Northern Highland American Legion State Forest

Wisconsin

Rain beat down on the tents, through the dense leaf canopy, promising fog as the night cooled the ground. The two smaller tents were empty; laughter came from the largest one between them, laughter and light, shadows large on the thin tent walls, shadows of seven, eight people sitting around a low fold-up table. Drinking beers, making peanut butter sandwiches, playing cards.

Seven, eight people, shadows large and looming, one unmoving, one unspeaking, unlaughing, watching shadow. Among them.

Their voices crashed into each other, high giddiness, the soothing low pull of confidence, the alto lull of knowing, the sharp crack of sarcasm.

Dude!

Laughter. Dude, she says. Gawd that's cute. Here, give me a beer, will ya?

So you're like an accountant or something? What brings you out here?

That's just a job I found myself kinda trapped in. You know, inertia. I'd rather be out here with the bugs and shit-

God I love the smell of rain, don't you?

Hey, another game?

It's Laura, right? I'm Carlos-

I heard there's bears out here. Did you hear about the bears?

Yeah right. Check the map, macho man. Bear sightings are waaaay north of here.

She should know, and laughter, Didn't I see you chatting up the ranger before we came out here?

Shut up. Laughter.

Barkeep! Another beer for my buddy. What's your name, and what are we playing?

Here you are, my fine sir! The finest cheap ass brew south of the Canada border, eh!

Okay okay, who's in-

Did you hear that?

Shut up-

Do you smell that?

The little whine in the trees was barely discernible, and vanished when the voices in the tent lowered to a hush. Seven, eight people cast shadows in the lamplight, seven, eight people up like a shot when the branches overhead shook, when the wail surrounded them, strangely echoing. Seven, eight people shrieking as something unseen descended upon them, as fabric was rent and the air was filled with the scent of mud, rain, the reek of copper.

She woke up in pain, she woke up screaming. Blood on her face, in her mouth, bone-deep bruises and she thought her arm had been torn off, a steel rod ache where she though her eye had been torn out.

"Shh, shh."

The man who woke her looked familiar. "I know you," she breathed.

"Yeah. I checked over your group's gear when you came out two days ago." His brow wrinkled in concern. "Do you know where you are?" He watched her a moment. "Clear Lake," he supplied. "Clear Lake Ranger Station. How did you get in here?"

She remembered - blood, screams, wild like animals but they were her friends, strangers she'd just met two days ago but had grown close to in that way that you only can when you're the only people around for miles, and that smell-

"Oh god," she said. "They're all dead."

Episode Six

"The Little Fish"

Chapter One

"No, it looks good." Sam nodded at Kevin's notes. "You didn't," he said, looking up hastily, "try it already, right?"

"No. You said wait for you guys to get back, so I waited." Kevin rolled his eyes. "I'm not suicidal."

Sam laughed a little. "Right. Sorry."

"So you think it'll work?"

"Uh yeah, it should. Charlie helped you?" Sam shook his head, slow, scanning the lines of writing again. "Wow. You guys-"

"She should come live here."

"What?"

"She should-"

"No, I heard you." Sam frowned. "Charlie doesn't want to live here."

"What, she's not family?"

"That's not - she has a life outside of this. She has a girlfriend. She doesn't have monsters on her tail-"

"She's not a super special fragile prophet?"

"That's not what I said-"

"It's okay. Listen. It's not like I have anywhere else to go, so I appreciate it. I just. I like her, and she's a resource, and just knowing you guys is enough to get someone killed or - hey, wait, no, I didn't mean-"

Sam took a breath. Shook his head. Who was the fragile one, again? Sam felt the color come back to his face, his heart slow back down. "Fine, I'm fine," he muttered.

"You okay?"

Sam closed his eyes, nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good. Just. Tired, I guess."

Kevin glared hard at Sam, hard enough that Sam had to laugh at how comical it all was. "Kevin, I'm fine."

"You know that thing where a word stops meaning anything because you say it too often? Yeah. Anyway, whatever. When can we try this?"

"Uh..." Sam looked over the spell again, the ingredients, the symbols and the latin. He shrugged. "I gotta check something with Dean, but ASAP I guess. We'll be right there, okay?"

"I'm not worried." Kevin looked at Sam.

Sam looked at Kevin. The moment drew out as they looked at each other, eyebrows together. The Kevin snorted a laugh and Sam grinned and looked away.

"Okay. I'm worried. But it's gonna be fine, I know that."

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah. It's gonna be fine. We're not gonna let anything happen to you, Kev."

"Don't go gettin' sappy now."

Sam laughed. "Pretty good, but you gotta get more gravel into it. More bass."

"Don't go gettin' sappy now," Kevin growled, deeper and with some effort. "God, how does he talk like that?"

"Talk like what?"

Sam and Kevin turned in unison toward the door, where Dean stood with a bag from the gas station.

Sam frowned at him. "Come on, Dean. That's not food. The grocery store is barely a mile further into town."

"Calm down. I got your gross protein bar things, so what do you care?"

Sam gestured at Kevin. "We got other mouths to feed, Dean." He gestured widely with the pages of Kevin's spellwork. "I can't help the kids with their homework and do all the shopping."

Kevin looked between them, all puppy eyes. "Dad, Other Dad, I hate it when you guys fight!"

"Okay yuck it up, yuck it up," Dean said, while Sam and Kevin grinned at each other. The corner of Dean's mouth twitched upward as he came in further, set the bag on the table next to Sam. "The rest of the actual groceries are out in the car. From the actual grocery store. Lock her up before you come back in, will ya kid?"

Kevin huffed and shoved away from the table, just exactly like a kid being told to do something by a parent.

Sam watched him go, still chuckling.

"You're in a good mood. Feeling better, huh?"

Sam looked back at him, smile fading just a bit. "Uh. Yeah. Actually..." He fidgeted. He'd weighed it, this asking thing - it'd only been a week since the witch had sucked his memories out, since she'd collapsed under the weight of them, her blood all over him, the terror in her eyes, the look he recognized saying God no, I can't I can't, please let me go. But he'd put his back under it, he'd been keeping zipped about it, and he hoped that Dean-

But Dean looked at him with this look like he just knew Sam was going to ask the impossible and Dean couldn't give it to him. Dean was already resigned to having to say no. Already annoyed about it and Sam hadn't even said anything yet. "Uhm."

"Spit it out, Sam."

"I kinda... found us a hunt."

"Okay...? And suddenly you're all cheerful about hunting?"

Sam shook his head. "Since when do I not want to work, Dean? You're the one-"

"No, oh no. You want to work, yeah. But you ain't happy about it. They aren't the same thing, Sammy."

Sam raised his brows. Swallowed. That wasn't the line of resistance he'd been anticipating. His arguments dried up in his throat. "Oh. Well. I."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Out with it."

Sam grinned, hoped it was convincing. This was gonna make Dean's day. "So, I was just skimming through the news looking for stuff and I found this article." He fished out a print out and handed it to Dean, saying, "Dude. It's a goatman."

Dean's face lit up, this unmistakable lift, smoothing of the worry lines, creasing of the smile lines, quickly tamped down by responsibility. He shoved the paper back into Sam's hands. "No. No way did we catch a goatman. There's only been like three confirmed sightings in like, what, ten-"

"Ten years, four months, and before that, nothing for like twenty, no, I know. But this is a goatman, I'm sure of it. Look, look here," Sam said, getting up to shoulder in next to Dean to press the page back into Dean's hands. He pointed out a line in the article. "The smell was so strong, she said, that she couldn't smell anything but that for a week."

"Sam-"

"Dean." Sam looked at him - at the way Dean couldn't look him in the eye more than a moment, and that was all about how Dean didn't trust him in the field, didn't trust that Sam could handle himself. Sam managed to get himself caught by a witch and nearly killed the moment Dean's eye was off him. Dean said it was about Sam being happy with hunting, and that had thrown him, but Dean looked anywhere but at Sam and it was clear that Dean had just been saying whatever he thought would shut Sam up. Sam stood up straight. Solemn. "Dean. Please."

Dean looked at him then. "Sam, no. We got too much goin' on. Angels and - and Crowley. Cas, this whole FBI thing-"

Sam frowned. "Dean, those are non-things. I mean, we spent all last week searching for signs that we're still being tailed by the feds, and nothing. It's like they just decided we weren't what they were looking for after all-"

"That should worry you!"

"It does!" Sam stopped himself, steadied himself on the back of his chair. Dean was an expert at getting under his skin, getting him off topic. "It worries me, okay? But we have no leads on it, and what would we even do about it if we did? We can't exactly salt and burn a government agency. We're off their radar, and that means we can hunt."

"Angels-"

"Cas is working that angle. Lethaniel has maybe twenty who follow her, and another thirty can maybe be swayed, but it takes time-"

"Okay, well what about Kevin's spell. We can't just take off-"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you should just stay home then-"

"Maybe you should stay home!"

There was quiet. "Maybe," Sam said, "you should just tell me what you're pissed at me for this time. Getting caught by that witch? Is that it? Because I only did what you would have done, Dean."

Dean frowned, looked stunned. "I'm not pissed at you, God. Sam." He shook his head a little, like that was the last thing he expected to hear Sam say. "I'm worried, dude."

It wasn't exactly the last thing Sam expected to hear, but it was pretty close. Sure, Dean worried. But his tone - it wasn't that harassed kind of worry, that Sam was going to do something stupid. It was... different. "Dean?"

"Sammy, I feel like I just got you back. At the church, I was so sure I - And now with this Lucifer crap and the trials and - Boston, and-"

Sam paled. He'd almost shot himself dead in Boston. And he just hoped Dean forgot about that. Like Dean could have forgotten. "Dean, I'm-"

"Don't you fucking apologize. It's not you, okay? It's not your fault. I mean how much more can the friggin' universe expect you to deal with? And I can't stop it-"

"Stop. Dean. Slow down." Sam's head rang. "You don't have to worry about the universe, okay? I can handle myself-"

"Oh really? Is that what you've been doing? Handling yourself?" Dean advanced on Sam, backed Sam into the table.

Sam steadied himself; still a little shaky, but he'd take care of that in a minute. First - "Yeah, it is. I can do this, Dean. Just as well as I've ever been able to, more, even, because of... Amelia, and maybe you don't think that's a lot, but it's the best we got-"

"We got me."

"Well, you can't always be there."

"I should be."

Sam shook his head. "Well you can't be. I'd like to be there for you all the time too, but that's not always possible. You have to get that. If something happens-"

"If something happens, what."

Sam swallowed. If something happens, you can't blame yourself. If something happens, you have to let it go this time. If something happens- "If something happens, don't you wanna go out knowing you took down a friggin' goatman?" He grinned.

Dean closed his eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up and Sam knew he'd hooked him despite Dean's resistance to anything that put "Sam" and "hunting" in the same sentence.

"Ehhh?"

"Yeah yeah, fine," Dean said, but his eyes were lit up again as he read the article for more data. Sam slid out from between him and the table, backed away toward his own seat. Dean sank into a chair and pawed through more of Sam's research. "Put this together yourself?"

"Yeah, it's like I know how to do my job or something."

"Wise guy. I meant, these suckers are notoriously tough to track. Even Dad had trouble-"

"I never knew Dad caught a goatman."

"Uh," Dean said, distracted by data. "He didn't." Dean looked up. "Like I said, he had trouble."

"Well, you're welcome. I figure we head out in the morning."

"You don't wanna fill up on research or something first?"

Sam frowned. "We can research once we're there. Anyway, it's camping season."

"So?"

"So, this thing is gonna have a buffet set out for it. We gotta go take care of it before more people die, Dean."

"Okay then. First thing in the morning."

"Hey," Kevin called from the front, laden with grocery bags. "Little help here?"

So Sammy wanted to hunt. Great. Just fucking great. The kid's hands were shaking when he tried to shove the stupid article print out at Dean, and he just expected them both to ignore that, and by the way, hadn't he just been kidnapped by a witch like a week before?

But Sammy said hunt, so a day later, Dean found himself in the driver's seat while Sam frowned at research in the passenger's seat, tapping at the tablet Charlie had given him for his birthday.

"You wanna stop on the way, or drive straight through to Wisconsin?"

Sam looked up at him. He seemed pale, a little gaspy. "Uh, whatever. If you wanna stop, I'm okay with that. I mean, you're the one doing all the driving."

"If you wanna drive, Sam, you should." Dean gestured out at the wide open road, straight for miles. "I'll be right here if I need to grab the wheel."

Sam made a face and looked back down at the tablet in his lap.

"I get it," Dean said. "But there's no sense sugar-coating it when we both know what's going on. I just think, you've got a pretty good handle on this thing, right? So you'll stay in the right lane, you'll pull off to the shoulder if you start feeling shaky. I'll be right here in case-"

"In case I have a dizzy spell and steer us across three lanes into oncoming traffic, or have another seizure, or anything else that could go wrong, because with our luck? It will." Sam closed his eyes, settled himself. When he opened them again and looked at Dean, he'd forced himself to smile, just a little. "It's really fine, Dean. I didn't mean for it to be a thing. Just, you're the one driving, you get to be the one who decides whether we stop for the night and head the rest of the way up in the morning."

"Fine," Dean said, "then we're driving straight through."

"Fine."

It was a thirteen hour drive from Lebanon to the Northern Highland American Legion State Forest in Wisconsin. With lunch and dinner breaks, it took them about fifteen hours to make it to the tiny town of Woodruff, just after ten at night.

Dean looked around their little motel room. More and more the sense that he belonged in these little boxes was fading. There was a bed somewhere that knew his body; there were pillows that fit his head. There was a room where the walls stayed the same, hung with things he'd chosen. And while his childhood home sat out in the parking lot, he was starting to feel like the road was part of some kind of past life, an ended chapter, and he put his hand on the bed and it felt good to have the hard uncomfortable mattress meet his touch, because it meant a new chapter had started, it meant somewhere else was home.

Across the room, Sam was already unpacking, looking every bit at home in the washed out wallpaper plywood mattress threadbare carpeting as he had a year ago, a lifetime ago.

Dean frowned.

"Figure we'll interview the last victim-"

"Of the goatman," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Yes, of the goatman. Tomorrow morning. She's only in a hospital here until she's up to making the trip back home, Minnesota-"

"-So we gotta move fast."

"Yep." Sam dropped into a chair at the table, spread out the photos he'd gotten off the web.

Dean wandered over to take a look at them. "What's she doing in Wisconsin?"

"She's part of a message board, uh, forum. Online."

"I know what a forum is."

Sam shot him a look, but the unfocused distracted haze lifted, so Dean counted it as a win. "It's some kind of fan group, uh, fancy whiskey or something. A group of them met up for a long weekend to go camping. Ranger said she was passed out on his couch when he showed up Sunday morning, beat to hell and bleeding."

Dean pulled over the cooler and sat, pulling over some photos Sam had pulled off the local law enforcement's server. He whistled. "She's lucky to be alive. That's an orbital fracture, I'd bet you anything."

"You'd win. She'll probably never see out of that eye again." Sam slid over the police report. The medical details were thin, but if they needed more, well, they were headed to the hospital first thing in the morning. "So, I was thinking I go to the hospital, you talk to the ranger who found her?"

Dean looked up. Frowned. "Oh, uh. Yeah. I guess."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Listen, there's nothing to flirt with in that hospital room, man. You'll have better luck with the ranger."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shaddup." He tapped on the photo a couple of times in thought. "Listen, the hospital's in town, I bet she doesn't know anything more than she said already anyway. Let's just hit one, then the other. Okay?"

Sam watched him a moment, calculating. Then he sighed. "Fine, okay." He glanced over the data one last time, nodded to himself, and got up from the chair. "See if you can spot anything I mighta missed. I'm gonna get ready for bed."

"We just got here."

Sam turned, pulling the strap of his duffel over his shoulder. "I'm beat. Go out if you want to. I'm just gonna hit the sack."

Dean frowned as Sam disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. The water in the sink ran, Sam brushing his teeth, washing his face. Then a bit of silence-

- And then the sound of the shower. Well, Sam sometimes did shower at odd times. Dean had noticed, during his first bout with demon blood, during the whole Lucifer thing, anytime he wasn't himself. Dean blew out a breath. If Sam needed to shower six times a day, Dean wasn't gonna argue with it.

Dean did go out, Sam saw when he came out of the shower. A note on the nightstand between their beds said, "Out for a drink, back before you're dreaming." Well, that wouldn't be true, but it was nice of Dean to keep his carousing to a minimum while they were on a job. Sam suspected it was more to do with Sam's whole... situation. But Dean didn't make a thing about it, and it was probably better for both of them that he didn't.

The papers on the table had been sorted through - Dean making connections, or just trying to see where Sam had made them. It hadn't even really been work, just a couple of pieces of info that happened to click. Still, he thought there was some amount of pride in Dean's face when he'd asked how Sam had managed it when not even Dad had figured out the pattern. Sam put the pages back in order and took his tablet to bed, fell asleep with the light on.

When he woke up, it was to Dean shaking him. He pushed Dean away and tried to sit up. "Dude, what?"

"Jesus Sam, I've been trying to wake you up for like twenty minutes."

Sam looked past him, toward the window with early morning light streaming in around the edges of the heavy drapes. He checked his watch. "It's six in the morning. Since when do you wanna start so early?"

"That's not what I'm shakin' you for," Dean grumped, sitting back onto his own bed and looking harassed.

"Then-" Sam closed his eyes. "I was dreaming. Right?"

"Dreaming's kinda soft-balling it, I think."

"Sorry." Sam flopped back, blew out a breath.

"I thought you were doin' okay."

"I am. I am."

"You haven't slept this hard since you were eight. What's up?"

Sam glanced over. "I took something-"

"I bet-" Dean sniped.

"A sleep-aid," Sam said over him. "A regular, over the counter drug that helps me sleep. Completely legal." He knew what Dean was thinking - last time Lucifer had gotten the better of him, he had resorted to back alley means to try to sleep and it hadn't ended well. But Lucifer was shelved, at least temporarily, and the dreams were just that. Dreams.

Dean frowned hard at him.

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling, threw up his hands. "You'd rather I toss back a couple shots of whiskey, Dean?"

"You got a problem with how I deal?"

Sam sat up, ignoring the dizziness. "No, I don't. You got a problem with how I deal?"

Dean watched him, biting back a response, Sam could tell. His mouth twisted, he was just dying to say something. But in the end, he just said, "Come on. We're awake now. Might as well get on with it."

"Fine. Good," Sam said, and hauled himself out of bed to take himself and his duffel into the bathroom. "Hope you don't mind if I shower first," he said, and didn't wait for a response.

Tabitha Minnow was alert when they showed up at the hospital at 7:30 in the morning. One arm in a cast propped out from her hip, a leg bent at the knee over a couple of pillows and wrapped in bandages. Her face was purple and yellow, stitched and swollen. A band of gauze held an eyepad over her left eye.

"Feels worse than it looks, I promise," she said as they loitered in her doorway. "The doc said you were FBI?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Just wanna ask you some questions-"

"I've already given my statement-"

Dean grimaced. "The local authorities don't really have a good handle on the sort of thing we're-"

Tabitha shook her head. "-to the FBI," she finished. "Like yesterday."

Dean glanced at Sam, who looked bewildered. Usually the question was more along the lines of why does the FBI care about this? "You talked to the FBI yesterday?" Sam said.

"Shouldn't you guys know who's on what case?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said. "Of course we do. It's just a competition... thing. See they're from like, the wildlife and protected parks division, and we're from the... murder... division."

Tabitha looked doubtful.

Sam shook his head and laughed. "Don't mind my partner. He's just astounded we got beat by a whole day. But he's right, we're more interested in the attack than the potential impact on the 'protected parks' angle."

Dean eyebrowed at Sam, who was focused 100% on Tabitha. His disdain for the imagined "protected parks" division of the FBI, the little eyeroll, and easy laugh - all totally and completely made up, but Tabitha bought it. She laughed a little, conspiratorily, Sam's cue to continue.

"Now I know this might be difficult to talk about-"

"What, because seven of my friends were killed and I'm half blind for the rest of my life and I'll set off metal detectors wherever I go now? Difficult might cover it."

Sam looked over at Dean, shared a little uncomfortable smile. "They found all seven bodies?"

"I don't know. They won't tell me anything."

"No problem. We'll get that from the police. Can you tell us a little about the attack itself? We know some of the details, but I'd like to hear it in your words."

Tabitha frowned, played with the hem of the hospital blanket. "I didn't really know them, you know?" she said. "I mean, we'd never met in person before Friday."

"Take your time," Sam said softly. Dean frowned, watching them interact.

"I never saw the thing, whatever it was. A bear, I guess. But Laura was saying the area was safe - I mean who knows if she even knows what she's talking about. She's totally a know-it-all on the boards." Tabitha stopped her ramble short. She stared at nothing. "Was a know-it-all," she corrected. "Laura was her name, right?" Tabitha's eyes filled as she tilted her head, and Dean was hit with a sudden sick realization that he knew that expression, every time Sam was battling Lucifer, the horror, the guilt, the loss, the slipping sanity, and just a moment before, she'd been fine, even laughed-

"Okay," Dean said. "Listen, we can pick this back up a little later."

Sam turned to him. "Dean-"

"I'm okay," Tabitha said. "I just." She sniffed, smiled. "Don't want to give you bad intel. We were all still kinda learning each other's real names. And we were drunk preeeetty much all weekend, so. I think it was antropy82 who said the area didn't have bears - she likes to think she's the expert on all of nature. And I think antropy's IRL name was Laura... Now... I'm just not sure what I remember. It's all kind of jumbled." She lifted her hand to touch her fingertips to her bandaged eye.

"Your doctor told us you banged your head pretty good," Sam soothed. "Just tell us whatever you think you remember, even if it sounds weird or doesn't make sense. We'll do the leg work to figure out what really happened. Okay?"

Tabitha nodded. Dean watched as Sam drew the details out of her, patient and professional, until about twenty minutes in, when he paled and hid his shaking hands in his pockets. She was saying, "That's all I really remember," when Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I think we got all we need," he said, and felt Sam relax. "We'll come by again if we have more questions."

Sam pulled a business card from his pocket. "Or if you remember something else, call us."

"Thanks," she said. "I will."

Dean left it until they were in the car, jackets thrown into the back seat, heading up the highway toward the state park. But then he said, "So what was that?"

"What?"

"A week ago you couldn't be bothered to step in to talk to Erica's brother and now you're 'good cop' all of a sudden?"

Sam frowned at him. "You had Stevie handled, Dean. What do you want me to say? Sorry I'm not always feeling chatty?"

"Chatty? This is work, Sam-"

"Yeah and you had it handled. And then you bitched at me about it. So now I take the lead, because you choke on some excuse, and you're bitching at me for that too? God I just can't win with you-"

"That's not what I meant, Sam-"

"Whatever."

Dean stared at the road. Sam played with his tablet, pissed. Dean let him stew for a minute, then: "I'm just-"

"What."

"-worried. Sam. If there's something else goin' on, if something changed - you can tell me anything, you know that."

Sam looked at him, then back down, brows together. "I know. Nothing's changed." He stared at his tablet again, but didn't touch it, just looked at nothing. "Some days are just better than others," he said, so quiet Dean could barely hear it.

Dean nodded, mostly to himself. If Sam wanted to tell him about the demon blood, that was his opening. And he knew, god he knew, that Sam had reason to doubt that he really could tell Dean anything. But Dean was counting on Sam's bottomless well of dumb fucking optimism; eventually Sam would tell him because he hoped Dean would help, despite all of the evidence.

Anyway, as long as it kept Sam on his feet and he wasn't doing the dumb shit he'd done last time he went out of his mind on it, Dean was willing to look the other way. The alternative-

Well.

The ranger who'd found Tabitha Minnow on his sofa at Clear Lake station was due, according to the woman in the main office, to see some campers off at Crystal Lake ranger station. Easy to find, she said, the Nature Center is wonderful, try to get some sun - the last directed at Sam, who was staying out of the conversation by staring at his feet.

Dean rolled his eyes, but thanked her and paid for a day pass, and a couple of miles into the wilderness later, they were parked at the Nature Center.

"Crap," Dean said.

Sam looked up, frowned. "Crap."

About thirty people were assembled outside the building, bustling around, high fives, backpacks and water bottles.

"I think our monster ordered in," Dean said.

"I'm telling you, it's a goatman."

"Whatever. Look I know what you're thinkin'-"

"We have to talk to the ranger, I know. But those people are going to be sitting ducks." Sam watched him, with his dumb eyes again, and Dean blew out a breath.

"We'll talk to the ranger first, and then see what we can do about the people. We need more information about what we're up against. Even," he added before Sam could protest again. "If it's a goatman. We need facts. This is usually your gripe, Sam. So chill."

Sam frowned, but nodded. "Fine. But we can't go in there as suits if we're going to head out with the group."

Dean shook his head and pulled back out of the parking lot. Ten minutes later, he was keeping watch while Sam changed in front of the car, which was nosed into a little divot off the main drag, shielded only barely by tree cover. He wasn't excited about the prospect of hiking out in the summer heat, but Sam had added things to the trunk that would be useful, and Dean packed them two backpacks with water bottles and some MREs from the bunker's pantry, instant coffee because god, and extra socks for each of them. Sam was a fucking boyscout. They got by without all this crap for years, but whatever. "Sam, you done primping?"

"Yeah, I'm ready," Sam said, right behind him. He reached for one of the backpacks and Dean whistled.

"Shorts?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "And hiking shoes. You really need to invest one of these days, Dean."

"Not a chance in hell."

"That's Matt Danish, the park ranger who found Tabitha."

Dean followed Sam's nod and picked out the dark-haired man giving some safety talk to the group, dressed in khaki shorts and shirt. "How do you know? I mean other than the obvious."

"Picture in the paper. So how do we want to play this? We're just campers who happen to be camping near these people? We can talk some information out of the ranger and then beat feet to catch up with them. Or I can sneak into the office while you're talking to him and get the campsite numbers."

Dean shrugged under the weight of the backpack. "Why don't we just play it by ear," he suggested. "See what we're working with here. I mean look at them." He nodded at the group of eager campers. "They're excited, still prepping. They aren't going anywhere for at least another half hour after he's done giving them the talk. I guarantee it."

Sam looked doubtful, but shrugged. "So we show up, wait for him to get done, then press him?"

"Then head out with the groups, saying gosh we just happen to be camped right up next to them in the next site over. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Now keep an eye on your buddy," Danish was saying when they approached. "This is super important, since you guys don't know each other. We don't want anyone to get lost out there."

The crowd burbled, here and there people were giving each other the "partners?" look, and as soon as the ranger said, "Okay, let me know if you have any questions," the chatter started up in earnest, people asking each other their names.

"Dude, none of these people know each other," Dean murmured. "You thinkin what I'm thinkin?"

"Blend in?"

"Got it in one. Partners?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I'll keep my eye on you. Don't worry."

Dean rolled his eyes and waved his hand at the ranger. "Quick question," he said, heading toward Danish. When they had moved a bit away from the group, he said, "Hey, we heard some people were killed out here like a week ago. Should we be worried?"

Matt Danish went pale. "Uh, no. No. That was a freak incident."

"God," Sam said. "So awful. I can only imagine. The girl whose life you saved, did she say what did it?"

Danish swallowed. "No. She was confused. Really banged up."

"I heard it was Bigfoot," Dean said.

"It wasn't Bigfoot," Sam said back, annoyed. Good ol' Sammy, playing along.

"It totally was. Wasn't it?" He watched Danish for a reaction.

"It wasn't Bigfoot," Sam challenged when Danish didn't respond. "Did she say anything about it being Bigfoot?" And that's when it happened. Danish's ashen face went hard-lined.

"She was scared. Of course she thought it was a monster. You boys are looking for something sensational, but you aren't going to find it here. For god's sake, six people are dead."

Dean put his hands up, stepped back, immediately apologetic. "Sorry, sorry. Just checking, you know."

"Yeah, really," Sam agreed, tugging on Dean's sleeve. "We'll go back to the group now, we were just-"

Dean let Sam drag him away. He knew the distinctive haste in Sam's actions as I just got some info, borne out when Sam stopped them and said, "Six people, Dean. He said six people died."

"So?"

"So, Tabitha said seven of her friends were dead."

Dean frowned. "She didn't know them very well. Maybe she lost track."

"Or maybe, the part of the lore about the goatman blending in with groups of its victims is true."

Dean shrugged, tilted his head. "Yeah maybe," he waffled, starting toward the group. "Either way, come on-"

"Okay guys," said a voice over the general chatter of the eager group of people. She seemed to be the leader; the others quieted down. "Before you get too comfortable with your buddy, I want to introduce the surprise we've been promising you for a month now. This isn't just a geocaching adventure, it's war! Yes, fellow adventurers! You will be divided into two teams, red and blue." She held up red and blue shirts in either hand. "Each team will have a different path, a different set of clues, but one goal. Get to the nightly waypoint first. The winners each night will get the amenities already set up. The losers will have to survive on what they've got in their packs. Split up, and we'll see you at the finish line in three days!"

As the groups cheered and milled around, splitting themselves into two more or less even groups, Dean's heart sank. Crap. Crap. Sam was going to suggest they split up to cover both groups. He knew it.

"Oh, crap," Sam said, and for the briefest moment, Dean thought Sam was going to want to stay together as much as Dean did. Until he saw what Sam was staring at.

The bright and eager face of Charlie Bradbury, breaking into a big grin as she saw them.

"Guys! Hi!"