A/N - Just wanted to do a normal type of job for the boys with lots of hurt and brotherly love. I kind of miss it. Thank you for reading and please review!

Disclaimer - I don't own anything from the Supernatural universe.


The forest was thick and dark, the trees forming a dense canopy that all but eradicated the sunlight. It was midday, but you wouldn't know it. It didn't deter the birds, their happy trills and chirps a pleasant soundtrack to the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The lack of direct light helped the lush ferns and other assorted greenery to thrive and spread over the forest floor, moss painting dead tree trunks a vibrant green. It was lovely and peaceful and it completely sucked, he thought as he tripped over a buried root.

Dean Winchester was not having a good time. His feet hurt, he was sweaty, bugs were dining on every bit of exposed flesh and he was ever so slightly hung over. Well, maybe a bit more than slightly, but that was his secret. He was cranky and just wanted to be back in the motel room with a beer and some TV.

He and Sam had been tromping over the bucolic woods for what seemed like the better part of forever and the tranquil scene had lost its appeal long ago. They had headed in at first light and it was way past that now. Drawn here by the recent reports of missing campers and day hikers that could be tracked to a twenty three year cycle, they had already found scattered remains of campsites and backpacks. Missing people plus ransacked campsites usually equated to a bear except that in this case no bodies had been found and bears didn't kill on a cycle. So wendigo it was. Awesome.

Glancing over at his brother, he could see that Sam was having his own issues. The air may have been cool and damp, but trekking uphill for several miles straight had both of them plenty warm. Swiping at a bead of sweat working its way down his forehead, Sam took a long pull from his canteen. Dean looked on enviously, then followed suit, the water a welcome balm to his throat. He glanced down at his watch, knowing that they needed to keep an eye on the time. They would need to wait for darkness for the wendigo to make its move, but they were hoping to find some signs of it first. Maybe even get lucky enough to find its lair. Because luck was the Winchesters' middle name. Right.

"Dean, it's going on one. You want to take a break?" Sam asked the question, but he was already sitting down wearily on a log, making the executive decision that he was taking a break whether Dean wanted to or not.

Dean stopped and took a quick glance around their surroundings. It was as good a place to stop as any. He joined Sam on the log, pulling his backpack forward to rummage inside for their lunch. He tossed Sam a packet of hohos followed up by some beef jerky. Sam looked down at the food items in disdain, then over at his brother.

"This is lunch?" He really should have known better than to put Dean in charge of provisions.

"Hey, I got you some protein. Quit your bitchin," Dean replied, tearing into his own hoho package with his teeth. He could tell Sam that he had actually bought them some trail bars and fruit, but then he would have to admit that he forgot them at the motel. If he was getting the bitch face now, he would get that and a lecture if he admitted to that. Sam did ask him at least three times if he had everything before they left the motel, so the lecture would definitely be forthcoming. Dean was having enough fun without adding that treat to the mix, even if he did deserve it.

With a sigh, Sam bit into the jerky, tossing one last irritated glance Dean's way. Sam pulled out the map they had been marking on as they found the campsites. It wasn't much help in triangulating the potential lair of the creature as wendigos had been known to drag their victims sometimes a hundred miles away from where they were snatched, but it was better than nothing. They had been studying trees, looking for scratches from the horror show claws they sported. Studying the ground for any blood, torn clothing, anything that might have come from someone being dragged. So far, they hadn't found jack shit.

Dean looked over the map, mouth full of hoho. "At least it seems to be staying in sixty mile zone. That's pretty considerate, actually," he noted with a smile.

"Better than a hundred miles, anyway. Let's hike to here and then set up camp." Sam trailed a finger over the map, plotting out a course.

Ripping of a chunk of jerky, Dean nodded, his eyes back up in the tree line. "Sounds good. I think it's had enough time to get our scent. I happen to know from experience that wendigos like the way I taste." It had only been a few months ago that Sam and Dean had hunted another wendigo, helping a woman and her little brother locate their other brother. Dean had ended up getting snatched and tucked away in the monster's larder for a later meal. For a change, it had a happy ending. The missing brother was found alive and everyone else had made it out of the creature's den. "Here's to hoping this hunt goes as good as that one." Dean saluted the air with the rest of his jerky, then ate that too.

Sam huffed out a harsh laugh, staring incredulously at his brother. "That's your standard of a good hunt? Dean, you had three broken ribs and four gashes that got infected because you didn't tell anyone about it. You were sick for weeks, man, half of that in the hospital."

Dean just smiled and shrugged. "Aw Sammy, no one died. Well except for the guide, but we did our best with him. At the end of the day, we saved the people and killed the creature. Job well done."

Sam smiled wanly in response, shaking his head slightly as he looked away. "Yeah, job well done," he repeated softly.

Finished with their meager meal, they silently collected up their belongings then headed out to their designated stopping point, eyes continuing to dart warily over their surroundings. They felt like they were being watched and, while they didn't know it yet, they were right.


They reached their destination just as dusk was falling. The brothers wasted no time in starting a fire and settling down to grab a quick bite to eat. Their conversation was minimal and hushed, their ears and eyes trained to the forest around them. It had become clear that they were being hunted a few miles back. When all other sounds stopped, no birds, no bugs, nothing, they knew that they had been spotted. The silence was the best clue they had. Their flare guns were ready, extra flares stuffed into their pockets. All they had to do now was wait and it was a tense wait. Wendigos were extremely fast, extremely strong and very sneaky. They could be right on top of you and you wouldn't know until it had you. They had the benefit of having backup in each other and experience dealing with these particular nasties, but that didn't make it any more relaxing.

Dean had just been getting ready to try and snatch the remains of Sam's hostess pie when they heard it; a low growl was coming from behind them. Dean immediately jumped to his feet, the flare gun held ready, his heart starting to pound as adrenaline started to rush through him. Sam followed suit, falling in behind him so they were back to back. He could feel the tension in Sam's body as they stared into the darkness. "I got nothing. You?" Dean whispered quietly.

"I think it circled around my way." Sam quickly used his foot to toss some dirt onto the fire, dampening the flames slightly. It was a good call, it had been killing their night vision.

Eyes riveted before him, Dean slowly moved forward, seeing only the vague outline of bushes and trees. The thing was smart, it seemed to know they were armed and was being accordingly cautious. His gazed moved higher into the trees, and he saw it just a split second before it was on top of him. He didn't waste the flare, he knew he didn't have a shot. Long fingers wrapped around his throat, jerking him forward, his feet dragged behind him. The other hand smacked against his wrist, his flare gun flying into the night as sharp pain radiated up his arm, his fingers springing open in reflex.

He could hear Sam calling out to him, but he was too busy trying to get some air into his lungs to discern what he was saying. He knew the creature was using his body to block Sam's shot and he tried to get his feet more solidly on the ground so he could shift away but the hand around his throat just tightened and lifted him until was held in the air. He could barely breathe before, now it wasn't even an option. Dean wrapped his unhurt hand around its fingers, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat. For a moment he was face to face with it. It was hard to believe that something that fugly was ever human. Its eyes, while misshapen and dark, held intelligence as it stared back at him. It was unsettling. Not as unsettling as its breath, though. Yikes.

Reaching into the waistband of his jeans with his other hand, gritting his teeth against the pain, he grasped the knife at the small of his back and swung it into the wendigo's throat in one smooth motion. A piteous scream left the creature's mouth as blood pulsed from the wound. The hand at this throat heaved him away and Dean was flying through the air, right into Sam who had been shifting position to get behind the creature.

They collided roughly, air rushing out of lungs, bones crashing into bones. Both tumbled to the ground, Dean landing awkwardly on his already injured wrist, a grunt of agony leaving his mouth as the pain swelled into heat and ice and nausea. Well that's broken, he thought as he immediately rolled to the side. Sam clearly had the breath knocked out of him, having taken the brunt of Dean's descent, but he was getting to his feet. Dean pulled in a few desperately needed gulps of air, then started to work his way back up, his eyes firmly on the screaming thing in front of him.

The neck wound wouldn't kill the wendigo, but it clearly alarmed it at least a little. It had pulled the knife out and flung it away, one long fingered hand wrapped protectively around its throat. Sam fired off his flare gun just as it moved, the flare hitting it in the shoulder. A roar of pain filled the air as the flare embedded in its body, the flames licking out of the wound. It wasn't a kill shot, but Sam was preparing to take care of that when he was knocked into a tree. He slumped down to the ground, not moving.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, seeing what had happened. He started for his brother, one eye on the injured creature, then his brain finally caught up with what his eyes had already seen. It couldn't be, it shouldn't be, but it was.

There were two of them. Two wendigos.

Son of a bitch.


To be continued...