Nineteen sources down, seven to go. And still no successful results.

I sigh heavily and plop yet another oversized book onto the bed at my side. In my gut, I'm pretty sure that this will all turn up empty. Completely.

It's not completely surprising, I mean, it's not everyday that you hear about a wendigo-werewolf crossover. I guess I'm mostly just surprised that something we've never heard of has turned up this late in the game.

Dean and I talked about it last night. How to kill it. Logic would suggest that since we know how to kill each of the individual breeds, we would use some sort of combined method to exterminate the cross species.

Weredigo?

Wenwolf?

...W2.

I'll run that by Dean when he gets out of the shower. See if I can make him laugh. Or roll his eyes...anything.

Dean is ramping up the volume of his ACDC performance from the bathroom. I try to tell myself that he's not singing to intentionally annoy me, even though that might be true. But he sings in the shower all the time, and this place is not soundproof.

At all.

I don't think I should be able to hear him four doors down the hall, but the sound is so clear it's like he's in the room with me.

Maybe the Men of Letters had a paranoid thing about not being able to hear if there were intruders. That seems ridiculous. This place is so well fortified...but then again, I guess Dean and I are pretty much that bad. We jump at shadows. Not because we're scared, but because we know what's out there...well, you know.

I seriously can't concentrate. The words on the page of this book are dancing around to Dean's singing. I keep telling them to hold still, but that doesn't do any good.

I turn on my white noise app, cram in my earbuds, and let the sound of Dean wash out as the crash of the ocean washes in. Much better, now I can concentrate. It's better to wait Dean out anyway. I don't feel like exhausting myself with fighting with him this early in the day. Hopefully he'll be out soon, anyway. It's a fight I'd rather not pick.

The wendigo creature is best defeated with fire….the book in my hands tells me.

Yeah, I know that. Then somehow I end up reading words that I'm pretty sure aren't even on the page.

What do you mean, you wouldn't do the same for me? Because I thought we had an unbreakable bond, man.

I try to shake Dean's words out of my head, but I can't. I never will. Because I betrayed him. I even still stand by what I said. I hate it, but I think it's true.

Still, there's no way to, essentially, say "I wouldn't save your life" without sounding like a backstabbing coward.

Is that really what I've become?

Again?

Dean. There's that. It's like his humanity is dying or something. I speak from experience. Dean is starting to look like my reflection did when my soul was in the cage. Maybe not what it looks like. I don't think you really notice it then...that you're changing. When you're losing your humanity? It's kind of like you don't care, or you don't notice, or you don't know what you're actually supposed to look like.

And I see that. It's happening to Dean. This whole deal with the mark of Cain, and the First Blade, it's very….animalistic. He used to have a moral compass...to some extent. Maybe not so much a moral compass as a compass of his own. He knew where he was going, he knew what he believed in. And he still does, maybe. It's just less human.

So maybe, in some twisted way, our fights are kind of like me attempting to rescue him. To remind him that he isn't immortal, and that he can't just bounce back from death on any given Tuesday.

Then again, maybe it's not.

Maybe it is purely selfish. Maybe it's giving up.

He's my brother.

But he's losing his humanity.

I get stopped dead in my tracks, because that's rich coming from me. And I know it.

But where does this all end? When do we just let this be over? When do we get a break, an end?

Relief?

I think I see it clearly now. We're saving each other, but destroying ourselves at the same time. The sacrifices we make feel like they're cancelling each other out, Like they're no good. They're harmful.

I guess we will have to accept our fate.

But we can't. We've never been like that. We're Team Free Will, for crying out loud.

The truth is sinking in, no matter how much my mind rebels against it.

Even "Team Free Will" doesn't escape clean out at the end. Not really. I don't think that will happen. I don't think we'll live forever, and I don't know that I want to. I don't know about Dean. Maybe he does, now. Or maybe he just wants to die.

Maybe he doesn't even know what he wants.

It feels like a plan to give up, or to betray everything we've ever stood for.

But it's not like we'll just be sitting around like helpless babies waiting for death to take over. We'll go down fighting in the end, I know that much.

It still feels like betrayal. But maybe it's the right kind of betrayal. I don't know if that's an actual thing, but if it was, this would be it. The kind of betrayal that, after a long, bad period, makes everything right in the end. Right in the way Winchesters have never been before.

Maybe it will bring peace.

Freedom.

Ironic. Team Free Will could finally, really, be free.

I rip out my headphones. I can't take any more of this kind of morbid thinking right now. If I can just focus on the case, this W2 thing, maybe everything between Dean and me will hurt a little less. Not that I would hurt less; I think I've accepted what's going on enough that my pain and regret just kind of feels like a dull ache.

Dean would hurt less if we focused on this case.

I get up and go down the hall. The singing and the running water has stopped, which is a relief. I rap on the bathroom door, my other hand balancing a heavy leather journal that belonged to some crazy Dominican hunter in the 1900s. This guy's claim to fame was his extensive knowledge of wendigos, and his name was Juan Diego. I honestly doubt that that was his real name, but Dean should get a kick out of it.

There's no answer, so I pound on the door again.
"Dean, hurry up. I think I found something on the wendigo werewolf case." I tell the door.

The door handle is locked when I jiggle it, so I go across the hall to Dean's room, just to check. He's not there.

Great. So now he's completely ignoring me. That's just great.

My feet freeze for a second on the carpet, a raging debate flashing through my mind. Should I let it go? Or should I go confront my brother?

My feet start moving on their own, and I find myself in front of the bathroom door again. So I let my hand reach up and knock.

"Dean?"

My name is moaned...but it's not in Dean's voice.

Dean's voice is boisterous. Sarcastic. Demanding.

This voice is small. Scared. Pleading.

"Dean! What's wrong?"
No answer.

"Okay. I'm coming in….get out of the way."

I wait a few seconds, then back up and kick the door in.