Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for patiently steering me through the plotting and writing process.


~ Chapter Four ~

The week following the wendigo hunt was not one of the best Sam could recollect. Dean was bad tempered, and Sam bore the brunt of the bad mood. Despite the fact they had no new case to work, Dean insisted that they move on from Fort Kensington, heading west through Nebraska and Colorado and into Utah. It seemed Dean was taking his mission to keep distance from Bobby literally.

When Dean eventually decided it was time for them to stop, they were in a town called South Fairfield, in Montgomery County. Sam found them a motel, and once again, he checked them in while Dean stayed in the car, singing along to the radio.

"I'm hungry," Dean announced, when they were situated in their room.

Sam grimaced. He hadn't had much of an appetite for a while, not since the warehouse in fact. He had been feeling off ever since that night, though he couldn't define what felt wrong. He wasn't seeing Lucifer anymore, which was a blessing, but something in him wasn't right. He would have liked to talk it out with Dean, but something held him back. Strangely, Dean hadn't picked up on Sam's disquiet.

"You want to go out or should I go pick something up?" Sam asked.

On the road, Dean had preferred to eat from takeout joints, and Sam had always been the one to go get it. He didn't mind exactly, but he thought his appetite might improve if he wasn't eating out of Styrofoam.

"Sure, go get me a burger," Dean instructed. "And don't forget—"

"The pie," Sam finished for him with a wry smile.

Dean nodded and returned his attention to the TV.

Sam shrugged on his jacket and made his way out to the Impala. In the past, he was lucky if Dean let him drive, but since the warehouse Dean had let him drive everywhere. Sam thought it was because Dean wanted him to have something to do rather than dwell on Lucifer and what had happened. Sam couldn't believe how he had almost been taken in by the fallen angel; things could have gone so wrong if he had chosen the wrong Dean.

He strolled along the sidewalk, enjoying the crisp evening air. It was good to be outside after days of being trapped in the car. The town was nice, small but well kept. The residents obviously took pride in their homes. As he passed a small house, Sam glanced through the window. He saw a family sitting down at a table, enjoying a meal together. He wondered at their lives. Were they happy? Were they satisfied? Sam had once been satisfied with his life. Back when he had Jess. It wasn't the life he was supposed to have had, though. From the moment Azazel's blood touched his lips, he had been cursed. He had overcome that curse, finally, but that didn't mean he could return to a normal life. He was a hunter, born and bred, nothing could change that anymore.

His thoughts had carried him to the diner, and he sat at the counter and placed his order with an over friendly waitress. She was attractive, beautiful even, but she held to allure to Sam. He didn't see people anymore, he saw potential victims that he could save. His father would be so proud. He finally had the hunter's mindset.

"Here you go," the waitress said, passing him a sack of food. "Is there anything else I can get you?" She smiled alluringly at him.

Sam shook his head politely. "I'm good thanks." He made up for his lackluster response by giving her a hefty tip, checking his bill fold as he did. They would have to make some cash up soon. Unless Dean had a wedge he wasn't sharing, they were down to their last couple hundred dollars cash. They had the credit cards, of course, but Sam liked to have a healthy amount of real cash, too.

He hurried his pace as he walked back to the motel, not wanting to let the food get cold. That would do nothing to help Dean's mood. He wondered at his brother's behavior. His moods changed like the flick of a switch, surly and unpleasant one moment and his good old self the next. Just when Sam thought he couldn't take anymore backbiting, Dean's mood would switch and he would be fine again. It was like he was purposely testing Sam's limits.

When he got back to the motel, surly Dean was in residence. He held out a hand for the food with a barked, "Took you long enough!"

Sam apologized quietly, and settled at the table with his own food.

"So," Dean said as he swallowed his last mouthful of burger, "you hear anything interesting while you were out?"

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "Hear anything?"

"A case, Sam. I'm talking about a case." Dean reached onto Sam's bed and pulled the laptop out of the bag. "I've been looking while you were out stretching your legs, and I think I found something in the news."

Sam's attention drifted from the salad he was poking at to his brother. "What is it?"

"Mysterious deaths in Springfield. That's two towns over," he added, seeing Sam's confused look. "Two deaths in two nights, and here's the best part; their hearts were gone."

"Werewolf." Sam sighed. Werewolves were not one of his favorite creatures to hunt. He couldn't put the fact they were humans underneath it all out of his mind. Madison had been proof of that.

"You thinking about Madison?" Dean guessed.

Sam nodded, his eyes downcast.

Dean shrugged. "Water under the bridge, buddy. She's dead. You ventilated her. Let it go before you bring me down with you."

Sam's eyes widened. He had become accustomed to Dean's moods, but this was a new level of low.

"It wasn't like that," he said quietly. "I had to do it."

"No arguments from me; the girl was a menace."

"It wasn't her fault!" Anger was coming to Sam's aid now. "She wasn't in control of what happened to her."

Dean rolled his eyes. "If you say so. Anyway, are we hunting a werewolf or not?"

Sam bit back his ire and forced his voice to sound calm. "Yes, we're hunting werewolves."

Two hours later found them in Springfield. They knew nothing of who the werewolf could be, but the mutilated bodies had been found in a small forest backing onto the town, so they started out there. Armed with a Glock apiece loaded with silver bullets, they settled at the edge of the clearing where the bodies had been found. There was still police tape attached to some of the trees.

"You think it'll come here again?" Sam asked.

"I sure hope so," Dean said, checking his clip. "Otherwise we are going to be down another fine resident of Springfield tomorrow."

Sam was surprised at Dean's callous response. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"I'm just telling it like it is. We kill the wolf, bonus points to us. We don't, it's not the end of the world. We've already seen that."

"You were the one that found the hunt," Sam said. "Why'd you bother if you aren't interested in saving people?"

"You're not listening to me, Sam. I want to save people. I'm just not beating myself up about it if we don't. I'm all for the hunt. Hunts are fun."

"Well, I do care," Sam said. "And I'm not going to sit here like an idiot while some other poor sucker pays."

"What are you going to do? Offer yourself up as bait?" Dean scoffed.

"That's exactly what I am going to do."

Their father's journal said that werewolves tended to return to the same area to hunt, something about familiarity appealing to the animal. If he was right, Sam was going to use that to trap the werewolf.

"You stay here," he instructed. "And be ready with the gun."

Dean looked up at him and laughed. "You think this is going to work? You will just stand there and the wolf will come running."

"It's the best idea either of us have had. We can't just sit here and hope the wolf will amble past." Sam pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his knees. "Like I said, be ready with the gun."

Sam felt good as he walked away from his brother. He had stood up for himself for the first time in a long time, and better yet, Dean hadn't responded with a right hook. All in all, things were looking up.

There was a narrow trail leading through the forest, but Sam shunned that in favor of walking through the leaf strewn dirt. He made no attempt to quiet his footsteps, feeling a surge of pleasure as he broke twigs and rustled leaves on the ground. He wanted to pose as tempting a prospect to the werewolf as possible.

He felt rather than saw Dean following him at a distance. He was pleased to have his brother watching out for him. He had tackled a few werewolves during the year he hunted with Samuel, and he had the scars to prove it.

He had been walking through the trees for at least an hour before his senses picked up on something other than Dean's almost silent footsteps. There was something or someone else in the forest with him. He turned to face Dean and waved a hand to indicate that he should stay where he was. Satisfied that Dean had understood, Sam continued through the trees, making as much noise as possible.

An earsplitting howl rent the air, and Sam saw a flash of movement through the trees. He pulled out his gun and spun on his heel, searching for a sign of the werewolf. There was nothing, but Sam was sure it was out there watching.

"Anything?" Dean shouted.

Sam turned in his direction and shook his head. "I don't know where—" His words were cut off as something collided with his right side. The gun fell from his hands as he fell to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, and he sucked in a breath.

"Dean!" he grunted. "Need… little help."

There was no response, and Sam's heart contracted. Had something happened to Dean?

Hi didn't have time to think long on it, as the wolf was coming back for more. It leapt onto Sam's chest and pinned him in place.

He reached out his hand and tried to grab the gun that had fallen. His fingers caught on the grip, and he scrambled to pick it up. He felt a burning pain in his chest as long claws raked his flesh. He looked up into pitiless eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he saw.

His fingers found purchase on the gun, and he pulled it back to aim at the wolf. There was the crack, and the weight on his chest was gone. He scrambled back and got to his feet.

The werewolf was lying prone on the ground. Sam turned it over with his foot and was dismayed to see that it was still alive. Heaving breaths moved its chest as it sucked in air. It looked like his bullet had hit a lung.

"Huh, and I thought it was a clean shot," Dean said, coming to stand beside Sam. He looked down at the wolf without pity. Sam leveled his gun at the wolf.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Putting it out of its misery." Sam pulled the trigger, and the werewolf's head exploded in a mass of blood and brain matter.

He looked away from the sight and checked the gore marks on his chest. There weren't too deep, but a couple of them would require stitches.

Dean pulled Sam's shirt away to check the injuries for himself. "You'll live." He looked down at the werewolf's corpse. "Him on the other hand, needs to be dealt with." Dean dropped the duffel on the ground and pulled out a shovel. "Shall we dig?"

Sam grimaced, hiding the pain in his chest, and pulled out his own shovel. "We dig."


Dean sat half reclined on the couch, staring at the TV. He wasn't paying any attention to the characters playing out their fake lives on the screen. His mind was where it always was these days—with his brother.

It had been a week since Dean had last seen Sam, and each of those days weighed him down like a physical entity. There had been no contact, no calls, and when they tried calling Sam, his phone went straight to voicemail. The GPS was also switched off, though Dean checked it frequently, sure that Sam would turn his phone on eventually.

They were currently holed up in Rufus's old cabin in Whitefish, Montana. Since Bobby's place had been burned down, and Dean had no home outside of the Impala, they had made it their base for the time being.

Dean hated it. He wanted to be on the road, searching for his brother, but he couldn't drive and Bobby refused to drive him around on a fool's errand that would damage Dean's healing leg. It burned Dean to not be looking, but even he had to admit he wouldn't know where to start looking. Sam had dropped off the map.

The door swung open and Bobby came in carrying an armful of books. "I'm fine. Don't get up," he teased as he kicked the door closed and dropped the books onto the table.

"Any news?" Dean asked. It was the first thing he asked every time Bobby came back from one of his excursions.

Bobby nodded. "Plenty, the Leviathans are making themselves known."

"I meant about Sam," Dean said, a hint of irritation.

Bobby sighed. "I know you did, boy, and if there was, I woulda told you. I have all the hunters I know looking out for him, but it's a big ass country, and if Sam doesn't want to be found…"

"He won't be found," Dean finished for him. He raked a hand over his face. "Okay, no Sammy news. What else is happening out there?"

"Talked to a few hunters. They're running into the same kind of thing that set up shop at that hospital."

"Yeah, and don't forget tried to kill us at your place." He rubbed at the cast on his leg. If they hadn't killed that Edgar already, he would have been happy to do it again merely for the inconvenience he had caused.

"Well, consensus is they're, um, they're like shapeshifters only a lot more into eating folk. And nothing can kill 'em.

"Good times. Anything else?"

"Yep. They bleed black goo."

"Helpful," Dean said sarcastically. "Any news on what kills them, yet?"

"According to Garth, they're invincible."

"Garth?"

"A young hunter. He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but he's a good kid."

"Doesn't sound much like hunter material to me," Dean noted.

Bobby shrugged. "What can I say? The boy is blessed with some supernatural luck. No matter how inept he is, he always comes out on top."

"Good to know. Is he hunting for Sam? We could do with some of his luck."

"He is, just like they all are," Bobby said patiently. "We're doing all we can, Dean."

"I know. I know. I just feel so damn useless. God knows what he is doing out there alone. Anything could be happening to him."

"He survived without you before," Bobby said gently.

"Yeah, soulless and without a head full of Hell. Not to mention his co-pilot Satan. He could have Sam doing anything."

"He can't hurt him, Dean," Bobby said, thumping down onto the couch beside Dean and handing him a beer. "He's just a hallucination."

"Maybe Lucifer can't hurt Sam, but Sam can hurt himself," Dean said, voicing his deepest fear. "Lucifer could talk him into anything. He's all alone out there."

Bobby blanched as he considered the possibility. "No," he said finally. "I don't believe that. Sam's not so stupid as to hurt himself."

Dean didn't share the same faith.