They moved on to another town, worked a simple salt and burn. Which didn't go smoothly, as they never do, but it was only a few days before they had the chance to move again.

And true to her word, Mrs. Tubbs did not leave. Nor did she shift back to human again.

Sam explained the entire thing to Dean, and even wrote everything down in John's journal. Dean still wasn't happy with Mrs. Tubb's answer, and the fact that she hinted that there was no cure.

It was something Dean refused to even consider. Now that they understood what was going on, Dean had dug into the next thing: Finding a way to fix it. At first, Sam had joined him, tearing through research and keeping awake only by the cups of coffee the motel offered.

But Sam was slowing. Stopping.

Mrs. Tubbs watched as a blanket seemed to cover the young one. A darkness. Not evil. But the circles under his eyes grew darker. His shoulders began to sag. Sam's eyelids drooped to half mast all the time, and he never wanted to get up to do anything.

His walks with her stopped. He didn't even go to the diner with Dean anymore, let alone get bacon for her. But she didn't blame him. She realized the child was falling into depression, with his older brother blind to his struggle by his made search for a cure that couldn't be found.


Sam was tired. But then again he seemed to always be tired. His eyes ached and his limbs felt heavy. Sam's head was just so heavy, like it was a block of concrete. Then there was that ache. The hollow one inside is chest. It was like trying to light a fire in the middle of a blizzard.

He wouldn't get warm.

Time was ticking, and the moon got bigger and bigger. The full moon would start in a few days, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. It was kind of like he couldn't care.

Sam lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. It was actually difficult to get bored these days. Not that anything seemed remotely entertaining either.

"Sam, you wanna come to the diner with me? Their sign said something about free pancakes before eight," Dean offered, trying to spur his lazy little brother out of that bed.

Sam shrugged, reaching up to grind the heel of his hand against an eye. "Not really,"he rasped. Dean almost rolled his eyes, but got himself to refrain. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Something was going on in that head of his, Dean was sure of it. But the tug of that twist in his empty stomach and the taunt of the research he still had to do got him to leave Sam there.

But he knew something was wrong with him. Not just the whole werewolf thing. No, wait, that's not what he meant. He didn't consider Sam to be a freak or a monster just because he was a werewolf.

No. Dean was pretty sure it had to do with whatever thoughts were skipping around in that geek head of his.

And he was going to find out what they were.


Sam frowned. He wondered if maybe he was depressed. But it was only a month since he was bitten. There's no way he could have fallen into depression that fast.

Right?