"So, what do you think?" Sam shifted around so he could look at Dean directly.

Sprawling one arm over the back of the seat, he slid down and let his legs relax. They'd probably driven less than a mile in their search for a motel, but the Impala's heat cranked up fast allowing him to unzip his jacket and the hoodie underneath. The tenseness from being in the bar, surrounded by strange people and staring at a fire eased out of Sam. The beginnings of his headache started around the time their food arrived slipped away as the muscles of his neck loosened. Here in the Impala with Dean, Sam could relax completely and be himself, not who others thought he should be.

Dean snickered, "You mean other than the fact Bobby is pissed at me for saying we'd stay in a motel here and not at his place?"

"He's not pissed."

"Yes, he is. He doesn't get it and I don't know how to explain it to him. Maybe he's more hurt than angry and I'm sorry for that, but there's nothing we can do about it." Leaning forward, Dean craned his neck to look up and down the roads converging at an intersection. "Get your Mr. Wizard street finding thingy out and find us a motel."

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. Twisting around, he grabbed his computer bag and dug out his GPS. A minute later he had them a destination. He was grateful for Dean and his stubbornness. If there was one thing Sam could count on in life it was Dean would insult God himself if it was a matter of protecting Sam. Though, in this case Sam knew Dean was protecting himself almost as much as he was Sam.

"I think Forge wasn't telling us the complete truth, but I don't think it has to do with this case."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "I had the same feeling. Wonder why?"

Dean shrugged. "Things didn't exactly go so great the last time we met him. Maybe he feels guilty or just uneasy around us."

"You're probably right." Sam paused and took a deep breath, concentrating on keeping his voice even. "I'm curious how he knew about what happened with Redding's and the McCreedy's spirits."

"I've been wondering that myself, and I intend to find out."

"Hmm." Sam sort of felt sorry for Detective Forge. Once Dean decided he wanted answers from someone he was relentless until he got them.

Dean was still slightly freaked out if Sam stayed in the car while Dean went into the motel office so Sam amiably trailed alongside his brother. Ever since leaving Del Villar's compound, Sam accompanied his brother into service stations, motel offices and anything else they could park their car near. Sam never waited out in the car anymore. It didn't bother Sam; it never had in fact. What it did was get rid of the expression Dean would wear if he thought he'd have to leave Sam alone in the car.

Jesus, weren't they just the pair?

It struck Sam as ironic, it wasn't the werewolf they were tracking that was causing shivers to run through him; it was being around too many strangers and too many fires. For Dean those fears bubbled to the surface if he had to leave Sam out of sight in the car. Fortunately, their nightmares took turns. The one time they'd had dueling nightmares on the same night they'd gotten thrown out of their motel. Those were easing off, getting fewer and farther between for he and Dean. At least now they both had multiple nights in a row with peaceful night's sleep.

If the night wasn't peaceful then Sam took comfort in the fact his brother was right there whether he was giving or receiving the comfort.

While Dean hit the shower, Sam settled on his bed, laptop resting on his knees, Valkyrie curled beside him. The TV droned in the background. Sam did a search of news stories for the last three or four months for the area in general.

"Find anything?" Dean padded across the room, toweling his hair dry. As he walked by the bed Valkyrie's ears got a gentle swipe from Dean's hand, as did Sam's leg.

Sam looked up. "Huh?"

"Case? Any info? Or are you surfing cartoons?"

Ignoring Dean's jibe, Sam chewed on his lower lip. "It happened again, in the bar earlier, didn't it?" he blurted out. Yeah, smooth going, Sammy.

Dean stilled for a few beats, then turned away to search for clothes in his duffel. Valkyrie lifted her head, looked from Sam to Dean then turned in a circle, yawned and flopped back down. Her head resting across Sam's feet.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Dean was carefully not looking at Sam while he spoke.

Sam snorted and shut the laptop, shoving it on the table between their beds. "Like Hell you don't!" He'd taken the plunge and now was determined to see it through. "I was sitting in the car when you had that dream and I was right next to you in the bar when you—"

"I didn't do anything." Dean said quietly.

"Yes! You did. Do you think I don't notice when you zone out and look like you're going to pass out?"

"I do NOT pass out."

Huffing, Sam pointed to the laptop. "You spent months researching what to do for me, and you won't let me do any of it for you," he shouted. "We have all these things we do for me, rules and whatever the Hell else. They're good enough for me, but not for you?!" he snapped out.

"Sam, drop it." Dean's voice was low, a warning.

"No," Sam challenged, issuing his own warning. "What did you see?"

"Sam." The word was pushed between clenched teeth.

Sam stood his ground. "What did you see? What was it?" Off the bed in the next instant, Sam was right up in Dean's face. When Dean stood looking at him, silent, something in Sam snapped. "What the goddamn hell did you see?" The closest dresser was cleared in one swipe of Sam's arm.

Dean glared, silent and dangerous.

"Dean?" Reaching out, Sam grabbed Dean's arm with his hand. The way Dean's eyes dropped to his hand then came back up to his face told Sam he'd pushed too far. Dean's free hand came up, shoving hard against Sam's shoulder with his palm.

"I…said…no."

Letting his fingers drop from Dean's arm, Sam stood there watching his brother, not sure exactly what to do.

Dean stared back for what seemed like forever before turning on his toes and stomping to the other side of the room. Boots and a shirt pulled on, he grabbed Valkyrie's harness and leash. "Valkyrie!"

The dog was at the door, sitting up and looking tentatively between them in a flash.

"Where are you—?"

"She needs a walk."

Sam jumped when the door slammed shut.

The number of TV stations for Sam to flip through had been long since been extinguished when Dean came back through the door. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look ready to commit murder either.

Valkyrie was wagging her tail furiously and prancing like she'd gotten a grand prize. At least one of them had enjoyed the walk she'd been taken on. Once her harness was off, she wiggled her way to Sam's bed, nosing his hand for more attention.

He patted her head, "Did you have a good walk?"

Dean ignored him, shed his boots and jeans and got into bed, rolling so his back was to Sam.

Giving up on conversation or concentrating on anything, Sam kicked the sheet and blanket down, slid his legs underneath and pulled them up. He clicked off the light, but the room wasn't very dark. Valkyrie spent a few minutes making a nest at the foot of Dean's bed before he threw a pillow to her. She immediately burrowed into it and was asleep in seconds.

He'd just about thought Dean was asleep and was drifting off himself when Dean's voice floated at him. "You, sitting on that burning pyre." He spoke so softly that if Sam hadn't been awake and listening he'd have never heard.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as much to block the pain as to block his own memory of being forced by a spirit to sit on a pile of burning wood and light himself afire. "I'm sorry you saw that. Though, I have to admit I'm not sorry you were there." God that sounded so selfish. "I'm sorry, that's not—"

Dean actually chuckled at that. "I know what you meant."

"We can talk about it."

The rustle of sheets, and the shifting of Valkyrie against the pillow accompanied, Dean rolling to his back. "I know." He sighed. "Rules are rules and we did decide on them. Not now though, okay? Tomorrow or the day after."

"Promise?" Sam didn't want Dean thinking he'd forget or let this slide. When positions were reversed Dean was relentless in making sure Sam opened up about his dreams, reminding Sam over and over how bottling them up made every emotion that much worse.

"Yeah."

Sam didn't let his eyes close or allow himself to fall asleep until he was sure Dean was sleeping.


Traipsing around the woods on a bright, sunny morning wouldn't have bothered Sam so much; even if he was traipsing around South Dakota looking for evidence of a werewolf.

Werewolves were scarce, but predictable creatures. They followed a definite set of behavior patterns. This werewolf, if it was indeed a werewolf, didn't seem to follow any established pattern. It didn't just prowl and hunt at night, but was out stalking prey in the broad daylight. Most werewolves targeted very specific victims, and for specific reasons; mainly food and to populate.

This one seemed to hunt and kill for no other reason than it could. Bodies were left mangled and dismembered. They'd never heard of a body being left, either it was devoured, or the person was bitten and infected, later changing to a werewolf. To kill for what seemed the joy of it was definitely not werewolf behavior. Which brought Sam back to the question if it wasn't a werewolf then, what the heck was it?

He had no ready answer for that. Neither did Dean nor Bobby. It was a rare thing when all three of them were stumped; usually one of them saw something, discovered some fact to give them clues. Not since early high school had Sam been so stumped on what they was hunting. Nothing was adding up.

Forge pointed to a spot a few yards ahead, "That's where I first saw it."

The ground was still stained blood dark. Underbrush and plants were smashed at odd angles and small ridges of damp leaves and soil swirled across the path.

While Dean stepped around the area, Sam stayed planted on the trail, blocking anyone or anything from walking into the area. Kneeling down, Dean used a stick to lift up some of the leaves. "How'd you know?" He pulled a few strands of hair and part of a claw from the ground.

Forge wrinkled his nose and shrugged. "I dunno, the screaming, the blood, the limbs flung away from the bodies. Carnage like that is pretty hard to miss or forget."

Sam turned away so neither Dean nor Forge could see how he was grinning at their exchange. Dean was hell bent on answers and Forge was equally hell bent on sarcasm.

Dean straightened and gave Forge a genuinely perplexed look. Sam focused for a few seconds on his toe scuffing the ground. A conversation with Dean concentrating on one thing and talking about another was confusing at best, even Sam got lost on occasion. Forge had completely missed the meaning of Dean's question.

"How'd you know about Sam and me and the McCreedy brothers' and Redding's spirits?"

"Oh." Forge looked between them, somewhat sheepishly. He dipped his head at Sam. "Well, first Sam calls and asked me about how their bodies were disposed of, but you'd called me asking the same questions a week earlier." He smiled at them, the picture of innocence. "I figured you were having some trouble."

Dean's eyebrows went up and his head dropped forward. Sam met his eyes and shrugged.

Forge held up both hands and let them fall, hitting his thighs, "What? You two corner the market on deductive reasoning? I am a detective. And as I recall I pegged you as hunters pretty quick."

"Yeah about that too?" Sam picked up where Dean's questions left off.

"I'm a detective." Forge shrugged as if that explained everything and stepped closer to Dean. "What's that?"

Dean silently held out his open hand. Hair and slivers of nail rested in his palm. Forge peered down at them, but didn't touch. Looking past him to Sam, Dean rolled his eyes and mouthed the word cops making Sam smile again.

A few more minutes' searching gave up nothing else so they moved on.

"It chased me through there." Forge pointed out the direction. Dean took the lead, Forge following and Sam bringing up the rear.

After another quarter mile or so Forge stopped. Dean wandered farther up the trail, Sam stood next to Forge. The man shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched in on himself ever so slightly.

It was something Sam recognized instantly. "Coming back, facing the place without the events is surprisingly helpful."

Forge's eyes raked over Sam's face before he turned away.

"Especially when you know being here now isn't going to turn into a replay of then." Sam took a step forward. The guy had tried to help both he and Dean all those months ago. Sam wanted to return the favor. Besides, he knew it to be truth and good advice.

Eyeing him again, Forge took a few steps forward, coming to a halt midway between him and Dean.

"Hey, Sam, check this out."

Moving past Forge, Sam was at Dean's side in a few long strides. His brother was kneeling down, poking at something covering the grass and weeds on the ground. Sam hunkered down next to him. "It looks familiar, but I can't—"

Dean pulled out the EMF meter and scanned the ground, shaking his head. "Nothing. We should have brought Val, she's better than this thing."

"She'd make great werewolf snacks too," Sam pointed out. They'd left their dog in the car exactly for that reason. Dean nodded and pocketed the EMF meter. "What is that? I know I've seen it somewhere before."

"Got anything we can put some in?" Dean asked.

Sam automatically started patting down his pockets. He started a bit when a small jar and a tongue depressor appeared in front of him.

Forge rolled his eyes. "Cops."

Dean took the offered jar and piece of wood, muttering, "We should buy some of these."

Bits of something gooey and sticky were scooped into the jar. The stuff had no definite color, seeming to reflect whatever color it was near. There was a slight odor, nothing too offensive, but nothing Sam would want to spend time sniffing either. It had a gelatinous look to it, shimmying when the jar was moved. Dean spent a minute holding the jar up to the light, turning it one way, then another before he shrugged.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and did a brief survey of the treetops. "Yeah."

Forge snickered.

After handing off the jar of glop to Sam, Dean headed back the way they'd come. "Maybe our werewolf has a cold and that's its snot."

Sam made sure the top was screwed on extra tight before sticking the jar of snot-goop into his jacket pocket and followed Dean.

"So, what happened to you here?" Dean asked Forge.

"I don't remember much other than that thing grabbing me. This is as far as I got before it caught up to me. The thing ran me to ground, literally. There were lots of claws. It hurt. This is where they found me."

Dean seemed to digest that before asking, "And you were taken where again, exactly?"

"Where it is exactly, I don't know; your friend Mr. Singer wouldn't let me see the route we took. But it's called Haven, it's a legend—"

"I know what it is," Dean cut him off.

"You do?" Sam wasn't sure why he was surprised, Dean seemed to know everything about hunting. "You never said anything."

"Sammy, I've been there."

Sam's face must have dropped as much as it felt like it did, because Dean just laughed.

"So have you," Dean said conversationally, like he was talking about some pizza parlor.

"I have?"

"Yep. Don't you remember? Well, maybe not, you were only eight or nine or so I guess, just another stopover for us at that time."

Sam had been so many places in his life he couldn't possibly remember them all. Dean was right, if he'd been there it was most likely nothing more than another place to spend a few nights to Sam at that age.

"Bobby took us there. He wanted us to know about hunting heritage." Dean smiled and dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "So, I guess we go back and learn some more."

As they made their way back to the car Dean called Bobby to fill him in on what they'd seen. Sam couldn't help feeling some excitement curling around his belly at the thought of going to the legendary village. Dean hardly ever told him about these things, probably thinking Sam would find them boring, but the opposite was true. One thing Sam did enjoy was learning the past, the history of the life he'd had foisted upon him.