Open Secrets

Chapter 3

The Winchesters found the lodge owner sitting in an armchair behind the main desk of the lodge headquarters. He wore thick glasses and squinted at a large print thriller novel. He looked up as the boys entered, then stood heavily.

"Oh, you don't need to get up," Sam said quickly. "We were just wondering if you could point us toward a restaurant."

"Well," Williams said, "I can tell you there's a diner not too far from here, just right down the street." He paused and then lifted a finger. "But Jenna tells me that I can type in a search on this computer and it will give you a whole list."

"Oh, that's alright," Dean said quickly. "I'm sure we can—"

"No, no, don't you worry, this'll just take a second," Williams said, waving a hand. "I just have to figure out how to…" but his voice trailed off as he quickly became distracted trying to work the computer.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, but Sam just shrugged.

"So how's the filmmaking going, boys?" Williams' cheerful tone now sounded slightly forced.

The Winchesters exchanged a look.

"Well—," Dean started.

"I hear you've been looking for people to interview." Williams paused in his typing to glance over his glasses at Dean in a look that could only be interpreted as chastisement. Dean held the look for a moment, but then turned away. Williams went back to clacking at the keys. "I don't want you boys asking Jenna about the disappearances. She's going through enough, trying to find her son. She doesn't need to deal with recounting it."

"Yes, sir," Sam said quickly. "Absolutely."

Williams frowned at them for an instant longer, but then his face softened. "But just because I don't want you talking to her doesn't mean I don't know anything. I've owned this lodge for nearly thirty years, you know."

There was a pause interrupted only by the slow click click of the keys as Williams resumed his typing.

"Really," Dean finally said.

"Uh-huh. And I happen to know something you fellas might not know." Williams abandoned the keyboard, looked left and right suspiciously, then leaned toward Sam and Dean. The boys unconsciously moved closer, too. Williams' voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and Sam had to listen carefully. "This isn't the first time this has happened," Williams said. "This same thing happened, probably twenty years ago now. 'Bout ten people went missing."

Sam glanced significantly at Dean. Finally, here was a third party witness. But to Sam's surprise, Dean looked anything but relieved. Rather, he looked very nervous.

"Funny business it was. Sad, too," Williams continued. Sam pulled his gaze away from his brother, who was becoming obviously, and increasingly, uncomfortable.

"Do you remember much about those disappearances, Mr. Williams?" Sam asked.

Williams adjusted his glasses with one finger. "Boy, I may be an old man, but there's some things that stick in your mind, no matter how old you get."

Sam nodded sympathetically, trying not to sound too eager for information. "What can you tell us?"

Williams frowned. "There's not much to tell, to be honest. Only one couple survived, and they got a little strange after the attacks. They moved up here from…California, I think. You could talk to them."

Sam frowned, disappointed. "Thank you, sir, but we've already spoken to the Snows. Do you remember much about any of the other people who disappeared?"

Williams stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Yeah, I remember a little. 'Course, the one I remember the best was the last one, because they were staying right here when that little boy went missing. I remember that family like it was yesterday."

Sam bit his lip to stop himself from asking questions too quickly. Now that he thought about it, this last disappearance had to be the most significant. For one reason or another, the attacks had ended after it. "What were they like?" he asked casually.

"Oh, Sammy, you don't want to go digging up memories like that," Dean said casually.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he looked at Dean. Since when had he ever cared about digging up painful memories?

The old man paused before answering. "I don't mind. Just wish I could do something to find that kid. Was just a baby, really, just getting good at walking around on his own. Sure was a real chatterbox though. Cute little thing he was too, always giggling and smiling."

"Do you remember what happened?" Sam asked.

"Sure," Williams said. "Little family showed up, just when all these people were going missing. The dad, can't remember his name now, he told me he was there just wanting to spend some time with his boys."

"His boys?" Sam asked, stressing the plural. "He had more than one son?"

"Sam, just leave it alone," Dean said, this time a little more forcefully. "Let's go grab some dinner."

But Williams seemed not to hear. "Yeah, he had another little boy. Must have been five, six years old. Goofy-looking kid, but real smart. He was quiet. I never could get him to talk to me, but he'd carry on these full conversations with his brother. Really charmed my late wife."

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Mr. Williams, but we're short on time. We really should get going," Dean said. The finality in his tone was practically tangible, but Sam wasn't finished. It wasn't so much what Williams was saying that made him suspicious, but the way Dean was reacting to it.

"What else do you remember?"

Williams glanced from Sam to Dean. He seemed to have finally picked up on the tension between the two, but he answered anyway. "Oh, they were here for a day or two; it was a short stay. They hardly ever left their room, but sometimes the father would go out into the woods for a few hours at a time. It really worried my wife. She was afraid he was leaving the younger boy alone with his brother. He wasn't old enough to be taking care of a toddler. I wasn't too worried, myself. I never saw a father more protective of his children. You could tell he sure loved those boys."

Sam felt a little shiver go up his spine. The room suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. He could hear his heart beating. But no, he told himself. There was no way that it could be…

"Then one night, the father—what was his name?—he comes bursting into the office here, yelling for me to call the cops. He was carrying the older boy in his arms. Poor kid had a nasty goose egg on the back of his head. My wife tried to patch him up while me and the dad went out into the woods. Said that he'd come back to the room, found the door open, his older boy down for the count and the younger one missing. He was totally panicked, but that didn't slow him down, he just went straight out into the woods, started barking orders at me. I wonder if he was in the military," he added as an afterthought. "Seemed like a military man. What was his name?"

Sam's throat was very dry. He swallowed, but his voice still cracked a little as he spoke. "What happened then?" he asked, trying to sound casual and disinterested.

"Well, that's just the strangest part of the story," Williams said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I went out in the woods, yelling for that little boy, middle of the night and all. Finally gave up after a few hours and came back here, just to find out that the dad was gone. My wife told me that the father had collected up the older boy and sped out of there so fast that he actually left some of his things in his room. He left before the police even showed up."

Sam licked his lips. He made a point of not looking at Dean in his peripheral vision; he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control what came out of his mouth if he saw his brother's face. "You don't…happen to have the things he left?"

Williams waved a hand. "No, we had to turn them over to the police. There were just a few things, though. A t-shirt, must have been one of the boys'. And a book with some pictures stuffed in it, like bookmarks, mostly of the boys with their daddy. The police used one of the pictures to try to find the little boy, but they never did. Shame. I wish I knew what happened to that kid. The look on that father's face…it was just tearing him up that he couldn't find his son. I've never seen such a look on a man's face. He looked…haunted."

Silence sat heavily in the little room. Dean scuffed a shoe against the wooden floor, looking very much like an overgrown five-year-old. Finally, Williams broke the silence.

"Well, anyway, there were no more disappearances after that. The police eventually just gave up. And then they all started up again just recently. I just hope Jason and Jenna have better luck finding their little boy. He's a smart kid." Williams' eyes filled. "And he sure loves his great-grandpa. I'd give anything to find him." There was another pause, and Williams smiled through his tears. "Look at me, sitting here telling stories like an old man. But maybe if people hear about what's going on, it'll help the police find Jordan."

Sam tried to give a comforting smile, but he couldn't quite get his muscles to work right.

"Thanks for the information," Dean said mechanically. "And, don't worry about the restaurant. We'll just go to that diner you mentioned."

"Oh. All right then, if you're sure. Remember, right down the road, about ten miles or so," Williams nodded.

Sam followed Dean outside, working hard to keep his emotion in check.

"So how about dinner?" Dean said with false cheerfulness.

Sam turned his back to Dean, his long legs taking him quickly back to the room. "I'm not hungry."

"Ah, come on, Sammy, sure you are."

Sam spun around angrily, staring Dean down. "No, I'm really, really not."

"Sam, look, just let me—," Dean started. There was real remorse in his eyes, but Sam was too angry to see it.

"We were here, before, when we were kids," Sam said. He somehow managed to keep his voice even. "And you didn't feel the need to tell me about that."

"Sam, I swear, I didn't know either, until—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"No, you knew. Even if you didn't know for sure, you figured it out, you guessed at it, didn't you." Sam could feel his chin trembling from the effort of holding back his anger.

Dean just stood there, clearly looking for something to say.

"It's just that same old thing, isn't it. Dad, with his secrets. You, doing whatever he tells you to. He was the one who sent you here, wasn't he?"

Dean rubbed at the stubble on his chin, not responding.

Sam shook his head in frustration. "Well, here's your big chance, Dean," he said. His voice was a growl, low and dangerous. "Tell me the truth. Why did you ask me to come here?"

Dean's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sam counted to ten, but when Dean hadn't responded by then, Sam threw up his arms and turned his back on his brother.

He heard Dean call his name, but he didn't stop or turn around. He paused at the door to their room just long enough to hear the car door slam and the engine rev. Sam turned to watch the tires spin in the gravel parking lot, and then the Impala tore out, squealing, onto the road.

Sam wrenched the door open, his rage seething just under the surface. He picked up his backpack and started shoving his belongings into it. He kicked at the bed frame, trying to vent his anger. He couldn't believe that Dean had lied to him. Well, he had tried to make amends, had tried to fix things, but this was it. He was finished. Dean obviously didn't need him.

Sam shouldered the pack and exited the room, locking the door behind him. All he had to do was get out on the main road, where he could hitchhike back to school.

He made it about ten feet before he realized how childish he was acting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that if he walked out now, that would be the end. The bond of brotherhood he and Dean had always shared would be irrevocably broken.

He stopped in his tracks and sighed; he could see his breath in the cold night air. He didn't want to leave, but he also wasn't ready, just yet, to try to patch things up with Dean. He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he could sort through his research again, try to find some sort of pattern in the victims.

His mind made up, he turned back toward the room, but took only one step forward before he stopped. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. He had the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching him.

He turned and surveyed the dark parking lot. Several trucks, a beat up sedan, and a police cruiser sat silent and dark. There didn't seem to be anyone out here except Sam himself. He chuckled softly and shook his head. He was getting jumpy, just standing out here in the dark.

But when he heard the crunch of gravel behind him, he knew he wasn't just being jumpy.

His heartbeat picked up, and he swallowed. He didn't turn around, and instead took a cautious step forward, his fast breathing echoing in his ears.

He stood stock still for just an instant, trying to decide if it would be better to put up a fight or run away. But he didn't have time to over-think the point, and burst into a run, toward the door to the lodge headquarters, which, unlike his room, wouldn't be locked.

He didn't make it very far.

He sensed a quick motion, followed by a sharp pain below his right ear. His pack, hanging over his right shoulder, cushioned him as the gravel of the parking lot rushed up to meet him. He had the chance to think, oh, this is bad, before the darkness claimed him.

i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the small diner, but he didn't get out of the car. He wasn't hungry, either, not after Williams' revelation, but there was no way he was going to go back to the room right now.

He pulled his cell phone out of a pocket, thumbing through the numbers quickly: there weren't that many there. He went straight to Sam's name at the bottom of the list, his thumb hovering over the "call" button. But he wasn't ready to talk to Sam, not yet. Not without some answers. So instead he went to the number at the top of the list. There were some things he needed to know.

The phone rang for several minutes before a rough voice picked up. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Bobby, it's Dean."

There was a beat. "Dean. Is everything okay? You hurt?"

Dean's eyebrows knitted. Bobby wasn't usually so quick to jump to conclusions. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine…just, I have some questions for you."

"Oh. What can I do for you?"

Dean cleared his throat. Here was the moment he was dreading, but he had to ask it. "Have you ever found anything that made you think…that maybe some, um...urban legends...might be real?"

"Like Bigfoot?"

Dean sat in the silent car, his mouth hanging open. "Uh, yeah, actually."

"Look, Dean, I don't want to get in the middle of this. You should ask your daddy. He shoulda told you himself, a long time ago."

Dean felt like his mind was going in slow motion. This was not the way he had pictured this conversation going. "What are you talking about? What about my dad? How do you even know about his hunt? Did he tell you?"

There was a sigh on the other line. "Dean…"

"Bobby, I'll talk to my dad." Dean let out a self-deprecating chuckle. Or try to at least, he thought. "But you gotta tell me what you know."

"All I know is that John told Jim that he was sending you on a hunt alone, and Jim told me. We both tried to talk him out of it, but you know your dad."

Dean tried to swallow the little burst of humiliation that hit him. So everyone had known that this was Dean's first solo hunt. And apparently, Bobby, at least, had been sure it would result in failure. He heard Bobby's first words to him echo in his head: Is everything okay? Are you hurt?

"Um, yeah, I do know him," Dean finally said. "Sounds just like him."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Maybe you just oughtta call him..."

Dean clenched his teeth, and let out a slow breath. "I will, but I need some information first."

"About Bigfoot." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, how did you know that was what I was going to ask about?"

"Well, that was what your dad said you were hunting."

A number of choice phrases sprang to Dean's mind at this disclosure. He shook his head. That was a discussion to be had with Dad, not Bobby. "Fine, whatever. Just tell me, is it true? Does he really exist?"

Bobby sighed. "I'm not sure. Kind of, I guess."

Dean sighed angrily. "Bobby, I'm not really in the mood for riddles. Just tell me."

There was a pause on the line, and Dean's suspicions flared again. He'd never known Bobby to sit and think about what he was going to say before he said it.

"There is definitely something out there, and your dad thinks it's Bigfoot."

"Thinks?"

There was another short pause. "Hunting ain't exactly a science, boy. Some hunters think one thing, and some think another, and your dad thinks that Bigfoot is real."

"Is it?"

"Dean, I don't honestly know. Your dad got his information from some Indian shaman or something, so I guess it could be. But I've never heard or seen anything personally that make me think it's real. Why do you think John never told you about this before? Most hunters'd think he's crazy."

Dean was beginning to get frustrated. "Just tell me what you know."

Bobby sighed, but he didn't try to qualify his information any further. "According to your dad's source, years ago, this Bigfoot thing was a protector, sort of like a spirit animal. The Indian tribes called him 'big brother.' He protected them from other tribes, and then later, the white man."

"But that doesn't make sense. There aren't any tribes around here that I know of."

"Your dad thinks it's working on instinct," Bobby said, sounding very skeptical. "Trying to do it's job even if there isn't a job left to do."

"So was that couple telling the truth?" Dean asked. "The first ones that went missing?"

"The Snows? Johnny told me about them. It sure seems like they are."

"But Michelle Snow told us that…" he couldn't quite get the word "Bigfoot" out. "…the creature sort of played cat and mouse with her. He'd let her go and bring her back."

Bobby let out a breath. "Well, as I see it, there are two possibilities. It could just be part of its MO. Maybe it relies on the person's fear or emotion or something to keep it going. There're plenty of creatures that absorb emotions."

Dean nodded. That sounded plausible enough. "What's the second option?"

"The second option is that that poor woman is flat out crazy and she just somehow managed to escape before the creature chewed her up too."

Dean sighed. Why couldn't it have been a nice, routine vengeful spirit or something? Things always got all complicated when creatures entered the picture…

"Is there anything else you know?"

Bobby chuckled. "Look, Dean, I'm not even sure I believe what I just told you. This is just what your dad says he found."

Dean rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get frustrated. "Right, I got it. You don't believe it. Did Dad tell you anything else?"

"Just that it's supposed to be a really good killer. Supposed to have super-senses, or something. Your dad thinks that if he smells your spilled blood, he can track you for the rest of your life."

Dean thought about that. He suddenly remembered that Mrs. Snow had mentioned Angus Haden cut his leg open while looking for his friends. And he had been the first victim this time. His father's theory seemed to be true.

"Super." Dean took a deep breath. "Well, I guess now I just need to know how we kill it."

Bobby cleared his throat. "You'll have to talk to your dad about that."

"What? Why? Just tell me."

"Hey, I'd love to, kid, but I already told you I don't think there's even such a thing as Bigfoot. You ask me, sounds more like a skinwalker or a wendigo. I can tell you how to kill either of those, but I got nothing on Bigfoot."

Dean suppressed another round of curse words. "Fine. Sam and I can figure it out."

"Sam?"

"Yeah, you know, my brother, Sam. Tall, really geeky?"

"I don't need lip, Dean just answer the question. You brought Sam?"

Dean paused. "Yeah. I figured you knew. You know everything else. Dad told me to bring him."

"Your dad told you to bring him?" Bobby sounded genuinely angry now.

"Yeah. He was pretty stiff about it too. Wouldn't let me go without him."

"I'm guessing you didn't tell Sam that," Bobby said.

Dean bit his lower lip and chose not to answer.

Bobby swore. "Dean, you gotta keep a close eye on him. You gotta watch out for him."

How many times had he heard that advice before? "I will. Don't worry. I'll talk to you later, Bobby."

"Sure, Dean. Bye."

Dean sat in the silent car, trying to process everything he had heard. His hands were shaking slightly, anger burning through him. He thought he'd gotten used to this brand of enigmatic secrecy from his father: it was just how things were. But that didn't mean he had to like it. Especially not now, when his dad's great plans had royally messed things up. And then there was Bobby's skepticism to consider.

But Dean had never known his father to be wrong, or at least not this wrong, about a hunt. Even though it sounded crazy to Dean, he was inclined to side with his father. If John Winchester believed that Bigfoot was attacking people, then Bigfoot was attacking people.

Dean sighed. He needed to talk to his dad, needed to know the details of their previous trip here. But Bobby's doubt and the fact that no one seemed to believe him capable of hunting this thing had made him feel reckless. He wanted to prove that he could do this on his own. He didn't know how he was going to kill it, but there had to be a way. He'd just have to find out.

And to do that, he'd have to talk to Sam.

He knew it wouldn't be easy, making up with his little brother. Sam wasn't likely to understand or believe any of Dean's reasoning, but he had to try. And the best way to do that was to start off with the truth.

He was back at the lodge before he even really knew what he was doing, rehearsing progressively lamer apologies in his head. He approached the door, starting his speech before the door had even opened all the way.

"Sam. We need to talk. About what that guy said…"

He stopped mid-sentence, looking around the room. All the lights were off. The TV was off, the A/C was off, and the bathroom was unoccupied. Dean stepped further into the room.

"Sam?"

There was no answer. Probably stepped out for a walk or something, Dean thought. Sam sure was the type to take a long, brooding walk. He pulled his phone out, dialing Sam's number absentmindedly. As the phone started to ring, he looked around the room, trying to find the notes he knew his brother had been making.

"Hi, this is Sam. Leave a message."

There was a short beep, and Dean closed the phone, not surprised that Sam wasn't answering. He was probably still angry enough to ignore a phone call. He couldn't really blame him, either. He decided he'd give Sam a while to cool off, talk to him when he got back to the room. But where was that backpack? He knew how specific Sam was about his notes. He always kept them organized and always in that backpack.

He filtered through a stack of dirty clothes he had been accumulating for the last few days, muttering under his breath. The room wasn't that big, after all. There weren't that many places for the backpack to be…

Dean stopped suddenly. His stomach dropped as an unsettling thought reached him. He opened several drawers, looked in the duffel on the small table. He stood and ran a hand through his hair.

None of Sam's stuff was here, and there was only one explanation. Sam must have run out on him.

It was like the moment Sam had announced that he was leaving for Stanford, except that Sam had run out on him this time, him and not Dad, and that made the realization that much worse.

He sat down heavily onto the bed. So that was it. Sam was gone. He was really on his own.

i!!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i

Sam woke slowly. His face was pressed against something rough. And the world was moving. He opened his eyes gradually, experimentally, used to the disorientation that came with waking up from unconsciousness. But for some reason, this felt different. This wasn't dizziness…he was actually moving.

With that disturbing thought, his eyes flew open all the way.

He was being carried, rather unceremoniously, through the dark forest, like a sack of potatoes. It was very uncomfortable, and he tried to straighten out, tried to get away, but his attacker just gripped his legs more tightly. This close to the hair the creature's smell was nearly unbearable, and that mixed with his the pain from his head almost caused him to be sick. He stifled a gag as the creature shifted his weight and let out a little growl. He tried to relax, knowing he couldn't get away, but at that moment the creature stopped walking.

Sam knew a terrifying moment of weightlessness, and then he connected with the top of a sharply slanting hill. Gravity sent him sliding downward, but his momentum was violently arrested when his right foot hooked on to a protruding tree branch, forcing his leg to straighten. There was a faint pop, and then a sharp shooting pain. His leg twisted unnaturally, and the movement loosened him from the tree branch, allowing him to finish the fall down the hill.

He landed on the ground with an oomph, his shoulder banging hard onto the packed dirt floor. He lay there for a moment, trying to breathe, trying to fight back the pain in his leg, and then he couldn't hold it in anymore. He let out a scream that fizzled out into a disjointed list of every swearword Dean had ever taught him. It took a while. Dean could be unusually creative when it came to cussing.

Finally, drained, he put his head back, gently, because he could feel a bump where he had been hit.

This was not good.

His breath came in sharp gasps; he tried to relax and breathe more deeply. He pushed himself into a sitting position, trying not to move his leg. Then he scooted back to the wall of the little cave. When he got there, he took a moment to rest and figure out what he was going to do.

That was when he realized there were sounds in the cave. Sniffling.

Somehow, that just didn't seem like the noise the evil beast of the forest would be making. "Is someone there?" he asked softly.

A small, shivering figure came out of the shadow on the other side of the wall. It was a little boy, Sam realized. He was wearing blue jeans and a stained t-shirt. Dirt was streaked across his face and through thick, short-cropped blonde hair. Watery blue eyes met Sam's, but he didn't move much closer.

"It's okay," Sam said through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to hurt you. Come here."

The little boy moved a little closer. "You yelled."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"You swared."

Sam winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that too. Didn't know I had an audience."

The boy seemed to absorb that, and then he came over and plopped down next to Sam. "My name is Jordan."

Sam shifted his weight in surprise. "Jordan Burke?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

Sam smiled without any humor. "I've sort of…been looking for you. Is there anyone else in here?"

The boy frowned. "Like who?"

Sam tried to remember the names of the two people who had most recently been attacked, but gave it up quickly. His leg was making it hard to focus on anything else. "Uh…I don't remember. An old man, and a boy?"

Jordan shook his head. "No, it's just me." He still seemed wary of Sam.

"It's okay," Sam said. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Jordan's chin shook just a little. "But can you help me?"

Sam sighed, wishing he could offer the kid more hope. "I don't know." He gave the boy a long look, but he couldn't think of anything to say, and he needed to take care of himself before he could even think about trying to help Jordan. He reached down and carefully rolled up his pant leg, hissing slightly to stop himself from introducing the kid to a whole new round of obscenities.

"Did you get hurt?" Jordan asked softly.

There was really no use denying it. The screaming had probably given him away. "Yeah." He inspected the leg carefully. It was definitely broken. If the shooting pain wasn't enough of a message, he could tell it was already starting to swell. He needed to act quickly. He carefully untied his shoe and slipped it off. Jordan watched over his shoulder with wide eyes.

"Hey Jordan, do you want to help me with something?"

Jordan nodded silently.

"See if you can find any sticks in here. Some straight ones, about this long." Sam held his hands about a foot apart.

"There aren't any sticks, but there's some pieces of wood in that corner." He didn't move, watching Sam as if waiting for a stamp of approval. Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and the kid jumped up to fetch the piece of wood. He wasn't at all sure that a chunk of wood was going to do the trick, but he had to splint it somehow, and quickly, before he lost the tenuous grip he had on sanity and consciousness.

He slipped his coat off, then his flannel button-up shirt, and finally his t-shirt. The air was biting cold against his bare skin, and he hurriedly replaced the flannel shirt. Jordan was looking longingly at the discarded khaki jacket, and Sam realized it had probably been a while since he was really warm. Truth be told, Sam was pretty cold himself, but Jordan looked so small, shivering in the damp dark.

"Here, wear this," he said, holding the coat out.

"It's yours."

Sam grit his teeth as a new wave of sensation flooded from his foot up. He put on a fake smile and handed the thick jacket over.

"Nah, I'm not cold. Got my shirt here, see?"

Jordan hesitated for one more instant, and then his instinct for self-preservation won over. He took the jacket from Sam's hands and slid into it. The sleeves were far too long, and the hem reached his knees. He looked like he was drowning in a sea of khaki. Despite this, he looked up with a broad smile on his face.

"Thanks, mister."

"You can call me Sam."

"Thanks, Sam."

Sam picked up the two by four piece of wood that Jordan had brought him, surveying it. There was a long crack down the middle. He hit it sharply against the edge of the wall, and the wood split almost exactly down the middle.

"Finally some good luck," he muttered. He took the two pieces and set them down next to him, knowing the hard part was about to begin.

"Okay, Jordan, here's the deal. See this funny little bump here?" Sam indicated his leg. Jordan nodded, starting to look a little scared. Sam had to admit he was a little scared too, but somehow it calmed him, to say it out loud like this. "It means my leg is broken. I have to splint it, or else it can be very bad, okay? I'm probably going to make some noises. You don't have to be scared, all right?"

Jordan nodded again, but he backed away just a little bit. Sam could hardly blame him. He wasn't looking forward to this either. With shaking hands, he ripped the t-shirt into strips, which he could use to tie the splint on. He prepared the chunks of woods and his t-shirt so they would be all set up when he was ready.

"I have to tie my shirt here around these two pieces of wood. That sounds pretty easy, right?"

Jordan nodded, but Sam guessed it was just to be agreeable. After all, he was just a kid. Sam doubted any of this made sense. He vowed silently to try to explain all this, to do anything to help the little boy, but to do that he had to take care of himself.

"If something happens and I…fall asleep, you need to tie this together, like this. Do you think you can do that?"

Jordan nodded again, but his lower lip was trembling. Sam wasn't at all sure the kid would be capable of helping him if he needed it, but he needed some insurance, as little as it might be, before he started this. If he passed out while he tried to do this, he didn't want to have to try to re-splint it. He didn't think he could even if he tried.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Here goes nothing."

He reached down and let out a long breath. Then, as quickly as he could, he lined the pieces of wood up and tied them together, as tightly as was possible with shaking hands. A blinding pain, even worse than he'd expected, flashed upward from his foot. It was enough to make him nauseous.

Sam had had a lot of injuries over the years. Hunting and good health just didn't go together. He'd been stabbed, cut, concussed, bruised, and, on one memorable occasion, thrown down a well. But this was one of the more excruciating pains he had felt, made more so by the fact that neither Dean nor his father were here to help him.

A yell started to bubble up from his throat, but he suppressed it and kept himself moving, checking to make sure he'd done everything right. He thought it was right, but it was difficult to splint one's own leg. The important thing was that it had some stabilization, at least until he could get to a hospital and have a doctor do it properly.

He forced himself to relax, trying to keep his mind on anything but his leg, thinking maybe he could hold it together. But it in the back of his mind, he knew it was a lost cause.

He scooted closer to Jordan, away from the little door where he had been thrown down. The kid looked terrified. "It'll be okay, Jordan, all right?" Silent tears were running down Jordan's face, and Sam regretted that the kid had had to see that.

"I need you to wake me up in a few minutes. Can you do that? It's very important."

Jordan nodded. "And then can we find a way out?"

Sam tried to smile. "Yeah, we can."

"Okay."

Sam tried to make it look more like he was laying down to take a nap than passing out, but the fact of the matter was that splinting your own broken leg with a two by four and a t-shirt and no painkillers after getting knocked out was just not napping material.

He was out before his head hit the ground.

A/N: Thanks again for all those of you who are still with me! I hope you're enjoying it so far. As always, here's my shameless plug for reviews: if you have any feedback for me, good or bad, I'd love to hear it. Any feedback helps me improve. :)

Also, thanks to jenilee, Cat, and Spinners0end for your thoughtful reviews. You really helped me tighten things up for this chapter. Y'all are amazing!