That's my first story, so please leave comments so I'll know how I'm doing. And please tell me if my English is acceptable coz it's not my native language. Story is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy! :)

Chapter 1


He ran. His lungs burned. Branches kept slapping him, feeling like a hundred of needles pierced his skin. His right foot was bare, scratched and probably leaving bloody footprints. It'll probably hurt like hell once the adrenalin leaves his body. But he didn't care right now. All he could think off was running as fast as he can, hoping to get rid of the creature that stuck to his heels.

Being the hunted one sucked. Why couldn't a hunt be simple for once – killing the thing with a simple shot, burning its body, celebrating the day with a beer and a brother who would pick up the blond, short-haired waitress from last night, giving him a wink when he decided to call it a night and collapsing into his blissfully warm and soft bed.

But Winchester luck never dissapoints you. Sam did shoot the hairy thing once it appeared behind his brother and knocked him out with one swing of its huge, sharp claws. But the silver bullet just tickled it despite Bobbys information to be the only thing to waste it. So if he didn't wanna end up being dinner tonight, he could only turn and run while wracking his brain about a plan B.

That wasn't going well so far. All he achieved was loosing his shoe when he tripped over a log, sending him rolling down a hill for what felt like hours. Couldn't even cast off the huge teddy bear with that stupid stunt. It really looked like a teddy bear, if you didn't count the sharp teeth when it opens its mouth or the shrill shriek that comes out of it when it's pissed off. He didn't even have a chance to get a good glimpse of his brother, let alone check him out for injuries. At least it turned its full attention to him, giving Dean the chance to come around – if he was alright – and save his ass. Ok, that was a shitty plan B, but all he could come up with for now.

His legs felt heavy and his head was spinning. It was hard to catch his breath now. He didn't have to take a look behind his back to know that his pursuer caught up. He could smell its stench, feel its hot breath. He was so doomed. A deep roaring in the distance caught his attention, growing louder second by second. A thought struck him, his mind going back to the map he and Dean studied before heading out. There was a river nearby, carving a deep canyon into the land. Plan B just changed, this could be his only chance.

Sam could see the trees clearing now, heard the unmistakable rapids. He prepared himself, gripping his gun firmly. When he was only about 10 feet away from the edge, he threw himself to the right, rolled over his shoulder, turned around just in time to see the creature coming to a halt beside him, lifting his huge claws which were already smeared with blood – his brothers.

He fired. One, two, three times. It staggered, taking a few heavy footsteps towards the edge of the cliff. It worked. But his relief was short-lived. Suddenly a crack as loud as his own gunshots startled him. Before he could even realise what was happening, he felt the rocks underneath him shift. The monster toppled down, the ground vibrating when its big mass hit it, cracking again and finally giving way.

Sam was loosing his balance, gun falling out of his hands as he desperately tried to get a grip on anything to stop his fall. It felt like a lifetime, his hands clutching at nothing but air, before he got a hold on a root, crying out loud when his shoulder protested at the sudden stop, hearing the unmistakable pop as it was ripped out of its socket. But he didn't let go, clenching his teeth, trying not to hurl while his body shook with tremors. The splashing sound beneath him accompanied by an earpiercing roar were proof that at least his plan had worked. Just his situation hadn't improved at all. He was still doomed.

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Dean woke up with a killer headache and no idea where he was. Did he have too much to drink last night? He remembered the small rundown bar in town, having a few beer, a hot blond chick – what was her name again? She gave him her number, told him to call her when he's finished with his job... Wait, job?

He turned his head, something rustling underneath him. Didn't sound like his blanket. Slowly his senses started to come back. Something sharp poked him in his back, a cold breeze had him shivering. Reality check: that can't be his motel room. He opened his eyes, but couldn't focus on anything, the world around him spinning. He ran his fingers through his hair, coming away wet and sticky. Dean groaned, that can't be good. Where was he? What happened? Why couldn't he remember a damn thing?

First things first: try to take your bearings. He listened, heard the rustling of leaves, an owl hooted in the distance. Was he in a forest? He rolled to his side, the pain in his back easing off, tried sitting up. The blurred images started becoming clearer, the forest floor taking shape, revealing a small pool of dark red liquid. Blood. His? That would explain why his head felt like being split open ... well that even might be the case. He stood up, stumbling to the next tree to support himself. He looked around, tried to spot anything to tell him what he was doing in the middle of nowhere. A black bundle in the distance caught his eye. He couldn't quite make out what it was so he started to stagger up to it.

He blinked, is that…? Their duffle bag! Suddenly it all came back to him. Five people dissapearing through the last month, large bigfoot tracks that had local papers going all crazy about it, Sam and him packing their camping gear to go deep into the woods where the missing people were heading for before dropping off the face of the earth. Shit, Sam!

„Sam?" Nothing. „Sammy?" Nobody answered.

Dean spun around, his heart-beat increasing, worry taking his breath away. He remembered them shooting the bigfoot with silver bullets, surprisingly not doing any damage at all, just making it mad. It had lashed out – he touched his wound again, feeling a deep cut about two inches long – he must have blacked out. Shit, anything could have happend while he took a nap!

Trying not to panic, he gathered up their bag, grapping a shotgun and looked for any leads to what might have happened. How long was he out? Did the monster took his brother? He couldn't find any signs of a fight, no blood besides the small puddle where he was lying just a minute ago. Was that a good sign? He just hoped so.

Finally he spied his brothers sasquash tracks which led away from their battle field. His heart taking a leap, he started to move in that direction. Unfortunately Sams tracks were accompanied by even bigger ones – if that even was possible – which could only mean that his brother ran, probably trying to lead the Bigfoot away from Dean. What a stupid move! He just hoped Sam had a plan.

He started running as fast as his legs would let him, ignoring the bad feeling in his gut that he might be too late. He had a little brother to find.

„Hang on Sam!" he muttered to himself, not knowing how true his words actually were.


What do you think?