Side of the road came with 'im

Covered in blood dried sand

Never knew who he was or where he came from

I was checking the dead man's pockets

I was checking the dead man's brain

-Dead Man's Pockets, Vudu Sister

The rain flushed the desert landscape while the hunters waited it out in the cabin. In the morning the sun came out with a vengeance and made short work of what water didn't soak into the thirsty ground. Dean would kill him if he tried to drive the Impala out into the blinding landscape, so Chris and Sam drove to the nearest town first to acquire a better ride.

Chris drove the rusty pickup off the highway and in the direction Derek had indicated on a basic map. Once they arrived in the area, both hunters confirmed that the rain had washed away whatever trail there may have been. Sam huffed in frustration, but Chris meering walked around the parked truck in slow, ever-opening circle until he stopped and bent down. He called Sam over.

"May not be an actual track, but look," the older man pointed to a sparse, low desert shrub. Sam squinted in the light, but saw what Chris meant. Something of decent size had crushed the shrub. They set off in the opposite direction of the cabin, finding slight hints of a large animal progress through the landscape. Chris tossed the keys to the truck to Sam. He'd follow the trail on foot, Sam would follow him with the truck.

Sam hesitated, and finally asked why Chris was letting him have the keys. "I'm very aware you could take off and leave my sorry ass out here, but I also know you'd do anything to help your brother. This could lead to some answers you need more than I do. Plus, you're missing quite a few bits of the trail," Argent said, giving Sam a lopsided grin. Sam shrugged.

They followed the trail for another five miles, farther and farther into the middle of nowhere. Chris noticed more vegetation and less snapped twigs and flattened grasses as he walked on. He wasn't too surprised when they came across the washed out creekbed. Sam pulled the truck to a stop and pointed down along the south. In the distance, black shapes circled in the air.

Chris and Sam followed the almost bone-dry trench until it made a sudden u-shaped bend and found the source of the buzzards' interest. Sam slid down into the muddy deposit, causing the birds to scatter. There was a tattered body caught on a branch sticking out of the compacted bank. Sam carefully moved the body until it rolled onto its back with a sick plop onto the mud.

"Must be the alpha," Chris called down from on top of the bank. He pointed to the bloody gunshot wound. Blackened veins formed a web around the hole left by the bullet, indicating a high concentration of wolfsbane. Sam frowned. He was unfamiliar with the effects of wolfsbane because he'd only ever used silver to hunt werewolves. In his experience, a dead werewolf was indistinguishable from a dead human. Chris made his way into the creek bed for a closer look.

It was clearly an older man, probably ten years older than himself. His eyes were missing, as well as his tongue. Scavengers always go for the softest parts first. With Sam's help they rolled the body onto its stomach and Chris examined the wound. "Execution style," he muttered. He got behind Sam, who was still crouched, and indicated he should get on his knees. He held up an imaginary gun and pointed it at the other hunter. "He probably could've dodged the shot but didn't. He was dead in seconds, a direct shot to the heart…"

Sam stood up and thought over the implications. Who was he? Who killed him? What could this have to do with Dean? "I don't like this," Sam said quietly. "This wasn't random."

"Someone else was here. Why wouldn't he try to avoid the shot?" Chris didn't look too please either.

Sam and Chris both jumped and pulled out their weapons when they heard something move around the bend of the creek bed. They glanced at each other and nodded, Sam pulling up his shotgun and advanced around the bend. Chris followed right behind, crossbow at the ready.


The next ten hours had to be the longest in Dean's life so far. He was forced to sit in the back seat passenger side, cramped because the passenger seat was apparently stuck all the way back. Stiles got antsy about an hour in, and soon it started to affect his driving. When he swerved due to speaking with his hands emphatically, Derek made him switch with Boyd.

Stiles was worse in the back trunk area because he wasn't buckled down and was right by Dean's ear when he leaned forward over the back seat to talk to Derek, or Ana, or Boyd. He was constantly moving, unable to sit still, and Dean snapped at him when he started kicking the back tire absently.

"Rude!" Ana said, glaring at Dean from her position as shotgun. Derek gave her a beseeching look, and she huffed. Ana put War and Peace away, and with the Jeep going ninety down a windy desert highway, she unbuckled. She crawled over the center console and rolled over the back seat, kicking Dean in the process (undoubtedly on purpose he was sure) and sat in the back with Stiles.

Dean saw the open front seat like a glowing beacon of a lighthouse during a storm at sea, but when he went to unbuckle, the look Derek gave him stopped him dead.

"Pass me the cards?" Ana said from her cramped new spot. Derek tossed her a pack of cards and she dealt them out. Dean felt like he was stuck in a daycare when the two started playing black jack and then Spit. Was she his babysitter or something? Good god. Those two had somehow taken him down a year ago, hogtied him and dragged him to the police station. It was surreal. There they sat, behind him like kids on a road trip, playing cards.

Boyd put on some weird dubstep music and it rang in Dean's ears. He glanced at Derek, imagining he had to be just as irritated as himself. The guys was stoic and distant, putting off an air of authority and aloofness that Dean felt had to clash with these kids. Derek appeared unaffected by the chaos, even when the backseat game of Spit evolved into a full blown wrestling match and the music shook the old Jeep. If anything, he glanced to the back and smiled ever-so-slightly with a hint of affection.

These werewolves are fucking nuts, Dean thought.


The girl was crawling on all fours, gasping and shaking. Sam and Chris glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. She was so young and wearing only an oversized coat over her mud and blood crusted skin. Her head hung low, matted hair dangling over her face. Chris took a step forward, crossbow still up. She shuddered and collapsed on her side, wheezing and coughing up a greenish-black substance.

Sam froze, realizing she was a skinwalker. Chris took another step as she tried and failed to gasp for air. He saw the blackish blood oozing out of a festering bullet wound and felt his heart clench. Chris knew skinwalkers were vulnerable to silver, but wondered why a wolfsbane bullet was having such an effect on a skinwalker.

"Who did this to you?" Chris asked softly.

She gagged up more black bile and scratched weakly at the drying mud with canine claws. She gasped and looked up at him, her eyes unfocused. "If you tell us, we'll make it stop."

She closed her eyes and licked her blackened lips. "S-s-s," she coughed and swallowed, "silver…" and she slumped over. Sam saw her body convulse and go limp, a low breath escaping her. Chris lowered his crossbow and sighed.

"Help me get the bodies into the back," Chris said, his voice heavy.

When they got back to the cabin, Sam started to dig a grave while Chris examined the bodies more closely. When they were laid out together, he saw some resemblance in their features. They were family, he realized. He focused on the alpha, using a set of pliers to pull out the bullet from the damaged tissue. It was messy work. The bullet was wedged into shriveled heart tissue, but he eventually found it and pulled it out. He held it up to the light and frowned. All that was left was a silver jacket. A wolfsbane bullet with silver casing.

Sam came over and when he saw Chris hesitate to examine the girl, he offered to trade. Chris accepted and took a turn at digging the grave.

They buried them together in the unmarked grave. Sam had a feeling animals would still get to them but he felt uncomfortable with the thought of just leaving them out. They placed the two spent slugs into a small ziplock bag for later.