intoned.

“Dude, that’s not funny,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Oh come on, it’s a little funny,” Dean insisted.

The man stopped shouting and brought the knife down in one swift motion. The bridge shook crazily as one of the support ropes fluttered free and whipped past Sam’s face. As the man raised the knife again Sam said, “On second thought, you’re right. This is a very bad thing.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Run.”

Sam and Dean ran towards the man, Dean’s boot clomping loudly on the wooden planks. As the man lowered the knife, Dean realized they would never make it in time. The surface underneath them shifted sharply to the left and both brothers hit the bridge with a hard thump. Dean grabbed frantically for something to hold onto as he slid further towards the edge, his legs dangling freely off the side.

Dean searched for his brother and found Sam hanging onto the rope binding the floor board slats together. His entire body was off the bridge and hung over the swift, dark river fifteen feet below. “Sam!” he shouted, before another rope was cut loose and both brothers plunged into the cold water.

The cold water enveloped him, stealing his breath. It swirled and tossed him until he could no longer distinguish which direction was up. He stopped struggling and allowed the water to buoy him to the surface. Choking on a mouthful of water, he wiped moisture out of his eyes and tried vainly to catch a glimpse of his brother in the dark.

A strong current pulled on his legs and he was yanked under the surface of the water again. His back hit a large, submerged rock causing pain to radiate throughout his body, seemingly unfazed by the extreme cold or the added adrenaline rush of the ‘E ticket’ ride down Splash Mountain.

As the water pushed him faster and further downstream, he fought frantically against the sudden panic rising in his throat as the need to breathe became urgent. In a moment of sweet relief, he surfaced enough to draw a quick breath. Quickly stretching flat, he began swimming with the current diagonally to the shore. The extra weight of sodden clothes slowed his progress, forcing him further into the water and towards the icy fingers that pulled at him from all angles.

He nearly sobbed with relief when his fingers brushed the vegetation growing out from the cliff-side on the river bank. He grabbed the low hanging branches of a madrone tree. Pulling his upper torso out of the river, his feet found precarious purchase on slippery river stones. He searched the dark for his brother. “Dean!” he shouted. He strained his ears, listening for any sound of his brother fighting the strong current or shouting for him. The only sounds that reached his ears were the roaring of the river and his own ragged breathing. “Dean!”

Sam allowed his body to be pulled by the current towards a fallen tree lying partially across the river. His hands scraped the rough bark of the tree as the river tugged at him ferociously, trying to suck him under the log. Exerting strength he thought himself incapable of demonstrating after his fight with the river, he slowly hauled himself out of the water. He laid on the log, catching his breath, the waterlogged duffel clinging to his back like an engorged tick. “Dean?” he panted.

“Sam?”

Sam lifted his head off the log. Had he really heard his brother’s voice?

“Sammy?”

It was louder this time, stronger. Sam was certain he had heard it now. “Dean?” He belly-crawled down the log, ignoring the bark and broken branches that scratched his stomach and sides. “Dean?” he called again. The dark and the rushing water made it nearly impossible to see or hear anything.

“Right here,” Dean panted breathlessly. Sam peered over the edge and saw his brother hanging tightly to a naked branch on the downstream side of the log.

“It’s going to be a bitch getting you out of the water,” Sam remarked, his ill mood and frustration manifesting in cuss words. He tightened his grip on the dead tree with his legs and lowered his torso closer to Dean.

"Look at the bright side, Sam," Dean suggested between panting breaths.

"Oh yeah? What's the bright side, Dean?" Sam asked, his numb fingers holding tightly to Dean's Henley.

"We're on the right side of the river," Dean replied with a small laugh.

Sam raised an eyebrow, grabbed the waistband on Dean's jeans and hauled him bodily out of the river. "Try to keep that in mind when we're hiking up that hill," Sam retorted, craning around to point up the steep incline. He turned back to Dean and finished, "In wet underwear."

"Ah, man," Dean moaned.

Sam eyed his big brother with a critical eye. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing, but his previous injuries could account for that. Dean did not make an effort to sit up, but instead remained lying on the log, breathing shallowly, his legs still partially in the water. When he finally looked up, he remarked, “Quit staring, Sam. I’m not gonna die.”

The sarcastic words, meant in jest, held stinging bite nonetheless. Sam brushed it off and responded in true Winchester form: as if nothing had been said at all. “That boot is going to make it difficult to walk up the log. I suggest we get back to the bank by army-crawling.”

“Agreed.” Dean replied simply.

They began the arduous journey up the bumpy log to the sharp cliff at the river’s edge. Sam squinted into the darkness, hoping to catch sight of a way up the side that didn’t involve climbing. Dean could not possibly climb hand over hand with his ribs. He caught a flash of movement to his right and strained to see what it could be.

A deer stood silently at the side of the river. The stag’s ears perked and alert to any danger before he slowly lowered his head to the water to drink. Sam stopped moving to watch the buck. When it finished drinking, it looked around cautiously before darting back up the hill. Sam could make out the vague outline of a narrow path near the vicinity of the now absent deer.

“Sam, what the…?” Dean asked when he bumped against Sam. “Why aren’t you moving?”

Sam twisted his upper body enough to look his brother in the face. “I think I just found a way up the hill,” he remarked, surprised Dean had not noticed the deer. That meant he was too busy simply trying to pull himself along the log to pay attention to his surroundings. Dean must be really struggling.

“Can’t wait,” Dean replied sardonically. He barely restrained himself from jumping off the log to follow Sam when his little brother splashed into the water without warning.

“Stay there for a sec,” Sam called out over his shoulder, pulling himself upstream using tree branches, thick underbrush and the ubiquitous swee’pea as hand-holds. Loud splashing noises alerted him to Dean’s mutinous behavior. “Stubborn jackass,” Sam muttered, as his feet found solid ground for the first time since their impromptu swimming excursion began. He carefully turned around, only to find Dean had nearly caught up to him. He cursed a blue streak under his breath and held out his hand for his brother. “Can’t you ever do what I ask?”

“You didn’t ask,” Dean defended through the loop hole in Sam’s argument. “You told me to stay there for a second and I did.” Dean graced Sam with the cocky grin he saved for victorious moments.

Sam glared at Dean before huffing in defeat. He slid the sodden duffel off his shoulders, crouched down next to the sack and stated, “I lost the rifle.” He rummaged through the contents searching for salvageable items. “The salt tin lid stayed on, so that’s good.” He pulled out a lighter and flicked it. The yellow-blue flame burned brightly for a few moments. “Lighter works,” he commented. He pulled out his Beretta and examined it as well as he could in the meager light. “Not sure about my gun.” He pulled out the spare flashlight and tried turning it on. Nothing. He hit it against his palm several times and tried again. Still nothing. “Flashlight’s dead.” Sam tossed it angrily back into the duffel and slipped the bag back over his shoulders, before standing up.

“It’s okay,” Dean replied reassuringly. “Let’s just get up this hill and then we’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agreed. On one hand he wanted Dean to lead so he could keep an eye on his brother. On the other hand, he wanted to lead so Dean would not push himself as hard as he had earlier. He hesitated just long enough that the decision was made for him as his big brother pushed past him and hobbled up the steep incline. At least he seemed to be setting a more realistic pace than he had before.

Sam’s wet jeans and socks squished with every step. The soggy denim hugged his legs in a clammy embrace. “Once we get up the hill, we should be pretty close to Waldo’s grave and the shrine,” Sam stated. Dean grunted in response and Sam wondered if he lacked the breath for anything more. He noticed Dean had one arm wrapped around his torso and the other grabbed the nearby underbrush as if to steady himself. “You know I got banged into the rocks pretty hard down there,” Sam stated. “How’d you fair?”

“Not now, Sam,” Dean panted.

Sam shook his head. That was Dean-speak for, ‘I got the crap knocked out of me, but I’m not going to admit to anything right now.’ He trudged behind Dean, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of the spirit of Waldo. The thought of the spirit returning and striking at an injured Dean propelled Sam into motion. He gently pushed past his brother to take the lead. “I’m going to scope out the area,” he said on his way by.

Dean muttered something under his breath and shuffled after Sam. His feet dragged along the narrow trail and he stumbled. The rocky motion jostled his bruised ribs and he stifled a groan. Sam glanced back at him and he shot him a reassuring grin. Sam’s hovering was going to be the death of him. It forced him to consider his every reaction and one slip up would mean Sam would side-line him. Not that he was able to get away with sneaking injuries past Sam on a good day, but usually they’d both been knocked around. However, because he was the only one really hurt, Sam was on high alert.

Sam disappeared around the switchback and Dean took advantage of the temporary separation. He stopped, bent over and placed his hands on his knees. He took a few deep, gulping breaths before moving up the trail again. The water-logged soft cast weighed him down and caused his foot to slide in the boot. He was tempted to take it off and walk in just his socks, but he knew that would be a mistake.

Sam reappeared on the trail in front of him so he quickened his pace. Apparently, he was taking too long and Sam was concerned. “What?” he asked as he approached closer to his little brother.

“Nothing,” Sam replied, flipping his gaze from Dean back up the path. “It’s only a little further.”

Dean nodded and wiped the fine sheen of sweat from his upper lip. How he was sweating wearing wet clothes on a cool night was beyond him. Sam hung back this time, keeping Dean within earshot and Dean tried, unsuccessfully to control his breathing. The high-pitched wheezing would not escape the notice of his brother.

They emerged at the top of the hill into a thick forested grove. The tree tops blocked the meager moonlight and they were thrown into utter darkness. Sam picked up a bushy manzanita branch and pulled the lighter out of his pocket. He lit the branch on fire and within moments the small twig branches were burning brightly. “Nice,” Dean smirked.

Sam smiled back at him and headed east. “The shrine should be less than half a mile through the trees. I’ll dig the grave,” Sam stated. Dean shook his head. Sam was trying to fill the void with Winchester small talk. That was never a good sign.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Dean asked, going straight to the heart of the matter.

Sam did not answer right away and for a moment Dean did not think he would. Sam squared his shoulders, stopped and turned to face him. “This is all just guess work, you know?” he replied, his hazel eyes glinting from the torch fire. “I mean, I think it’ll work, but we’ve never really come across anything like this before and I…I’m just guessing here.”

“I’ll take a guess of yours over other people’s facts any day,” Dean replied, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam smiled, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks from the compliment. “I’ll need you to keep an eye out for Waldo,” Sam said, turning back around. “I don’t think he wants us here.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression myself when he came out of hiding and dunked us in the river,” Dean retorted.

Pine needles covered the forest floor in a thick, brown blanket choking out all but the hardiest of underbrush. The soft, springy ground crinkled under foot as the brothers moved through the woods. They continued in silence, the chirping of crickets the only sound that accompanied them. Wet clothes coupled with the cooler temperature at the higher elevation caused the brothers to shiver uncontrollably.

“We need a fire,” Sam stuttered.

“What we need are dry clothes, a warm bed, a hot woman and a cold beer. We can settle for a fire,” Dean replied and groaned softly as a shiver shook his frame. He nearly ran into Sam when his little brother stopped suddenly in front of him again. “Sam?”

“We’re there,” Sam answered, pointing to a spot in front of them. He held out the torch and shone it around the area. The monument, the seven concentric circles of rock and the statues all positioned exactly as Mike had drawn them.

“Let’s do this thing,” Dean remarked.

“Fire first,” Sam contradicted. He handed Dean the torch and guided him to a large, flat rock. “Wait here,” Sam said, then so as not to repeat his previous mistake added, “Until I get back.”

“You know me, Sam,” Dean replied. “I’m not good at waiting.”

Sam chuckled. “I’ll hurry.” He tossed the duffel bag at Dean’s feet and hurried off in search of wood.

Sam quickly gathered wood for a fire and returned to his brother. Depositing the wood at Dean’s feet, he pulled a collapsible shovel from the duffel bag. He made quick work of digging a small hole and starting a low fire.

He pulled out a length of rope and cut it at about twenty feet. Tying it to the tree behind Dean he stretched it taut and tied it to another nearby tree. Recognizing Sam’s intentions, Dean observed, “You’re going to block my view with that thing.”

“No, that’s why I’m tying it to the side,” Sam replied with a shake of his head.

“Right, there’s no way Waldo will show up over there,” Dean retorted, pointing to a spot on the other side of the line of rope.

“I’ll leave you a window.” Sam took off his outer shirt and slipped out of his shoes. When Dean did not make a move to get undressed, Sam asked, “Do you need some help?”

“No,” Dean answered. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Dean, you’ll be hypothermic in minutes if you don’t get out of those clothes. Besides, they’ll dry faster on the line,” Sam lectured. He tossed his shirt on line and slipped off his jeans, tossing them over as well. By the time he was putting his shoes back on, Dean was finally removing his jeans.

“Don’t know how I let you talk me into this kind of stuff,” Dean muttered under his breath. He looked up and tossed Sam the water-logged jeans. He smirked at the look of disgust on Sam’s face when the jeans hit him. He replaced the boot and pulled the water swollen straps tight.

Sam crouched down next to Dean to look him in the eyes. The green eyes sparkled with awareness and if Sam was reading it correctly, amusement. “What are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Did you get tossed against any rocks in the river?” Sam asked.

“Kind of hard to avoid,” Dean replied. “But I’m good.”

“Where’d you get hit by the rocks?” Sam asked, his forehead furrowing in concern. He gripped the damp hem of Dean’s shirt to check his back.

“Sam,” Dean replied with a tone of long suffering, tugging his shirt down. “We’ve been over this already. I was hit by the rocks in the river.”

“Funny, you’re funny,” Sam replied testily.

“All the girls say so,” Dean replied with a grin. He chalked up a win when Sam released his shirt and turned his attention to the duffel bag with a huff.

“Waldo should be buried by the monument. We need to salt and burn the body, destroy the statues and remove at least some of the rocks in each of the seven circles,” Sam reported into the duffel.

“I’ll move rocks,” Dean stated.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sam contradicted, looking up from the duffel and glancing over his shoulder at Dean.

“Well, I don’t recall asking your opinion,” Dean snapped. He knew Sam was trying to watch out for him, but the pain in his back screamed for attention and his patience for being coddled was growing thin.

Thankfully, Sam ignored the outburst, at least in part. “You and I can work on it together after the salt and burn,” he stated firmly. He took a quick swig out of the canteen before handing it to Dean.

Dean drank from the canteen, screwed the lid on and set it down. He was not happy about playing lookout while Sam dug the grave. On the other hand, it was hard, dirty work and lacking in excitement. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“If you see anything, holler,” Sam stated, grabbing the shovel and heading for the center monument. The epicenter had to be the spot Waldo was buried. Relieved they were finally making progress on finishing this would-be werewolf hunt, Sam dug with enthusiasm into the soft ground. He looked up every few minutes to make sure Dean appeared okay before continuing. So far, Dean looked tired, but otherwise fine.

He worked quickly, hoping to get out of the grave before too much time elapsed. He still had no idea what had caused the replay of his death days earlier and he hoped they could get this over with before it had a chance to happen again. They were also drawing ever closer to the three a.m. deadline.

Time wore on and Dean fought to keep his eyes open. The crackling fire and his almost dry shirt warmed him, making it more difficult to fight off the allure of sleep. When his head bobbed, he snapped immediately awake, mentally chastising himself and cursing the days of inactivity that left him tired and lethargic.

Sam’s brown mop barely poked out from the ground, the rest of him submerged in the grave. Even from this distance, Dean heard the distinctive clink of metal against wood when the shovel hit the ancient casket. He hobbled towards his brother, his muscles stiff from disuse.

After nearly two hours of digging, Sam pushed sweaty bangs out of his eyes and gave a sigh of relief when he hit the casket. He tossed the shovel onto the pile of dirt and crouched down in the tight quarters to grip the edge of the decaying coffin. He was lucky he had not fallen through the soft wood top.

Sam heard Dean’s wheezing breath above him and knew his brother had joined him at the grave site. He pulled hard on the wood, taking satisfaction when it groaned and creaked before finally releasing its hold and opening quickly. The sudden lack of resistance caused Sam to wobble on the edge of the coffin, barely able to regain his balance.

“Ah, Sam,” Dean said from above. Sam looked up to meet his brother’s questioning gaze. “Where’s Waldo?”

Before Sam could offer a reply, the sound of distant shouting could be heard. Both Winchesters looked in the direction of the sound and in an instant Sam jumped out of the grave and stood next to Dean. The spirit of Waldo stood to the south, a Native American woman to the west and William to the north. They were virtually surrounded.