Disclaimer: Believe me, if I owned this I wouldn't be writing this here.

Summary: Getting lost was the easy part. Being found will prove to be a little more difficult. There's nothing better than breaking a man by working him to death. And older brother becomes desperate to find his younger brother before he's lost forever.

Author Shpill: I know I have a lot on my plate right now, but I couldn't resist the temptation... or the new idea. Inspiration is fleeting sometimes and hits when you least expect it, so I've learned to roll with the punches and take it when it comes a knocking. So don't go pulling out your guns yet folks I'm still here and I plan on finishing all of my stories... it just takes time :)

Note: Hillbilly-bob's grammar is horrible... cause he's a hillbilly of course. So just enjoy the horrible way he talks... let it grate on your nerves like it does Sam's... Oh yea and I don't have a BETA so the other bad grammar is my fault... my appologies to all ;)

Enjoy:


"You don't want to do this!" Sam Winchester screamed. The young man tried to ignore the gun that was shoved against his chin and focused on talking himself out of his current dilemma.

The man smiled sickeningly, showing off his yellow teeth. "An' why not?" the man asked, his hick accent being born anew.

"My brother will hunt you down and rip you to shreds," Sam warned with a hint of venom in his voice. If there was one thing he was sure about it was that his big brother would avenge his death even if it cost him his own.

The dirtied hick laughed and looked almost thoughtfully around the green foliage that surrounded them. They were surrounded by the thick undergrowth, and the plant life would do its job in concealing the two warring men.

"Really?" the man chuckled. "Cause' as far as I understand it, your in mah territory and it don't look like anyone is a comin' ta save ya from the big bad wolf," the man taunted, referring to himself as the wolf.

Sam swallowed hard, his arms were getting tired from their 'high-rise' position the man had ordered him to do ten minutes ago. He and Dean had been separated the night before after investigating the so called 'Wood Nymph' of the forest.

"Dis is private property," the man growled.

The young man nodded, taking in the features of the man in front of him. With a straggly old beard, a beer belly that Homer Simpson would envy, this man had clearly not taken a bath or even changed his clothes in quite a while.

"Are ya listenin' boy?" the man shouted and pushed the end of his shotgun harder against the soft skin of Sam's chin.

"Yeah," Sam croaked out. The sun was beating down on him, his shirt was sweat slicked and stuck to him like glue. "I'm sorry; I'll leave and never bother you again."

The man snorted and laughed. "I'm afraid that, that ship has sailed sonny. You been trampling through my part of the forest, now yer gonna have ta pay."

Sam's breath hitched, and he slammed his eyes shut waiting for the blow to come and end his life.

When moments of nothing passed by, the young man cracked open an eye to see the man studying him curiously. The gun was finally pulled down from its aggressive position and the man waved it to the right.

"Let's go," he ordered.

A sigh of relief went out over the sound of the birds cheerful chirping and Sam slowly brought his hands down to his side, mindful of the injury he received the night before.

"Nah uh boy, hands behind your back," the man controlled once more. "Now be a good little boy and get in front of me."

Sam did as he was told. Being unarmed and injured was against him, and Hillbilly-bob now had all of the cards in his hands. He was curious as to what was going to happen, wonder helplessly if he was just being taken to a destination where he could be fed on by the animals.

Sam shivered despite the heat at that idea.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked bravely. Almost effortlessly hiding his fear that he had been trained to do over the years of hunting paranormal beings.

The man chuckled wildly, his laugh scaring birds from their perches up in the trees and sending them up into the white cloud filled sky. "You'll see," the man guaranteed. He then pulled thick twine from the forests foliage and wrapped it around Sam's wrists.

"Let's get goin'."

Sweat dripped down the man's face and his exhaustion dug a little deeper into his bones. "Can we rest?" he pleaded, knowing that if was a fruitless plea.

The man's frowned. "Oh come on, it ain't that hot out ere'." He pushed Sam forward with the gun and followed closely behind him. "Now what's a moron like you doin' out ere anyway?"

Sam licked his dry, cracked lips and shrugged. He wasn't sure what lie would cover up such a question. "I was camping with my brother and I… I got lost."

The man howled and his pudgy belly shook with laughter. "Amateur," he insulted.

Sam remained quite, not willing to bait the man into shooting him. His throat was dry, body overheating… hell, he didn't even sweat anymore. But his body was soon going to take notice to these problems and stop working.

"Where the hell are you taking me?"

"Don't get sassy with me boy or I'll put a buckshot in your leg," the man warned.

Before Sam could reply he tripped over something sticking out of the ground and fell forward with an 'oomph', as the oxygen was forced from his lungs. Water splashed at him and soaked through his jeans, cooling some of the ache he felt. His confusion lifted when he looked down to see he had fallen into a tiny stream that had etched out part of the ground.

"Get up ya clumsy fool."

Sam looked up and into the shotgun hole. Slowly he found the rest of his energy reserves and sluggishly moving to his feet. The action was dramatically slowed down by the limited movement he had in his hands, and Hillbilly-bob didn't seem to like how slow he was going and yanked him upwards by his brown mop.

"Don't mess wit' me boy, I'm not in da mood after findin' ya in mah forest."

Sam now knew that he was pushing Hillbilly-bob to his limit and that if he intended on getting out alive, he'd have to follow the man's rules. "I'm sorry."

Hillbilly-bob rolled his eyes at the lie. "Do you know where liars go boy? Have any idea? Don't lie to me now 'cause it'll be a mighty painful for ya if ya do. Got it?"

"Yeah," Sam heard him crystal clear.

"Yeah what?"

Sam cringed and thought of his father. "Yes Sir," he spat.

"Very good," the man decided. He let go of Sam's head and pointed forward. "Move it. Vernin will be expectin' me and he'll be very happy to see what I went an' caught."

Vernin? Dean get your ass here now and help your little brother out of the web he's woven himself into. "Who's Vernin?"

"You'll see," Hillbilly-bob spoke cryptically again.


They'd walked for what seemed like hours. Sam had fumbled with his lanky legs, his face greeting the dirt more than once. He'd been prodded and fondled with the nose of the shotgun more than once on this journey.

All of that had left his mind after the first few minutes. His mind was too encompassed with his older brother who didn't seem to want to show grace Sam and Hillbilly-bob with his presence. Sam had actually prayed, begged would be a better word for it… he wanted to be sitting on the hot leather upholstery of the slick 67' Chevy Impala classic listening to none other than the mullet rock of the 80's.

There didn't seem to be any hope, and now it seemed that the younger Winchester boy was left to rely solely upon himself. But with everything holy, he hoped that his big brother was alive and well and hopefully tearing up 'Sawtooth Forest' in search of his young brother.

"We're here," Hillbilly-bob informed him.

Hillbilly-bob's voice aggravated Sam to no end. His voice was grainy and sounded as if he'd either been smoking two packs of cigarettes a day since he was fourteen or had swallowed a cup of nails. Either way it was causing Sam to clench his teeth against the sound.

Brown eyes took in the sight and despair filled every fiber of Sam's body. He was staring at a rickety cabin, windows were broken out and the screen door had an intimidating slash across through the middle… while splotches of something Sam couldn't identify were splattered everywhere.

Sam's feet halted and he looked on with wide eyes.

"Come on."

But Sam couldn't, all he could do was stare. His mind caught up to him and he realized the splotches were dots of blood. Something or Someone had been… Sam shivered and felt suddenly nauseas.

"Come on!" Hillbilly-bob barked at him. He reached up and curled his fat fingers through the young mans hair, quickly pulling it back and eliciting a cry of pain from his prey.

Hillbilly-bob was unsatisfied and growing irritated when the boy still wouldn't walk up the steps and into the cabin. "If you don't move I'll be makin' ya wish I had shot you out there."

Sam relented and moved begrudgingly up the steps. The cliché grew when the steps creaked eerily, and Sam was about ready for the Boogeyman to jump out and eat him.

Hillbilly-bob fisted his hand in Sam's dirtied sleeve and pushed open the door and dragging the young man with him. "Vernin, I'm back," he called into the darkness.

Sam glanced disgustedly around the smelly room. There was one beat-up old couch and an ugly wooden table that only had three legs.

There were footsteps and then a man, uglier than Hillbilly-bob walked into the room. Hillbilly-bob had nothing on this guy who was actually taller than Sam, stood with a spit-slicked smile covering his face. His hair was long and dirty, just like Hillbilly-bob… with a ripped shirt that used to be white now covered in black soot.

"Whadda ya got there Bud?" the Vernin asked, curious, but pleased at the new plaything his friend had brought home.

Bud grinned and ran his eyes up and down Sam before turning back to Vernin. "This here is our new housekeeper."

A look of horror graced Sam's face before it was gone and his fearless mask was back.

"Good," Vernin approved. "We needed a new plaything."


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