Chapter Two: New Allies
All he did was blink. That's it. And now he was strung up in some damn tree? Logan looked around for his captors, wondering who could've gotten the drop on him like this. He extended his claws, slicing through some of his bonds. With a grunt, Logan freed himself and dropped the twelve feet to the ground.
Maybe the kid had something to do with this. If Victor hadn't killed him already, Logan promised himself that he and the kid were going to have a nice long chat. He needed to know who the kid was working for. And what was up with the salt? Maybe the kid was unbalanced, in which case he and Victor could be working together. Peering through the trees surrounding him, Logan spotted no sign of his captor. He scented the air. There was an odd smell, something he had caught a whiff of near the place where the body had been found. Before Logan had assumed the smell had to do with the body, now he wasn't so sure.
He started to head back to where he had last seen Victor, when that smell became strong again. Logan lashed out at the air around him, hoping to hurt his unseen assailants. There was a howl as something caught on his claws, but then it was gone. Growling, Logan tried to seek out his attacker, but then he heard the kid.
"Get down!" the kid hissed at him. The kid had a tree branch, one end wrapped with cloth. Logan watched curiously as the kid lit the cloth before heading over to join him.
"What's that for?" he asked with a grunt, because a torch? What century were they in again?'
"Fire," the kid answered simply. "It's the only thing that hurts 'em."
"Oh." Logan stared at the burning branch for a moment. "Got another one of those?"
The kid grinned briefly before shoving the impromptu torch into Logan's hand. "Watch my back," the kid ordered before heading for another decent sized branch a few feet away. He dropped a duffel bag to the ground beside it. Reaching in, the kid pulled out an old t-shirt. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he wound it around the branch.
"I think you hurt it," the kid was saying as he worked. "That's not good."
Logan cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yeah? Why not? I thought it was working out pretty well."
The kid shook his head at Logan as he pulled out a lighter. "Now it's mad."
"It," Logan repeated. "Kid, who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Dean Winchester," the kid replied proudly.
"All right, Dean Winchester, you said 'it'. What, exactly, is It?" Using his keen senses, Logan could smell when the fabric caught fire before the flame and smoke appeared.
"It's called a Wendigo," Dean replied, moving to stand back to back with Logan. "They start out human, more or less, until the bastards turn cannibal. Then they turn into these things, the perfect predator."
"Perfect, huh?" Logan growled. He had heard an awful lot about perfection in his life, but he had yet to see any.
"Damn near," Dean said. "We're lucky it's still light out. If we're still here in a couple of hours, we're dog food."
"Great," Logan grunted. "That's just what I wanted to hear." He turned to eye Dean warily. "You're sure slicin' an' dicin' 'em won't work?"
"Yup." Dean shrugged at him. "But if you really want to give it a shot, I won't stop ya."
Kids. Why was he always getting stuck looking after people's damn kids?
"We could just light things up," Logan suggested, waving his torch at the dry sticks and leaves covering the ground. "Might get lucky."
Dean turned to give him an incredulous glare. "Dude, you never heard of Smoky Bear?"
"Uh, no," Logan replied honestly. "Why? Friend of yours?"
Dean's eyes rolled expressively. "Not much point in saving people from a Wendigo if we kill 'em all in a fire."
Okay, so maybe the kid had a point. A little one. "I'm open for suggestions," he prompted.
"Suggestions?" Dean scoffed. "How about, let's get the hell outta here. Alive." He peered warily around them. "I'm gonna need some back-up for a Wendigo. Werewolf? Sure, no problem. But a Wendigo?"
"Werewolf?" Logan demanded. "Bub, there's no such thing."
"This from a guy with three foot claws coming out of his hands," Dean muttered with another eye-roll.
"Back to back?" Logan suggested, adjusting his stance so he could cover the kid's backside. "Won't be exactly quiet, but it might be safer."
He felt Dean shrug. "Whatever. I'm not arguin' with those claws."
Logan snorted a chuckle. "First smart thing you've said, kid."
"Don't call me kid," Dean snapped. "My car is that way." The kid used his gun to point. "It took me about an hour to hike out here."
"Great," Logan growled under his breath. "Time's a wastin'. Let's move."
The Wendigo made a few more runs on them before they reached the car, but it didn't seem to be really trying. That made Dean's stomach twist. He hoped the damn thing had left his car alone. When the black car, covered with road dust, came into view Dean heaved a breath of relief. At least it was still in one piece. Logan covered him while he popped the hood and then crawled underneath to check it out.
"Looks good," Dean announced. "Get in."
"Hurry up kid," Logan growled as he jumped into the passenger seat. "I smell somethin'."
He smelled something? Dean hit the key and had the big car in drive almost before the engine had a chance to catch. It squealed in protest of the mistreatment, but Dean had them on the road and the hell away from the rocky start of the former river tributary. He keep the gas pedal to the floor, the car sliding dangerously around dirt road corners, until they reached paved roads and buildings. Then he allowed the car's speed to drop down to the posted limit.
"What'd you smell?" he asked once he felt fairly confident in their immediate safety.
"Huh?" Logan turned in the seat to look at him.
"You said you smelled something back there," Dean explained. "What'd you mean by that?"
"Oh, uh, the Wendigo, if that's what it really is, has a nasty scent," Logan explained. The older man looked around the inside of the Impala, clearly taking stock. "So you live in this car, kid?" He picked up one of the dirty plaid shirts off the back seat with two fingers before dropping it. "Smells like it."
Dean kept his eyes on the road, his adrenaline rush keeping his nerves on end. "Pretty much," he admitted. "How about you? Live out in the woods waiting for guys like that to attack you?"
Logan scoffed loudly. "He wishes. Nah, I got a bunk a little ways north of here. I wouldn't call it 'home', but the sheets are clean and the food's decent."
Dean nodded. "So where can I drop you?"
"Tell ya what, kid," Logan said in a deep, serious voice. "I found a bar, just up this road a little ways. I'll buy the beer if you tell me all about this Wendigo thing and why you know so much about it."
Dean glanced over at the funky hairstyle, kind of like Logan wanted his hair to look like he had two giant furry ears on top of his head. "I'll buy my own beer," he announced, "and you can tell me all about big and fugly back there."
"You first," Logan insisted, his gaze shifting out the window.
Since the Wendigo was the bigger threat at the moment, and he could use the help of a dude with three foot claws, Dean agreed.
Logan stared over two empty beer mugs at the kid seated across from him. Now this character was either insane, and Logan was leaning in that direction, or Dean had an even more screwed life than he had. Choosing to go with insane because he couldn't really wrap his head around the alternative, Logan chose his next words carefully.
"So did the tooth fairy tell you that one? Or was it the Easter bunny?"
Dean started to make a face, but it was instantly replaced by a beaming smile. The waitress, a young cute thing, sauntered up to place two fresh beers on the table. She smiled and winked at Dean as she collected the empties.
He watched her walk away, eyes glued to the shrink-wrap shorts she pretended to be wearing.
"Hey, Bub," Logan prodded.
"Huh?" Dean still hadn't turned around.
"I said, where did you escape from?"
Dean turned back with a sigh. "This is why Dad says not to tell people," he muttered as he rolled his eyes. "Look Logan, I know it's difficult to accept, but it's true. There really are ghosts, werewolves, Wendigos, and all kinds of nasties who go bump in the night."
Uh-huh. "If that were true," Logan reasoned, "then the professor would know about it."
One of Dean's eyebrows arched. "The professor? You're in college?"
Logan glared. Hard. "Do I look like I'm in college?" he demanded. Dean's shoulders relaxed as he shook his head and reached for his beer. "The professor is a friend of mine. I'll go give 'im a call, see what he says."
Dean's eyes rolled. Again. They might fall out and roll away at this rate. Damn kid.
"Don't," Logan threatened with a growl as he stood, "touch my beer."
"Yeah, whatever." Dean waved him off. "Go call already."
Dean sipped at his beer while he waited for Logan to call his professor friend, so the dude with the deadly claws which popped out of his fists could call him crazy. Great. He ought to slip out while he had the chance. Yeah, actually, that was a great idea. Better to be alive and kicking than dead meat. After he slipped out, he could give Dad a call and bring in reinforcements. A freaking Wendigo. Man! And in the middle of two fuglies going at it, too. Could his luck get any freaking worse?
A furtive glance showed him Logan talking on the pay phone near the restrooms. Good. With a brilliant smile at their waitress, Dean threw down a few bills for tip before heading out the front door. At least he had his own car this time. Last time he had been out this way it had been with the sheriff. Couldn't exactly ditch the local law while riding in the dude's jeep. Jesus, that jeep. His ass was still complaining.
The last damn thing he needed was this Logan dude deciding he was crazy and getting in the way. Besides, if Dad took one look at those claws, he'd go after Logan. Dean had the feeling he and Logan were basically on the same side. And he wasn't too confident Dad could take Logan. Dad was good, the best, but Logan? The dude was freaky.
Deciding he wanted to be as far as possible from Logan before calling Dad, Dean jumped into the Impala and fired his girl up. He pulled out slowly, not wanting to attract attention, to head for his motel. Hell, he should probably drive to the next town and stay the night there, but he left some stuff in his room. Crap. Well, maybe Logan would talk to his professor for a while. Dean was pretty sure the guy was on foot anyway.
The Impala pulled into the motel parking lot looking pretty damned dusty even in the waning sunlight. He paused to look at her before heading into his room.
"Baby, if I had time, I'd bathe you. You know that." Sighing deeply, Dean pushed open the door to his room. It appeared untouched. Dean tried to pack quickly, but he had had a couple of shotguns out and disassembled for cleaning. Crap. He wouldn't leave without those in operating condition, so he took the precious minutes required to reassemble the shotguns and put away all of his cleaning supplies. Then he gathered the rest of his things in his second duffel. When both were packed, Dean headed back outside with the duffels over his shoulder.
After depositing his stuff in the back seat, Dean patted the top of his car. "First chance I get, Baby, you're getting a bath. Promise."
"That's a sign of somethin', you know," a deep voice said from behind him.
Oh, crap! Now how the hell did that happen? Dean turned slowly to face Logan, who stepped into sight from behind a SUV chewing on his damn cigar. He took it out of his mouth to wave around as he spoke.
"Talkin' to your car. Ain't a good sign, bub." He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and chewed on it while Dean's mind raced for anything that might keep this whacko from going into slicing and dicing mode.
Dean squared his shoulders as he met Logan's steady gaze. "Dude, I wasn't going to sit around waiting for you to tell me how crazy I am."
Logan snorted, glancing at the car and then him, clearly meaning Dean had just proven the point.
"Actually," another voice said, "I don't believe Logan was going to say that." A bald man in a wheelchair rolled into view, stopping right beside Logan. "Dean, is it? A pleasure. I'm Professor Xavier." Long thin hands folded in his lap. "We have a lot to discuss. I certainly hope you haven't turned in your room key quite yet."
Logan had watched the Professor interview people before, mostly other mutants, but he hadn't ever heard anything as outrageous as this.
"And spirits?" The Professor asked, leaning forward in his chair. "How do you kill those?"
"Salt and burn the remains," Dean replied with a shrug, soundin' like he did it every day. Hell, the kid might think he did, at that. This one needed a rubber room, and maybe some of them shock treatments.
"Fascinating," the Professor murmured before launching into another ridiculous question, no doubt trying to trip the kid up. Logan wished the Professor would just do it already. Victor was out there and so was some damn thing that moved so fast he couldn't even see it. He ought to be out there findin' the bad guys, not in here on guard duty to satisfy the Professor's curiosity.
Easy, Logan, the Professor's voice boomed in his head. Dean Winchester certainly believes he is telling the truth. The real question is, if he is right, why haven't we noticed it before now? He is describing ages-old threats to the entire human race, normals and mutants alike.
Logan snorted as he glared at Dean. He couldn't believe the Professor was fallin' for this crap.
"Yeah?" Logan challenged, breaking into the absurd conversation. "If alla this is true, why ain't I never seen it?"
Professor Xavier nodded slowly. "Logan does have a point there, Dean. He has been around for quite some time."
"How long?" Dean asked with a quizzical look. "Fuzzy over there doesn't look much older than me."
"Fuzzy?" Logan growled, clamping down on his cigar.
Professor Xavier chuckled and waved a hand in the air, his signal to back down. Fine. But the second the Professor said this kid was nuts, it was his turn.
"Please, Logan. Your thoughts are rather loud," Professor X complained.
"I ain't waitin' outside," he snapped. Logan had a feeling, from the way the kid moved and acted, that Dean could put the Professor in a world of hurt of he wanted.
"Oh, Dean wouldn't hurt me," the Professor said with a chuckle. "As a matter of fact, he has been wondering if his brother's college professors are as not-totally-boring as I am."
Logan rolled his eyes before shifting his gaze from the Professor's confident smile to Dean. Dean had an intense expression Logan hadn't noticed before, like they were being studied instead of doin' the studyin'. Then the intense expression was replaced with a cocky grin.
"So how old is fuzzy?" Dean asked, perfectly innocent. Right. As if. Smart-ass punk.
"I would prefer you not calling your father, Dean. At least not yet. I can assure you, Logan would be more helpful than a normal human if you are indeed hunting a Wendigo." Professor X nodded seriously. "Yes, I said normal human. You see, Logan and I are both mutants."
Now Dean frowned at both of them, his eyes shifting warily between them. "What the hell is a mutant?"
"Oh, come on!" Logan snapped. "Professor, he ain't serious!"
"Logan, maybe a demonstration for our young friend is in order," the Professor suggested. "He already knows I can read his mind, but Dean has assumed I am merely a psychic. Perhaps you can be more convincing."
Logan groaned, but he rolled up his left sleeve anyway. If the Professor thought it was a good idea, it must be. Besides, it wouldn't hurt. Not really. He extended the claws from his right hand, watching how Dean stiffened from across the room. With a grin, Logan pulled the adamantium blades through the flesh on his left forearm. He held it up for Dean to see it better. Within moments, the wounds stopped bleeding and the skin began to grow back.
Professor X sighed deeply as he stared at the kid. "Dean, since that was not good enough, perhaps I can convince you. Logan, this could take a few minutes." The Professor lifted two fingers to press against his temple as he stared at Dean. The kid got this far-away look on his face. Yup, the Professor was in the kid's head. Well, it wasn't like the Professor would get lost in there. Logan had a feeling there wasn't enough in the kid's head for that. He leaned against the wall to keep watch. He'd take boring guard duty with the Professor over an exciting one any day.
Dean blinked slowly, feeling like he was waking from a vivid dream. He had been dreaming this professor dude had been taking a walk through his life, from when Dad first started leaving him and Sam alone up to meeting Logan out by the lake, the Reader's Digest version. The room came into focus with the professor dude in the wheelchair opening his eyes and Logan glaring daggers at him.
"Logan," the Professor said in a strained voice, "would you be so kind as to bring a glass of water, please."
It wasn't a question, not really. It was pretty obvious the Professor expected Logan to do anything he asked. There was a soft grunt as Logan pushed off the wall. He walked over to the bathroom sink with heavy footsteps. All Dean could do was watch. His body felt heavy, like maybe he was still half asleep. Logan returned with a full glass for the Professor. The Professor accepted it with a shaking hand.
"What about the kid?" Logan asked as he handed it over.
The Professor shook his head. "I'm afraid he is telling the absolute truth, Logan. This young man has seen as many horrors in his short life as you have, despite the fact he has never been in a formal war." An elegant hand rubbed at his temple as he sipped the water. "Logan, you'll have to help Dean destroy this Wendigo before it attacks again. It is imperative. Then you may resume your search for Victor."
"You're not serious?" Logan asked, his wonder clear in his voice. "Professor, this kid needs a rubber room!"
"Says the dude with too much hair gel," Dean said. "How the hell do you get claws like that, anyway? Whoa, did I say that out loud?"
"Oh, I almost forgot. Logan, as long as Dean is with you, he will be unable filter his thoughts," the Professor said. "He is in a mental state very similar to inebriation, but without all those nasty side-effects."
"You mean I gotta listen to ev'rything comin' out of his head? Joy." Logan grimaced.
"I'm not too thrilled either, fuzzy," Dean replied. "Besides, I work alone."
"You were planning to call your father," the Professor pointed out, "for back-up."
Dean snorted a laugh. "Yeah, like he was going to answer. He's off with some hot old chick. You know, Fuzzy's type."
"Hey!" Logan barked at him. Dean laughed openly now.
"It's merely his mental state, Logan. You'll have to excuse it. I could have mentally projected the information on hunting supernatural creatures into your head, but I thought it might be a bit overwhelming. Instead, I made it impossible for Dean to withhold information from you."
"Like that's gonna work," Dean muttered. "I'm gonna sneak off first chance I get."
"Honestly, Professor, you think I can't handle it?" Logan demanded.
The Professor simply smiled. "Logan, I simply see no need for you to handle this alone. It isn't like you're going to be hunting these things the way Dean and his father do. Once you have helped Dean on this particular hunt, I will expect you to return to the business of mutants."
"Mutants, schmutants," Dean said, wondering why the hell he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. "They're all just people. And people are friggin' crazy." He snorted. "I'll take a nasty-ass poltergeist over a politician any day."
Logan chuckled. "You know, I might be startin' to like 'im."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, joy. Are we gonna do each other's hair, too? Cause I got a real good electric razor." He pointed at Logan's wild hairstyle. "It'll take care of that. And maybe the professor's got some nail polish we can borrow."
Logan's eyes squeezed shut. "I take it back. Please tell me we c'n get this over with ta-night."
Dean shook his head. "No way, dude. I'm not goin' after a Wendigo at night. If you want it to catch you again, go ahead. I'll come find what's left of your body in the mornin'."
"What's left?" Logan demanded, his eyes flying open. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Dude, you can't heal back, if they eat all of you." Dean shrugged. "Then again, you might be able to feed 'em for a long, long time." He shook his head. "Nah, I think they like hunting fresh meat, so that probably wouldn't work."
"What?!" Logan shouted.
"Easy, Logan," the Professor said in a calm voice. "He wasn't seriously going to suggest you offer yourself as a perpetual main course, Dean was merely voicing a random thought."
"I think I'd prefer he be able to keep things to himself, Professor," Logan said in a low growl.
"I do apologize, but I do not think that is a risk worth taking."
