PART THREE

Sam had conked out within twenty minutes of hitting the road and Dean wanted to ignore the flutter of unease in his stomach that caused but couldn't.

They were just outside of Hungry Horse on day two of their trek. His brother was, again, sleeping in the passenger seat. Sam wasn't bouncing back as quick as he wanted (needed) but Dean thought (hoped) this trip would put him on the right track. Snatching the Rolaid softchews off the dashboard, Dean shoved the last two in his mouth. He wished he could wipe out whatever was bothering Sam as easily as he could quell the burn in his stomach.

Reaching out his right hand, Dean settled it softly on Sam's left shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Hey, dopey, time to rise and shine."

Dean was expecting a slow wake up, hands fisting slowly blinking eyes. What he got was Sam exploding upright in his seat, eyes wide with confusion and panic, grasping hard onto Dean's arm. "My eyes...are they black?"

There was no one behind them on US-2 but Dean put the turn signal on out of habit as he guided the Impala to the side of the road with this left hand. His right hand was being held hostage in Sam's bruising grip. "Sammy, it's okay. There's nothing wrong with your eyes. We're on our way to Montana, remember? Sam? You with me?"

Sam's breath was puffing his chest up and down as he frantically gulped in air, his eyes roaming around the interior the car, not stopping, always searching. Dean twisted in his seat, breaking Sam's hold on his arm. Now that he had the use of both hands, he cradled Sam's face, forcing his head to still, halting the frenetic searching. Urging Sam to see what was in front of him.

His brother's posture slumped down until Dean was staring levelly at Sam's bloodshot, not black, eyes. Sam made a concerted effort to bring his breathing under control, staring unblinkingly at Dean. "Was I dreaming?"

The strained, soft quality of his brother's voice made Dean want to pull him into a hug, like he'd done when Sam was a toddler. But Sam wasn't a toddler. He was a newly back-from-the-dead adult and Dean wasn't sure what to do. He reached into his bag of tricks and went with the tried and true, big brother swagger. "According to you, dreaming is lollipops and candcanes. For me it would be a curvey red head in a king size bed with nothing on, inviting me to join her. I'd say what you were having was a nightmare. "

Sam leaned away from his touch, his eyes gravitating toward the front windshield. Dean let him move away, but not too far. There was a glaze to Sam's eyes that Dean didn't like but his skin had been cool to the touch. "We're here already?"

Turning his head, Dean saw the sign proclaiming Hungry Horse was at the next exit. Dean wanted to say something snappy, like nothing got past his genius brother, but his heart wasn't in it. "We're here. You slept most of the way. You feel like seeing if the good Sheriff is around to answer our questions or do you want to grab a room first?"

Sam's right palm ground into his eye and his other hand clapped over his mouth, staving off a yawn. Dean willed Sam to show some enthusiam, a tiny spark, toward the reason they were in Montana. "Do you think the Sheriff will offer us some coffee?"

Dean could've given a whoop of delight but instead settled for grinning. "Okay, let's do it."

The county run sherriff's department was in Kalispell, about thirty mintues away, but while doing reconnisaince Sam had discovered there was usually a man stationed at the Hungry Horse Police Station which happened to be located around the corner from what passed as the main drag. A population of less than 2,000 people—down at least eleven since the animal attacks began—wouldn't have much in the way of a police force. Dean only hoped they had coffee.

Grabbing up the badges he'd made up last night in their motel room, Dean pinned one to Sam's jacket lapel before securing his own on. Sam didn't even bother to check out the names,either trusting in Dean's work or too tired to care. Dean beat Sam to the door and opened it up, ushering his little brother inside with a slight push at his lower back. Sam's hair was sticking up at all angles, bedhead achieved without the bed, so Dean hoped the sheriff didn't get a load of his brother's hairstyle. It definitely belied the professional image they were trying to project. Not that Dean really knew Wildlife Control even had a professional image to uphold. Dean licked his palm and smoothed down some of the more wild strands standing out on end.

Sam glared at him. "That's beyond gross. Don't ever do that again."

Dean smiled benignly at his brother. It was good to see even a little of Sammy's fire. Now if only he could direct that into the hunt. And staying awake. "Maybe you oughta get your hair cut then."

Shooting past the still glowering Sam, Dean moved toward the desk in the middle of the room. There appeared to be only one person on duty and that person was sitting behind the desk. "I'm Simmons with Professional Wildlife Control Service and this is my partner, Stanley. Is the Flathead County Sheriff on duty right now? We'd like to have a word with him."

The man, a really tall man with a battle weary look on his face and dark hair that tumbled around his face with cowlicks all over the place stuck out his hand. "I'm Frehley. What can I do for you?"

Sam sputtered and Dean pounded him on the back. A snort escaped as Sam clapped his hand over his mouth and coughed to cover his laughter. Dean was able to contain himself only by not looking his brother in the eye. Frehley? He wondered if maybe Peter Criss was lurking in the back of the station, ready to make the Kiss reunion complete.

With a sweep of his arm, Frehley invited them to sit in the metal folding chairs across from his desk. There was no spark of name recognition and Dean could only hope the sheriff knew more about what was going on in Hungry Horse than he did classic rock bands. "We're here to investigate the animal attacks in the area. What can you tell us about them?"

The sheriff sat back in his comfortable looking leather chair and took a long sip of coffee from a styrofoam cup. Sam's nose twitched appreciatively at the aroma but their host didn't offer them any. Instead, he cut right to the chase. "I've got to say, each case in and of itself isn't too much to get excited about. Animals fight back when they feel they, or their territory is threatened. But it's the number of attacks, and the types of animals doing the attacking, that makes this kind of interesting."

Sam's arms were crossed, denoting his unhappiness over not being offered coffee, but he kept his tone even. "Can you tell us more about these attacks? The deer herd taking apart the three hikers seems pretty tough to top."

Frehley's lips pulled into a scowl. He glared at Sam for a moment but when Sam refused to break eye contact, the man gave in. "I'll tell you what tops that one. The rabbits."

Dean shot a glance at Sam afraid another bubble of laughter was going to emerge. Dean was sure having a hard time maintaining his own composure. Between Sheriff Frehley and his awesome bedhead and now rabbits, Dean was beginning to think this hunt was a no go. His stomach gave another flutter and his good humor disappeared.

Frehley continued, "Joss Wyland was hiking in the foothills and as far as we can tell, he was attacked by a nest of rabbits. At least that's what forensics came up with."

"Excuse me, wouldn't that be a husk of hares?" Dean turned incredulous eyes on his brother. Not only was Sam dueling with the sheriff over messy hairstyles and caffeine, now he was trying to one up him with his grasp of the English language. Dean gave his brother his best what the fuck look and was pleased when Sam settled back in the crappy metal chair, suitably chastised.

The sheriff actually smiled for the first time since they walked into the station. "You've got style, Stanley. And I admire your sense of humor. Can I offer you boys a cup of coffee?"

Sam instantly perked up and Dean thought for a moment his brother was going to hug the man.

This was more like it. Pursuing the leads. Not taking every stupid thing they came across so seriously. Just being.

A warm styrofoam cup was thrust into his hand and Dean cautiously took a sip. Black and strong and just the way he liked it.

"As I was saying, the number of attacks we've had in the last two weeks has outpaced what we had all of last year. In the last two days, we've had the rabbit incident as well as wild boars running amok, taking out a bunch of campers, and a mountain lion that got another hiker. That one has what none of the other cases had to offer, a survivor. Let me get a map and I'll show you were the attacks occurred."

Sam was clutching his cup, mouth turned up in happiness, cheeks aglow as he sipped the strong brew. He waggled his eyebrows at his brother and Dean grinned back.

His little brother had always had a knack for winning people over, but this might be the first time that challenging someone over their word usage had gained them their cooperation.

Dean knew there was a reason he kept Sammy around. The entertainment value alone was worth it.

-0-

After securing a room at the Mini Golden Inns motel, the best lodging in the area according to Sheriff Frehly, Dean hustled Sam back into the Impala and headed for North Valley Hospital, about 17 miles away in Whitefish. The plan was to interview the lone survivor of the animal attacks, Mr. Busch, age 36.

The coffee had temporarly perked Sam up but the fading daylight showed that the color was seeping from Sam's skin again, leaving him pale. After the interview Dean vowed to get Sam some good food and then settle him in for the night. He'd done more today, what with making the trip to Hungry Horse and interviewing the sheriff, than he'd done since they'd limped back to Bobby's after the events in Wyoming.

The sheriff had been true to his word and called ahead, letting the staff know that Officers Simmons and Stanley from Professional Wildlife Control Service would be there to speak with Mr. Busch. Dean watched with one eye on the very pretty, very perky Vicky, RN, who showed them to Busch's private room while the other eye studied Sam, whose face had assumed the faraway look of a sleepwalker again.

Dean not so subtley deposited Sam in a chair while he made the introductions to Mr. Busch, whose right leg was stretched and placed in a pulley system above the bed and whose neck was restrained by a brace. That didn't even begin to cover all of the gouges and scratches littering his exposed skin. "I know you've been over this before, but could you please tell us again about what happened to you Mr. Busch?"

"Please, call me Barry." The man looked down at his hands folded on his chest which was good because it gave Dean a moment to digest his name. Barry Busch. It must have been hell on the kid, a name like that. A look toward his brother showed that Sam was sporting a wan smile. His energy was flagging as quickly as the color in his face but at least he was with it enough to appreciate their witness' name.

In a halting voice, Barry started his tale. "We were up on the pass, me and Harley, Joe and George, talking about what a great day it was to be outside. Harley and his wife had been fighting and he was happy to get away for a while." Barry looked up and made eye contact with Dean and frowned, dissatisfied with whatever he found on Dean's face. Dean was trying to use his empathetic look but something must have been lacking. Barry's eyes wandered over to Sam who was looking sick to his stomach and that must have been the look Barry wanted to see because he nodded his head before continuing on. "It came out of nowhere! One minute we were standing there, laughing, and the next this huge thing was hurtling through the air, knocked Harley clear off the outcropping."

Barry's attention was now completely on Sam and Dean turned so his little brother would be easily within his view, too. Sam had a nauseous look about him and he was clutchng his stomach. Dean knew it had nothing to do with the story Barry was telling; Sam was the one who usually got stuck on autopsy duty and he'd not only heard about much worse, he'd seen it up close and personal without spilling his cookies. His brother's stomach gave a grumble and Dean realized the kid was starving. Fortunately Barry didn't hear it and continued his story for the more sympathetic Sam. "I'm not proud of it but I ran. I can't believe I left the guys there but my instinct was to get out and I listened. I thought I'd made it when I was tackled from behind. Mountain lion had me pinned down and there was nothing to do. I don't know what happened but the lion just took off." Barry's face was buried in his hands, no easy feat with that contraption around his neck. "I guess I was screaming my head off because a large group of hikers came running along the path. They got me out." Barry peeked between his splayed fingers at Sam, almost whispering, "but there wasn't enough left of the guys to even fill a body bag."

Sam, hand still cradling his stomach, rose to his feet. "So why do you think the lion came after you and your friends?"

"The authorities believe we provoked the lion somehow and the big group of hunters scared him off. I've never heard of lions attacking in this part of the country. I don't know what to think. I just miss my friends." Barry's attention was back on his hands which were twisting nervously.

Dean opened his mouth but Sam beat him to the punch. "Did you happen to notice anything strange before the attack? Maybe hear or smell something that seemed out of place to you?"

Barry latched on to Sam's question with all he had. "I thought I heard a faint neigh in the distance. Didn't think much of it because horses are so common in the area. Do you think it was a horse that spooked the mountain lion?"

Sam wasn't the only one exhausted by the day's events, Barry's eyes were beginning to close. Dean let Sam say their goodbyes and then they made their way out into the hallway. Sam turned to him. "So what do you think?"

Just then Sam's stomach gave a hellacious growl and his brother grimaced. Dean patted him on the shoulder. "I think it's past time for your feeding, that's what I think. Frehley told me to try out the Huckleberry Patch, it's just down the road from our motel. Let's get a move on it before you start scaring the locals."

His brother shook his head but didn't try to dislodge Dean's touch.

The hunt was shaping up pretty damn well in Dean's opinion. If you discounted the fact that they didn't know why animals were going on the rampage. Tomorrow they'd take another crack at it. But first, food.

-0-

Ted Noonan walked through his garden. It had been warm enough by late mid morning to move his pride and joy, his guinea pigs, out of the heated pole barn and into the outdoor compound. He knew they were bred to withstand cold temperatures but he couldn't bear the thought of them being uncomfortable. It was really just a pen with water and food feeders but Ted had done his best to make it homey. He'd put down sawdust, enought to coat the pen, and was always on the lookout for things that would make his pets more comfortable. Like the elaborate stairwell and lookout deck he'd built. Nothing was too good for his pets.

He knew his children thought he was a silly old man but now that Maggie had died, he found comfort in the small critters. His children meant well but they'd scattered all over the country. The guinea pigs were completely dependent upon him and they weren't going anywhere. And they were very sweet, demure animals that didn't give him any grief or backchat, unlike his children had in their teen years.

The compound resembled a pig sty more than it did a suitable place for his pets. It was still warm enough that he didn't need to take them in so he put a partition in the middle of the pen and started moving the guinea pigs over one by one. First he picked up Simon and gave him a scratch behind his ear, the place that made his hind leg jump. He listened for the pet to purr. "Hi Simon, how's it going today? You didn't let those brothers of yours push you around, did you?"

Next was Alvin. Alvin was always getting into things and was a lively scamp. "I see you've made a mess out of the living room again. You always have to be tearing into things, can't leave well enough alone." With a final pat, Ted moved the second guinea pig.

Ted's personal favorite came next; Ted always took quite a bit of time chatting with Theodore, telling him about his day. He'd barely made a dent in moving the 13 guinea pigs and halted as he reached for Theodore, his attention pulled away.

The sound of horse hooves could be heard trampling the ground in the distance. "That's strange, we're just outside of the city and it's all paved streets here. Not packed dirt."

Shielding his eyes from the sunlight, Ted stared into the distance. Nothing was distrubed and it was quiet, save for the noises his pets were making. Ted returned his attention to the pen, but a horse nickered from nearby. Twirling around in every direction, Ted tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. Maybe he left the TV on and the volume had gone wacky again. Damn foreign goods.

Ted dismissed the noise and turned around, bending over to capture Theodore for transport. Theodore, sweet, docile Theodore allowed himself to be lifted and as Ted brought him in for a cuddle, the little bugger jumped.

Upward.

Lunging at his face.

Not so much scared as startled, Ted stumbled to the side, his feet twisting in the pen. He crashed down hard, landing uncomfortably on to his side, unable to use his arms to break his fall because he was busy trying to keep Theodore from taking the brunt of the fall. Guinea pigs were fragile and he'd just die if something happened to his pets. Especially Theodore. His namesake.

His namesake was fine. His namesake was leading the charge.

Ted scrambled to find his footing, but guinea pigs were jumping on his back, nipping at his exposed skin. Their teeth were razer sharp.

Twisting.

Biting.

Ted covered his head and awkwardly rolled over, trying to climb to his feet. His head slammed hard into the side of the lookout tower and he saw stars.

Then he saw guinea pigs.

His last thoughts were of his beloved animals. Who would care for them? Something dug at Ted's eyes and his hands were so busy holding his intestines in, he could only blink.

His brain finally stopped churning, overcome with the horror of what had happened to him.

If he was still alive, he wouldn't have been able to see that his prized pets were stomping all over his body on their way to the garden and freedom—his eyes, along with other organs, had been mutilated by the tiny, ravaging bodies.

A horse pawed the ground nearby but no one was around to hear it.

-0-

The Huckleberry Patch had taken the edge off Sam's hunger. Dinner had been such a hit last night, other than Sam almost face planting in his French onion soup as fatigue set in with a vegeance, that the brothers had stopped back for breakfast. Blueberry pancakes smothered in syrup with a side bacon would give him the energy to spend the morning ourdoors while the hot coffee gave him the caffeine jolt needed to move him to the car.

Sam had slept a solid eight hours but it wasn't enough. He smothered a yawn behind his glove and redirected a blower so heat blasted him in the face. He wished he'd pulled on one more layer before leaving the room but Dean had maintained that it was going to be a nice day and they'd be plenty warm as they moved around, trying to pinpoint the locations of the attacks.

The car had stopped moving without Sam realizing it and he was now undergoing intense scrutiny from Dean. He couldn't blame his brother; he wasn't at the top of his game and that was dangerous. But Dean wanted to do this hunt so badly and knew Sam wasn't up to snuff so they were taking things slowly.

Dean grabbed the map Sheriff Frehley had given them and slapped it onto Sam's thigh. "Here we are, the entry point to Flathead National Forest. First stop, land of the psycho bunnies."

Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly at his brother and threw open the Impala's heavy door, cringing at the loud squeak. Dean ignored the noise, stomping toward the path. Over his shoulder, he called out, "Come on, Sam, shake a leg. We don't have all day. Oh, wait. We do. And I know you're a nature lover so this'll be right up your alley." Dean cackled gleefully and trudged onward. Sam didn't know why Dean was so happy; he was a city dweller, not a country boy, while Sam detested camping so it should've been a toss up as to who hated this more.

Ignoring the way his body rippled with cold in the crisp morning air, Sam followed behind Dean. The site where the attack of the killer bunnies took place had nothing out of the ordinary to recommend it, other than dark splatters on a tree that bespoke of violence.

Dean, looking snug in his warm leather jacket, shrugged his shoulders. "Let's see what's behind curtain number two. That would be where the vicious deer pack took out those hikers."

Both brothers noted the copious amounts of footprintes in the mud as they left the area behind. If there had been a clue left on the ground, it was deeply embedded in the wet ground and no longer visible.

Sam was grateful for the running commentary Dean supplied as they plunged onward. They'd been walking around for thirty minutes, tops, and Sam was already feeling the effects of the activity and cold. Pulling the collar up higher on his neck, Sam burrowed down into the material.

Something soft hit him in the face and his hands reached out automatically to catch whatever it was: A navy blue knit hat. "You're losing all of your heat out the top of your head. I know with all that hair you'd think you'd stay warm but it looks like you need another layer."

Turning the hat over in his hands, Sam stared at it, frowning. He hated hats. Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Come on, Samantha, I know it doesn't match your ensemble but surely you're willing to sacrifice your sense of fashion to stay warm."

Sam jammed the hat on his head, pulling it down over his ears. He did his best to poke his bangs to the side so he could see but they kept working their way loose and obscuring his vision. After much tucking and poking and pulling, Sam finally had the hat in place. He could feel his hair winging out around the material, framing his face. God, this was why he hated hats.

Dean broke out a round of golf claps. "You look beautiful, Sam. Now can we get a move on it?"

He knew he looked ridiculous but Sam had to admit he already felt better. Dean had been right. Not that Sam was going to tell him that. Dean would never let him forget it. Claim it was his big brother right or some shit like that.

The location of the deer herd gone wild didn't yield many clues. One again they found traces of the hikers along with what appeared to be deer prints. Not that either of them were experts on animal prints but the size seemed to be right.

Something caught Sam's eye and he wandered off the path, weaving between some evergreens. Something shiny had beckoned but it turned out to be a piece of plastic caught on a branch. Dean's concerned voice called to him, "Sammy? Everything okay?"

Sam's feet tangled in some brambles and he looked down so he wouldn't trip. This was why he disliked being outdoors; he felt like one big, clumsy oaf. A big clumsy oaf that may have discovered a clue. Hoof prints. Definitely bigger than the deer. And there was no cleft in the prints. "I maybe found something, come have a look!"

A hand at his elbow made Sam jump. He hadn't heard Dean approach. He hated the muzzy feeling in his head as much as he hated the way the knit hat made his hair wing out. Sam was relieved when Dean's voice was sedate instead of accusatory. He hated letting his brother down. "Don't go off four wheeling by yourself, doofus. We need to stick together. Now what did you find?"

Kneeling down, Sam lightly knocked some leaves from his find. "These don't look like deer prints. What do you think made them?"

Dean stepped across from Sam and knelt down on the other side of the prints. "Looks like a horse made it. Here's another one. But this horse isn't wearing shoes. Maybe a wild horse made these prints." The last was part statement and part question but Sam didn't have enough knowledge to hazard a guess.

Sam's cell phone went off, the theme song to Shaft softly playing. Law enforcement. "Is this Stanley? This is Frehley. I've got a question for you."

"Allright, I'll bite. What do you want to know?" Sam was trying to play it cool but he hadn't really expected the sherriff to call him and he was a little off kilter. What if Frehley had figured out they weren't with Professional Wildlife Control Service?

The sherriff's words dispelled Sam's concern. "What do you call a multitude of guinea pigs?"

Dean was looking at Sam intensely, pantomiming something in the air. It was totally distracting and Sam turned his back on his brother so he could concentrate on the sherriff who for some reason was asking Sam a question better left to a reference librarian. "Um, I think you got me on that one. What do you call it?"

"I call them killers. We've had another fatal animal attack and as hard as it is to believe, this time it was guinea pigs. We're told Ted McNally had 13 guinea pigs and they're all missing. Ted's body, or what's left of it, is lying in their pen." Frehley's voice was a bit breathless but Sam could certainly understand it; it's not every day that household pets, small household pets, overcame and murdered their owner.

Sam snuck a finger up inside the hat and scratched. Damn hats always made his head itch. "This might sound like a strange question, but do you see any other animal prints in the area? Like maybe a hoof print from an un-shod horse?"

"Interesting question. Let me look around some more. Hang on."

The hat was beginning to work its way off Sam's head and he balanced the phone in the crook of his neck while he reached up to snugg it down. Dean beat him to it, jamming the hat down so it covered Sam's eyes. Pushing the hat up, Sam turned around and met his brother's gleeful look with a snarl.

The sherriff interrupted Sam before he could harangue Dean about the hat. "There does look like a set of hoof prints next to the house. I'm having the area cordoned off. You want to tell me what the hell a horse has to do with guinea pigs killing a person?"

Sam pushed the front of the hat up so he could see again. "I don't really know what the connection is but we found similar prints by where the deer herd went on the attack. We're going to check out the other spots now and we'll be back later. I'll let you know if we find anything else. Thanks for the call, Sheriff."

Dean, who had taken to studying the map, looked up as Sam disconnected the call. "So you gonna tell me what that was all about? And since when are you and Frehly so tight?"

Rolling his eyes again, Sam fought against mild dizziness. Maybe his body was telling him to quit with that habit. But with Dean around, it was a hard habit to break. "Some poor schmuck got done in by his pet guinea pigs. And Frehley spotted some hoofprints."

Folding up the map, Dean nodded his head. "I don't know what it means but Barry mentioned a horse neighing. Maybe we're looking at animal possession? Let's hit the last place. It's about a hundred yards over that rise."

All Sam wanted to do was hike back to the car and get warm followed by a nap. But they'd come this far so they might as well get this over with. Sam didn't want to have to come back. In fact, maybe he could hustle things along a little. "You go left and I'll go right. We can cover more ground that way."

"No dice, Sam. The deal was that we stay together." Sam could tell Dean's patience was wearing thin, his voice testy.

But Sam wanted to burrow down into the bed and get warm. His patience was frayed, too. "We'll maintain visual contact. Come on, Dean. We'll get done quicker this way."

Dean halted his forward progress and turned around so he could face Sam. His brother's eyes swept over him from his muddy boots to the top of the hated knit hat, lingering on his face. Dean's lips pulled into a straight line but he finally agreed. "No going off on your own. No hot doggin' it. And you motion me over the minute you think you've got something."

Sweeping his hand in front of him, Sam countered with, "Age before beauty."

Scowling, Dean moved ahead with a burst of speed and Sam silently wondered where his brother got his energy from. Splitting to the right as they crested the ridge, Sam slipped and slid in the mud, trying hard not to trample any prints. His feet finally lost purchase and he tumbled, head over heels, until he landed against a slight sapling with a mild, "Oomph."

Dean's feet came crashing down the hillside. "Sammy, you okay?! Answer me!"

Amazingly, Sam was fine. His elbow was sore from where it had collided with the ground and he was filthy with mud but nothing was broken or even badly bruised. Climbing to his feet, Sam waved Dean off. "I'm fine. Go back to what you were doing. I'll take this area."

Slowing his descent, Dean stared, pointing at Sam. "You've got some, um, muck on your right cheek. No, your other right cheek. Never mind, you're a mess. We'll have to hose you off before you get in the Impala."

Sam huffed a sigh, but looking down he acknowledged he was a mess. The mud clinging to his legs was wet and shivering was now in full force. Wiping his dirt stained palms on his jeans, Sam refocussed. The faster he did this, the faster they could get back to town.

His eyes combed the area and he'd almost given up hope when he saw them: Barely visible hoof prints, a complete set, stark against the mud on the hill. It was hard to imagine a grown horse had left the marks, the indents were so slight, but Sam didn't know anything about wild horses and hadn't had a chance to do any research on them.

A noise on the breeze snatched his attention and Sam stilled his motions.

A horse whinnied.

The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up and he glanced around with only his eyes, trying to catch Dean's attention. Dean's back was to him and he didn't want to call out so his eyes spanned the hill, taking in all of the evergreens. Nothing.

Sam turned back to call Dean over and found himself face to face with a wolf.

The animal was gorgeous with a thick, white coat. Its luminous brown eyes blinked up at him.

Its barred teeth sealed the deal and Sam eased the gun out of the back of his waistband, unsure if he should break eye contact or maintain it. He didn't want to challenge the animal but he didn't want it to think it was the alpha here.

The wolf stood motionless, saliva dripping from its muzzle as a growl rattled in its throat.

Sam didn't want to shoot, the animal was beautiful and he was on its terrain. But the ghostly sound of a horse nickering whispered in his mind and it was enough to make him wonder it he was facing a wolf or something else.

Soft footfalls sounded behind him. Dean to the rescue. Except Sam didn't want Dean to get hurt. "Dean, stay back."

He whispered so softly he wasn't sure Dean heard him. He heard the unmistakeable sound of a gun cocking. Dean either didn't hear him or ignored him. The ground beneath Sam's feet trembled. "No, Dean, wait!"

Hooves pounded the ground in the distance. "What the--" Dean started to say but bit off his words.

Sam caught a glimpse of something behind the wolf. Sam lowered his weapon, praying Dean would do the same. "Don't, Dean, she won't attack us if we go away..."

Brown puppy-dog-eyes blinked up at them from behind the wolf's hind legs and two small noses sniffed in their direction. Dean latched on to Sam's shoulder, his grip powerful. "She's just protecting her pups," Sam explained softely.

He wanted to break into hysterical laughter, his relief was that acute, but they weren't out of the woods yet. They took a few tentative steps back and the tension melted out of Dean's hand where it clutched at Sam's shoulder. The she-wolf and her pups backed into the undergrowth of a bushy tree, lost to the network of green needles.

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Dr. Doolittle, let's get--"

Another whinny from nearby had both men wheeling around.

A big, black bear charged from over the hill.

Dean didn't wait to ask questions, smoothly pumping rounds into the bear.

The bear didn't care in the least, his gait unchecked by the bullets.

Sam plugged the bear several times himself. In the heart. Why was it picking up speed?