"What the hell what that thing?" Sam asked when they got back inside their room at the motel. They'd not spoken the entire drive back, both trying to comprehend what it was they'd seen.

Dean shook his head, pulling off his leather jacket slowly. "I dunno. I swear I've seen it before. There's something familiar about it."

"It looks like it could be a demon dog from any of the ancient European lore."

"No. This wasn't textbook. It looked kinda," he snapped his fingers. "Kinda like that werewolf in that Harry Potter movie."

"Harry Potter?"

Dean turned to him, wide-eyed. "It was on cable one day. I was bored."

"…O-kay. Well, even though it looked like it, I don't think it could be a werewolf. They don't come out during the new moon."

"What about a skinwalker, then? It could shapeshift into something like that. Fits the profile—attacking people for no reason, disappearing during the day."

"Yeah, but…do you think a skinwalker would be strong enough to do that much damage? I mean, that thing looked strong, but it didn't look that strong. Those people were torn in two."

"Well, whether or not it goes around ripping bodies in half I don't know. What I do know is that I wouldn't want to face what we just saw unarmed."

"That's another thing. If it goes around killing people, why did it lead us back to the car? I mean, it had to be that thing—it was certainly wolfish enough to be what we were tracking—so why did it let us go?"

"Maybe it saw the gun. Didn't want to risk it."

"After it tore that boy into five parts?"

"I don't know. This whole freakin' thing makes no sense."

Sam flopped down on the bed. "We need to look more into the local legends. Find out if there's skinwalker lore in the area." He lifted his head, looking over at Dean, who studied him for a moment, then raised a stern hand.

"No."

"Come on. You know there's no one…"

"I said no. We don't need her involved in this."

"What if I just ask? You know…"

"Sam, you start asking about skinwalkers and she's going to suspect there's more to this than our innocent fascination with Chupacabra research. She may already suspect that now. I don't want her involved. Swing by tomorrow, tell her we saw nothing, say goodbye and that's that."

"You're being a real jerk about this, you know?"

"Well…ask that other little friend of yours what happens to people when they get between us and shapeshifters. You want another friend bloodied and almost killed? Leave Angela out of this. It's the best thing for everyone."

Sam guided the Impala down Los Cruces, pulling up slowly in front of Angela's house. He hadn't bothered to call her before coming, so he hoped she was at home.

He turned off the engine, pocketing the keys in his jacket and bounding up the steps. Dean had elected to 'stay behind' to catch up on sleep, though Sam thought most of that was motivated by the desire not to see Angela.

It was times like these he wished he'd never gotten involved with hunting in the first place. Sure, he was way too involved to abandon it now—and he probably couldn't have avoided it, even if he'd wanted to—but the choices he'd made before their father's disappearance had given him the chance at something Dean had never experienced.

A normal life.

And times like these, when he got to go back and remember some of that life, he really wished his brother would just respect it, instead of constantly reminding him that that life was in the past. People like Angela gave him a little bit of peace in a world that was becoming difficult to handle, and for as much as Dean looked out for him, it was something he would never be able to provide. Security. Normalcy. The idea that some people could live forever inside the bubble of the good, never touched by the supernatural. Never touched by evil. And they could be happy about it.

He rapped on the frame. A voice filtered through from the inside, and Angela opened the front door just a few minutes later, bending over to unlatch the screen door. "Hi Sam! What brings you out here so early?"

"Just thought I'd stop by before we head out to the canyon. To thank you for everything and say goodbye."

"Aww. That's no good. You'll have to come back by tonight after you head out to the park."

"I think Dean's pretty anxious to be on our way. We heard about something like a Chupacabra a couple of counties over, and if this doesn't pan out…" he let himself trail off. Angela was wiping her hands with a dishtowel, staring past him, at the Impala. Through the plastic of the screen door, the car looked blurred.

And incredibly dirty.

She nonchalantly folded up the towel, eyes trailing back to his face. She'd only studied the car for a moment, but there was a world of emotion in them—confusion, coupled with something else. If he didn't know her better, he would say she was almost—disappointed.

Dean's words from yesterday ran through his mind. She has instinct.

He smiled widely. "Dean took the car out for a spin last night. Who knows what he did to it."

When she turned back to him, it was with an innocent stare. "It looks like he went mud bogging. What a shame, with that car being so nicely redone."

"Yeah, well, that's Dean."

"Hmm." She walked back to the kitchen, tossing the towel in the sink, and grabbed some dough lying out on the counter, shaping it into little discs. There was coffee in a carafe on the table. "Did you find anything yesterday? After you left?"

"Just the motel. Nice, by the way, thanks."

"Sure. How was the canyon?"

"Dark," he started to say, then stopped uncomfortably. Classic mind trick. She grinned at him.

"You really didn't think you were going to fool me, did you? Your brother wouldn't even pull up my driveway, much less take that thing out for a reckless ride through mud flats. The only way he'd let that car get that dirty is if he had to. So…what did you find?" She dumped the disc onto a hot iron plate on the stove, watching it carefully as it flattened out into a thick tortilla. She flipped it a few times, then placed it in a basket on the table.

He sighed. "Nothing."

"No Chupacabra, no wild creatures…nothing?"

He shook his head. "We scouted around, but we didn't find anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"Angie…"

The door to one of the bedrooms swung open, and Robert ambled out, rubbing his hair. "Hi."

"Hey, man."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I need something to eat." He plopped himself across from Sam, grabbing a cup of coffee and a tortilla from Angela's freshly made stack.

His face was drawn, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked weaker and more sickly than he had the day before.

"How are you feeling?" asked Sam.

"Same. Tired." The young man's strange eyes studied him carefully over the rim of his coffee cup. "You look a little under the weather, too."

Angela pulled a carafe of orange juice from the fridge and set it down in front of him. "Drink some of that. Seems Sam and his brother have a few of your late-night habits. They were out trolling the canyon for scary beasts last night."

"That's not a smart idea, if Angie's legends are correct," Robert said hoarsely. "You could get eaten."

"By the Chupacabra?"

"Maybe. Or something else."

"Roberto, that's enough," said Angie harshly. "Stop acting like a drama king. Sam knows about those kinds of things, he's not someone you can scare with spooky stories."

Robert blinked, then pulled himself up from the chair. "Right. Like you, a researcher. Sorry, chavo, I'm forgetting they still have those types of people out there. Angie, I'm going out to the garage." He swung open the back door. "See you later, Sam." He winched a little as his left shoulder brushed against the door frame.

Angie had her arms crossed, watching him go. "Cabron. He's such a pain. He's sick, and he won't bother to take care of himself. He stays up to all hours of the night, even though I yell at him to go to bed, and he wears himself out like you wouldn't believe."

"What's he got, if you don't mind me asking?"

She glanced at him. "It's a…blood disease. It makes him weak at some points, though at other times you'd never guess there was anything wrong with him."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay…we're used to it by now." She turned back to the tortillas. He tapped his fingers on the table, Roberto's words echoing through his mind. Or something else…

I have to ask her. I don't care what Dean says. She'll know better than anyone, and it'll be worth it to cut this job in half.

"Heya Angie…what did he mean by…something else?"

She craned her head, though she didn't turn back to look at him. "Nothing. He was talking out of his ear."

"But if you've heard something…about…some other kind of creature…"

"What other kind of creature?"

He swallowed. "Shape shifter, maybe?"

She turned around to face him, eyes wide. "Where did you hear that?"

"Is there something here? Any kind of legend about a metamorphing creature?"

"Yes," she said slowly, after a moment. "It's not as prevalent a theory as the Chupacabra—not many people have any kind of conclusive story to go with it—but some believe it may be a human who transforms into a wolf or coyote."

"You mean like a skinwalker?"

"Maybe. But it's just a rumor."

"But…this skinwalker—it could be the thing killing people, couldn't it? I mean, they're certainly more violent towards humans in the lore than Chupacabra."

"If you really believed it was an evil creature that's killed all those people, then yeah, I suppose it would make sense. Though it wouldn't explain why it's suddenly started killing people. The shapeshifter rumor has been around for years, just like the Chupacabra. Why do you ask?" She paused, taking in his expression. "You did see something last night, didn't you?"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Angie…"

"You didn't know about the legends of skinwalkers around here—I can guarantee you didn't find anything in those books, not even I've written about it. Must be something to make you curious."

I've forgotten how frickin' logical she can be. "We did see something. But honestly, I don't know to say what it was. It could have been a wild animal."

"Tell me."

He sat back. Dean's gonna kill me. "I can't really describe it. Dean got a better look. But it appeared to be some kind of a wolf or coyote. Just ugly—distorted. It was chasing us."

She was silent for a moment, thinking. "And this…this wolf thing—you're sure it looked—unnatural? It didn't just appear to have mange—or rabies?"

"It might have had mange, now that I think about it—but…it didn't look likea wolf, it was wolf-like. But that's where it gets weird—why it might be something more than just a wild animal. Because it didn't just follow us, it led us. Out of the canyon. And then it chased our car."

"But it didn't attack you."

"No, that's what's weird. It guided us to our car, then followed us—like it wanted to make sure we left. Dean saw it in the rearview and spun the car to catch it. I think it was surprised, because it stopped tailing us."

"What did it do?"

"It snarled, and took off. Dean got off a couple of shots, but it was gone before he could reload."

"You shot at it?" Her eyes were wide.

"Yeah," he stared at her for a moment. "It might have attacked us."

She frowned. "You should have been more careful."

"Don't worry about us. We're capable of taking care of ourselves."

"I'm not…I…" she trailed off. "Never mind."

There was silence between them for a moment. Angie pulled up a seat, whirling it around so she was straddling it. "Sam, really—you ought to be more careful. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. Or you brother. Whatever is out in that canyon, be it rabid wolf or shapeshifter—or even Chupacabra—it's dangerous."

"Angie," he placed a hand over her curled fist. "Whatever is out there, it needs to be found out. Otherwise more people are going to die. I can't explain why, really—but we might be the ones who can find it and stop it."

She bent her head. "You're going back out there tonight, aren't you?"

"We'll scout the canyon out today. Find a way to track whatever we saw last night. And if we have to, we'll go back tonight and get a closer look."

"But tonight's almost a new moon. You won't be able to see anything."

Sam grinned. You don't know my brother. If it's out there, he'll find it."

Angela smiled, though the grin didn't touch her eyes. "I guess not. Hunter at heart, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Mmmm."

He stood. "Don't worry, I promise, we'll be fine—and careful. We may be, uh, researchers, but we're also kinda used to doing things the hard way."

"I see. Well, still, be careful. I still think there are more things to worry about in that canyon area than just your average legendary creature."

"We will. I'll see you tomorrow, Angie. I hope your brother ends up feeling better."

"Thanks. I know he will."

He left her staring behind him, arms crossed.

Dean pulled into the Lake Samuel State Wildlife Park and Refuge at Llano Canyon later that day, giving the guard a cheery grin as he handed him the two visitors' passes. The older man smiled back. "You boys have a nice day. And no horse playing, the animals can be dangerous in some parts."

"Yessir," said Dean with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes.

They pulled up into the visitor's parking area, opting to avoid the larger parking lot—located next to the park rangers' service—and strolled out into the marked areas of the lake. Lake Samuel was a small, neat expanse formed by damming up the Rio de Vuelto river, on the eastern side of the lake. To the west, not marked as part of the park's recreational grounds, was a great deal of foliage and even wooded areas, with the mesa—which wasn't much of a mesa—rolling up to give the flat lands a slightly hilly look.

Dean walked down to the boat ramp as Sam went into the visitor's center, buying a couple of topographical maps of the area. He met his brother down by the lake, watching as diehard nature lovers ramped kayaks and canoes into the murky water.

He squinted, trying to avoid the glare of the sun off the water's surface. Dean was surveying the area nonchalantly, hands in pockets. They hadn't seen much of the lake since they'd been here—the area where the attacks had occurred was a couple of miles away from it. Around it, the scenery was silent, except for a few water birds calling over it and swooping down to scoop up a fish. The canoers' paddles made soft sloshing sounds as they cut through the water.

"Doesn't seem all that threatening now, does it?"

"Not on this side. I'm surprised the park service hasn't shut down the recreational areas, with all the deaths."

"Apparently since it all happens away from the public grounds, they figure whatever's attacking people won't come all the way out here. Course, they don't know what we do," Dean replied. "Let's hope for their sakes they're right, and our little shapeshifting friend is just too uncomfortable with the low Texas brush to leave the more wooded areas."

"That's not going to help much when the weather warms up. Not many families or even kayakers are going to be taking a day trip to that area right now. No one's going to be paddling that far and run the risk of getting caught in the dark on a cold lake. But when the weather turns, people are going to be heading out there for the scenery, and…"

"Right. Fast food central. We gotta find this thing, now, and get rid of it."

"Yeah."

"What'd the good ol' Park Service provide you with?"

Sam shook a few of the rolled up maps in his hands. "A couple of topographicals, and maps of the inlets and channels by the river. Seems that the area around the river, right before it hits the reservoir, is pretty heavily wooded. Almost like a forest. It's not too obvious, though, because everything else rolls into it. And that mesa—Devil's Hoof—overshadows it."

"Devil's Hoof? That's clever."

"It's because they say the thing looks like the hoof of a beast, but sharper. So…"

They turned, surveying the rise in the distance. It was barely noticeable, but it did resemble a hoof a little.

"Yeah, yeah, everything goes back to the devil in these parts. Has something to do with the heat."

"Yeah, well, you'd never be able to tell that now," said Sam, zipping up his jacket.

"You get cold in this? Remind me never to take you to Montana."

"I've been to Montana. And by the way, you're wearing a leather jacket, a flannel and an undershirt."

"What can I say? I come prepared."

"Well, let's hope so, you're going to need to be tonight."

They drove around the far side of the lake, following the dry dirt roads until they were heavily in the wildlife and away from the reservoir. It was much easier to scout around in the daytime, though they did have to explain themselves to two different park officials.

"That 'lost nature lovers' bit works every time," Dean commented after they waived off the second ranger, who warned them about the creature attacks.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing we had these," said Sam, gesturing to his binoculars and camera. He turned the camera around to snap a picture of another inlet road, one that wound down deep into the canyon area.

Dean shook his head, saying something under his breath about techno-geeks, but Sam ignored him. The entire day had actually been kind of peaceful—and very informative.

He'd managed to snap photos of every potential way into the river area while they'd driven around. He'd also managed photographs of some of the local wildlife—including javelina. They were unusual in that many of the creatures weren't that skittish, mostly due to the number of tourists who came around during the year.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least during the daytime.

They headed back to Campeon to scout more about skinwalker lore in the library, but Angela had been right about it—there was nothing in the histories. Even in her book, she only made a minor mention of them being related to the indigenous tribes who occupied the land before it was colonized.

Dinner was fast food and a couple of gas station snacks. They stopped by the motel to download his pictures and come up with a game plan, using what they knew of skinwalkers as a guide. When Dean felt comfortable enough with what they'd scouted, they loaded up their gear—which they'd stashed in case the Park service became too inquisitive during their tour of Lake Samuel—and headed back to the area just as the sun was setting.

Only a thin sliver of a moon lit the area, making everything seem much darker and more ominous than it had the night before, despite their having known the area.

Dean pulled the Impala into a grove similar to the one he had the night before, only this one was further to the west, making for a quicker exit should it be needed. The dirt roads wound around, making the attack points easy to get to, but also provided a pathway straight to a point on the river that made it capable of being crossed, if they needed to pursue something.

All in all, they were pretty well prepared.

Sam took out a breath, gathering up one of their rifles from the trunk. He slid a pistol into his pocket. "Ready?"

Dean nodded, a half-grin on his face, rifle in hand. "Let's do this."

The reached the first clearing as night settled on the area. Nothing much had changed; the authorities had finished the majority of their investigation, probably leaving the area marked in case they needed a second survey.

There was nothing really of note, so they pressed on, towards the second spot, where David Parker had died. When they reached it, they scouted around the area, then started down the path, towards the thick brush, where they'd heard the clattering noises before.

Neither the noise, nor the horrible odor, was present. Dean checked his gun just in case, and pressed forward, into the area they'd avoided last night.

They entered the thickly wooded area with maglites shining ahead of them. Even with the high powered beams, the area was much darker than the earlier clearings, which had much less vegetation. It was a little like going into the forests of the north woods, and a very odd contrast to the rest of the state.

Sam pulled his jacket closer around him, keeping his eyes on the shadows moving between the trees. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The sounds of a woodland at night were present, the river lapping calmly against its banks. Some of the lake fowl cried out in the distance.

They reached the river's edge, flicking their flashlights up and down the banks. Still nothing telling, and the river here was a little too wide to cross without swimming. Dean didn't relish the idea, considering alligators and water moccasins made the lake their home.

"We need to go up a little further," he said softly, shining his maglite down the length of the river.

"According to one of the park maps, there's a small man-made bridge that spans the river about a half mile from here," said Sam.

"Let's find it," said Dean. "Whatever this thing is may be making its home in the one of the ridges of that mesa. We need to cross the river to get to it."

They'd trekked about another quarter of a mile when a flock of birds, nesting in the trees ahead of them, launched violently into the air, squawking their displeasure at whatever had disturbed their slumber. Dean heard the click of the rifle as Sam locked his first bullet into place.

A low growl rolled from up ahead of them. The odor they'd smelled the night before spread through the air, and Dean coughed. It was thoroughly unpleasant.

From the southwest, a wolf's howl echoed.

Sam turned, glancing in the direction of the howl. It was away from the river.

The wolf howled again, louder and more direct.

It was drawing closer.

Dean raised his rifle, crooking his flashlight in the cup of his arm. Sam followed suit.

Something clattered in the forest behind them.

Sam whirled around, confused, checking for something coming up from the eastern side. Dean kept his back to his brother's, eyes focused ahead of him.

A twig snapped to the south.

Dean turned, momentarily distracted, as Sam swung his gun to cover both positions.

There was a low growl from the west, and suddenly the wolf-creature was in front of them, bent low to the ground, snarling. Up close, the creature had strange, tilted eyes, and a tannish coloring beneath the patchy fur. It was slightly less human-like than the night before.

It took off like the wind, barely giving Dean time to raise the rifle level and take a shot. Sam tore off in front of him, dashing through the tangled undergrowth, chasing the beast. Dean followed, light bouncing into the dark as they pursued the strange creature.

They came to a wide clearing, where the creature stopped, turning back to snarl at them. Dean didn't wait to get a clear view, just raised the rifle and fired, clicking the next cartridge into place as soon as the first was released. He got off three shots; the creature yelped as it bent down on its shoulder, nicked by one of the bullets. It tore off into the brush. Dean fired a final cartridge before it had completely disappeared into the vegetation.

Sam tailed after him this time, leaping over branches and shoving through the thick scrub that lined the river. They could hear the creature panting in front of them, snapping low bushes and pounding the dirt in a furious attempt to get away. It bent towards the south, using a hog run as a guide way before ducking back into the unmarked brush.

It broke into a clearing and stopped, sides heaving in and out as they emerged on the far side. Dean scrounged into his pocket, grabbing more cartridges as Sam raised his rifle. The wolf-creature watched them, blood dripping from its wounded shoulder.

Sam backed up, trying to get a clear shot as the creature paced around.

"Go on," Dean hissed, fumbling with his gun. "Shoot it!"

The creature growled, backing slowly away into the shadows. Dean watched, incredulous, as Sam simply let it go, refusing to pull the trigger.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Dean shoved the cartridges into the rifle and locked them into place. By the time he'd raised it, the creature had disappeared. "DAMMIT!" Dean yelled, whirling around. "What the hell happened? Why didn't you—"

He froze.

Sam still hadn't moved, but his face was taut, his eyes wide. He moved slowly forward.

"Put it down, Sam" said a soft, authoritative voice. "Now."

Sam swallowed, lowering his rifle slowly. A small hand reached out to grab it from him, tossing it aside, out of reach.

From the shadows, Angela Barrientes emerged, partially hidden behind his lanky form. She was holding something in her hand, against Sam's back.

"Dean," Sam said in a half-whisper.

"Shut up," Angela said. She gestured to Dean from the shadows. "Put your gun down."

Dean didn't move. He met her stare deliberately, and she stared back with that forcefulness he'd sensed in her before. Her dark eyes seemed almost black in the scant moonlight.

"Put your gun down, Dean" she repeated, nudging Sam, who flinched.

"Why are you protecting that creature?" Dean asked, gripping the rifle. The situation was spiraling out of control—quickly. "Why are you stopping us?"

"Put down your gun. NOW."

"Why are you protecting it?"

"I SAID NOW!" she yelled. Sam was suddenly down on his knees, his arm bent backwards behind him.

She had a pistol in her hand. It was pointed at his head.

"Put your gun down, Dean. I don't want to have to hurt anybody, but if I have to, I will."

He had the gun loaded, clenched tightly in his hands. If I have half a second…

"Do you really want to test me?" she asked harshly, a tinge of her accent cutting through. "Do you have any idea how many hunters I've had to take down? I've done it before and I can do it again." Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"What do you know about hunters?"

"More than you might think. About how to track them. And how to stop them." She pushed the pistol against Sam's temple. "I know how to stop them very well."

"You're protecting something that's dangerous, Angela. Do you want the blood of innocent people on your hands?"

"Do you? You assume the creature is dangerous because you don't know what it is. But you haven't actually seen it kill anyone, have you? You're hunting the wrong creature."

He paused. "Doesn't seem like I'm the one doing much hunting right now."

"I'm doing no differently than you are," she said.

"Oh no? You're going to shoot my brother," Dean said sharply.

"And you just shot mine."