"Great, another shitty motel room," the older Winchester thought to himself. "Sammy, why are we staying here? We have perfectly good rooms at the bat cave," Dean pouted. "Dean, I already told you, the base is too far away from this case," Sam said, clearly irritated. Dean dropped his stuff on the floor next to his bed and plopped face first into the mattress. He could smell a very faint aroma of cheap perfume and…was that…he pushed himself up off of the mattress and shuddered. Sam looked at him slightly confused. "Dude, it smells like a one night stand," Dean said. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and sat down at the small table where his laptop was. He began scouring the Internet for local history and lore, hoping to find out what it was they were dealing with. The almost constant clicking of laptop keys was the only thing breaking the uncomfortable silence that filled the room. Dean stood up abruptly. The clicking was driving him insane. "I'll go ask around about the disappearances. Text me if you find anything out," Dean said, grabbing his old, worn leather jacket and walking out of the motel room. Sam sighed and continued searching for the answers buried deep within useless information.
Dean had been at the bar for about an hour now. He had told Sam that he was going to ask around, but he never had any intention of doing so. He just wanted to go to some pub and drink until he couldn't feel a damn thing. A man walked in and sat right next to him, a man who seemed very familiar. He looked exhausted and his eyes kept darting around the room, as if he was waiting for something to attack him on the spot. Perhaps because he was. At that moment, everything fell into place. This was one of the witnesses that he and Sammy were going to interview. "Sleepin rough?" Dean asked. The man jumped slightly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said. He sounded worse than he looked. Dean looked past the man for a split second and saw a sketchy looking man with curly black hair in a long trench coat with the collar upturned staring directly at him with an intense look on his face. Dean quickly averted his attention back towards the anxious man. Dean held out his hand. "Dean," he said. The man took his hand and shook it. "Barry." "It's a pleasure to meet you Barry, now why don't you tell me all about that kidnapping you witnessed," Dean said as he pulled out his FBI badge. Barry's eyes got wide before they darted down to his drink. "I-I already told the police everything," Barry stammered out nervously. "I know, I know. Now, Barry, you don't need to be nervous. Anything you say is off the record. I'm off duty right now. But I still need you to tell me everything," Dean said. Barry took a deep breath before meeting Dean's eyes again. "Completely off the record?" Barry asked. "Completely," Dean said. "It wasn't a kidnapping that I witnessed, agent, it was a murder," he said quickly under his breath. "Why didn't you tell the officers this?" Dean asked. This changed things a bit. "Because I didn't want to have to tell them what I saw. They would never believe me," Barry said as he shuddered. "Barry, I need you to tell me exactly what happened," Dean said seriously. Barry took a deep, shuddering breath before he began. "I was walking home from work. I work the late shift, so it was about 11 pm when I saw it happen. I was walking by the forest nearest my apartment when about 20 feet in front of me I saw a man getting ripped to shreds by a tall, lanky, emaciated-" he leaned in towards Dean, "-monster." The last word was barely a whisper. "When it saw me, it picked up the remains of it's meal and ran back into the forest with impossible speed," Barry said. His knuckles were white from clutching the glass too hard. He looked up at Dean desperately. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked pitifully. "I do Barry, I really do," Dean said. "Well, thanks for your time," Dean said as he stood up and walked out of the bar. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number. Ring, ring, "Did you find anything?" Sam asked when he picked up. "Yeah, and you're not gonna like it," Dean said. He heard Sam sigh on the other end. Dean continued. "It's a Wendigo, and a rogue one. Apparently they're attacking in the wide open suburban jungle now," Dean said. "Are you serious?" Sam asked in a skeptical tone. "Yep. Just bumped into our witness and he told me everything," Dean said. "Alright, well I'll get everything ready. See you in a bit," Sam said right before he hung up. Dean put his phone back in his pocket. He walked a little further and rounded the last corner until he would reach the parking lot. Suddenly, he felt an arm against his throat and the cool stone wall hit against the back of his head. "I know you're not an FBI agent, I know you're not an investigator, and I also know that you've been investigating the same case I am. So tell me, why are you here?" said Dean's attacker in a deep voice with a British accent. Dean blinked away the spots in front of his eyes and saw that it was the man who was looking at him strangely before in the bar. "I think it's none of your damn business what I'm doing here," Dean said. The man pulled him off of the wall and then slammed him back. "WHO SENT YOU? WAS IT MORIARTY?" the man yelled. "SHERLOCK!" another man yelled as he came around the corner. This man was short, unlike Sherlock, and his hair was a sandy blond color. Sherlock was tall and lanky. He turned his head. "What?" He asked, irritated. "Sherlock, let him down," said the shorter man. "John, it's Moriarty. This man was sent by him," Sherlock said. "Who the hell is Moriarty?" Dean asked. Sherlock looked at him, slightly confused. "See?" John said. Sherlock let Dean fall from the wall. "You said you were investigating this case?" Dean said. "Yes," John replied. "Don't," Dean said seriously as he walked away from them and back towards his car. "Follow him," Sherlock whispered to John as they walked towards their taxi.