Author's Note: Wendigo is not necessarily my favorite episode of season 1, but it's Sam and Dean's first real case after Jessica's death, and I wanted to give it some attention, just to explore how Sam's new-found abilities might affect his hunting. :-)
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Wendigo was written by Eric Kripke, Ron Milbauer, and Terri Hughes Burton. I take no credit. This is purely for fan enjoyment.
SPN
(Lost Creek, Colorado … Thursday, November 12, 2005)
Morning could not come fast enough for the would-be rescue party. After Sam and Dean returned to camp, the monster continued prowling around them, watching from afar. It would occasionally shriek, affording them no rest, but it failed to cross over the Anasazi symbols, which more than anything confirmed its species. It was definitely a wendigo, and while Roy's rifle did very little damage, it was still angry at being shot.
However, as soon as the sun came out, silence once again pervaded the forest like a fog. Curled up at the foot of a massive tree stump, Sam listened to it in blatant depression. He wasn't particularly fond of Roy, but life was precious, and now he had another name to add to his growing list of failures. The longer he dwelled on it, the more he accepted their need to 'deputize' Haley and Ben. Unless they killed the wendigo, they would never escape, but they couldn't focus on their hunt if they were babysitting civilians. Haley and Ben would have to rise to the challenge, and they'd have to do it quickly.
At least the Anasazi symbols gave them credibility—how else could they explain surviving the night? As Haley and Ben came to grips with the reality of monsters, Dean scavenged the wreckage for useful supplies. Eventually, Sam mustered the fortitude to join them. "Hey," he said mildly, catching their attention. "So, we've got half a chance in the daylight. And I, for one, want to kill this evil son of a bitch."
Dean looked pleasantly surprised. "Well, hell, you know I'm in."
The next thing they knew, Sam was showing one of John's journal entries to Haley and Ben. "Wendigo is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours.'"
"They're hundreds of years old," Dean said, finding a can of lighter fluid. "Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman, or a miner or hunter."
Haley was rightfully disturbed. "How's a man turn into one of those things?"
"Well, it's always the same," Dean replied, next noticing an unopened beer bottle. "During some harsh winter, a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp."
"Like the Donner Party," Ben observed dejectedly.
Sam nodded. "Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality."
"If you eat enough of it," Dean added, "over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry."
"So if that's true," Haley asked, processing their words, "how can Tommy still be alive?"
Dean hesitated, trading glances with Sam before responding. "You're not gonna like it."
"Tell me." She was still adamant about her mission, not that anyone could blame her. After all, Tommy was her brother.
"More than anything," Dean explained, "a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake, it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants."
Having been a recent captive himself, Sam did not envy the missing campers' fates. He inadvertently pictured the secret laboratory back at the Stynes' safe house, where he was forced to watch Jacob harvest an eighteen-year-old girl. Her screams echoed in his mind, making him cringe. Of all the ways to die, no one should suffer like that, so if Sam could rescue Tommy, he wouldn't think twice—no matter the cost.
"If your brother's alive," Dean continued, "it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there."
"And then how do we stop it?" Haley demanded.
Dean made a face. "Well, guns are useless. So are knives." He showed off the beer bottle and lighter fluid, plus an old strip of cloth—prime ingredients for a Molotov Cocktail. "Basically, we gotta torch the sucker."
SPN
(Lost Creek, Colorado … Friday, November 13, 2005)
They tracked the monster for over a day, following an obvious trail of trees blemished with bloody claw marks. Sam sensed it was a trap, but didn't say anything. Wendigos were cunning predators, and they had no other means of finding it. Best not to frighten Haley or Ben until it was necessary.
At one point during the night, he again opened his mind and broadened his awareness. Maybe he could get a read on the damn thing and figure out where it lived. Immediately, he tuned into its lingering resent—Roy was the first person to ever dare attack it, and there would be hell to pay for such an offense. True, Roy was already dead, but that didn't mean it couldn't take out its anger on the rest of them. It was going to enjoy its hunt—lead them deep into its territory and play with them before feasting.
Sam's stomach turned at the twisted sentiment, but he pressed on, searching the wendigo's mind for useful information. The missing campers… Two out of three were dead. Sam didn't know what Tommy Collins looked like, so he couldn't identity the remaining victim, but whether he was Tommy or not, they had to save him. He was underground… in some kind of cavernous chamber… dangling by his wrists from the ceiling. Sam had no idea where to find him. The path from their location to the wendigo's lair was not at the forefront of the monster's mind, and Sam lacked the mental endurance to keep digging around for it. His head was starting to hurt, and before he could catch himself, he was doubled over, dry-heaving.
"Sam?" Dean was at his side in the blink of an eye, offering what little support he could. Later, when Sam reluctantly explained the cause of his fleeting ailment, Dean bristled. "All right, I'm only gonna say this once," he whispered to keep Haley and Ben from hearing. "I don't care how 'convenient' those abilities might be; I don't want you poking around some monster's melon. Ever. You don't need that kind of crap in your head, and it's not your responsibility. Understand?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Whatever."
In the morning, they picked up where they left off, searching for hours. Sam thought it would never end, but all too soon, they reached a small clearing that was perfectly lined with scarred trees—the wendigo was no doubt fabricating trails in every direction. If they followed the wrong one, God knows where it would lead.
Reaching the same conclusion, Dean paused, warily clutching his Molotov Cocktail. They eased into the clearing, taking stock of their surroundings. The wendigo was close, watching them, but Sam couldn't pinpoint its position—elusive bastard.
Suddenly, it growled behind them. Sam and Dean whipped around, but weren't fast enough. The damn thing rushed to their right, and they couldn't keep up. If that wasn't bad enough, it remained physically imperceptible, like a chameleon blending into its environment. Sam's heart hammered in his chest—he could only imagine how Haley and Ben must feel.
After teasing them with its presence, the wendigo fell silent. For a long, drawn-out moment, no one moved or uttered a word. But then Haley screamed, diving out of the way just in time to dodge the corpse that was plummeting from the canopy. She landed roughly on her back, and Sam bolted to her aid while Dean checked the body. "You okay?" He helped her up as the wendigo closed in, growling savagely.
"His neck's broke," Dean exclaimed, and Sam didn't have peer over to know it was Roy. "Okay, run!" He gave Sam a slight push to get him started while urging the others to move. "Go, go, go!" They took off as fast as their legs could carry them, inadvertently spreading out as they zigzagged around dense trees and other obstacles.
Sam tried to keep both Haley and Ben in his line of sight as they fled, but the girl was a strong, capable athlete while the boy was just a gawky teenager. It didn't take long before he tripped, falling flat on his face, and no one seemed to notice but Sam—and the monster.
Using a tree to stop his momentum, Sam doubled back to rescue the kid. He grabbed him by the waist, hauling him to his feet. "Come on! I gotcha! I gotcha!" When Sam first met Ben, he couldn't help but discern his loneliness. The Collins siblings were orphans; they didn't have anyone but each other. Ben was accustomed to Haley and Tommy watching out for him, but no one else, so when Sam—a stranger—went back for him, risking his own safety, Ben felt a confusing pang of deprivation.
But this was no time to analyze their inner demons. Dean and Haley were getting too far ahead, and they needed to catch up. With his long legs and remarkable agility, Sam could have easily covered the distance, but he refused to outstrip Ben. Instead, he brought up the rear, fully expecting the wendigo to pounce.
Somewhere ahead of them, Haley screamed. Ben frantically picked up his pace, and Sam prayed to hear a detonation. Please, please, please let Dean kill it!
Nothing. The abrupt silence was oppressive.
After running a few more yards, Ben lagged to a halt. "Haley!"
Sticking with him, Sam glanced around for signs of his brother. When he happened to look down, he caught sight of a white rag sticking out of a broken beer bottle. The Molotov Cocktail. The wendigo must have swiped it from Dean's grasp before he could wield it. Damn. Picking up the now useless weapon, Sam felt fresh waves of horror coursing through his veins. He turned in a helpless circle. "DEAN!"
SPN
It was all Sam could do not to panic. Dean was in trouble! His big brother; his hero; his best friend! Sam wasn't sure what he would do if anything happened to Dean, especially this soon after losing Jessica and Cyrus. It would crush him. He'd have no one left but his dad… and Jacob.
Oh, hell no.
Realizing the wendigo would want to stash Dean and Haley somewhere safe, Sam assumed the path to its lair would finally be at the front of its mind. Accordingly, against Dean's wishes, he closed his eyes and concentrated on melding with the son of a bitch. It didn't take as long as he feared—the wendigo was ecstatic, and not the least bit concerned with—or even aware of—psychic scrutiny.
In each hand it clutched an ankle, dragging its two barely-conscious captives like rag dolls through the woods. They were the strong, healthy ones. The other two—Sam and Ben—were weak and helpless. (At least, that's what it thought after watching Sam dry-heave earlier.) With Dean and Haley out of the way, it would return for the little brothers, and it would taunt them, and play with them, and tenderize them. Then, it would dump them in front of their siblings, and tear the flesh from their bones, savoring every last bite. It would take its time, and Dean and Haley would have to watch, powerless to prevent it. Nothing short of their anguish would make up for Roy's audacity.
Eventually, it reached the weathered entrance to an abandoned mine, which must have been boarded up years ago. However, two of the wooden planks were missing, providing access to the main tunnel. Without regard for the red warning sign that indicated the presence of 'extremely toxic material,' the wendigo shoved in each of its captives, one at a time, before sidling in after them.
At that moment, Sam unwittingly lost his connection with the monster. He found himself back on the ground, head spinning, ears ringing, nose bleeding, while Ben braced his shoulders. The poor kid was trying not to freak, but with his sister gone, and his remaining companion suffering some kind of break-down, he was understandably a nervous wreck.
"Sam!? Sam! Come on, man, snap out of it! Don't do this to me!"
"S'okay… S'okay…" Moaning, Sam wiped the blood from his face and waited for the nausea to pass. Then, he met Ben's gaze. "I know where they are."
SPN
It took Sam longer to recover than he expected, but since they couldn't afford to waste any time, Ben helped support his weight, and they trudged through the forest in the direction of the mine. Sam didn't bother trying to explain the source of his information, and Ben was too flustered to bother asking. The only thing he could think about was losing the rest of his family, and he knew his limitations well enough to realize he'd be completely screwed without Sam, leaving him no other choice but to follow his lead.
They kept mostly silent as they tracked the various landmarks Sam observed through the monster's eyes. Gradually, his strength returned, and when they finally reached the partially-blocked entrance, he was walking on his own again. Good thing, too. If he was going to challenge a wendigo in its own lair without a weapon to speak of, he'd have to be on top of his game.
Blatantly ignoring the "No Admittance" sign, Sam and Ben slipped through the broken boards into the side of the mountain, where they were swallowed up in darkness. Sam brandished his flashlight, and they cautiously ventured down an old railway through an inclined tunnel. Fortunately, the slope wasn't too steep, but the deeper they went, the more drifts they intersected, until they were far from the surface.
If that wasn't disconcerting enough, Sam could sense traces of their enemy all over the place—like a foul odor. This must be how dogs felt when dumped in some other animal's territory… especially a dangerous animal. It was suffocating, and Sam's perceptions shrank back into the safety of his own mind like a turtle hiding in its shell. How was it possible that his abilities could be an advantage and a handicap at the same time?
Ahead of them, something growled.
Sam switched off the flashlight and shuffled Ben out of the main tunnel into the nearest drift. They pressed their backs up against the jagged wall and waited, straining their ears. Did the monster see them? Or was it simply venting in the safety of its home? It had no reason to expect them here; after all, it never left a trail, and even if it did, they were too pathetic to find one. By all rights, they should still be lost in the woods, and now the monster was on its way back to collect them.
Breathing heavily, it strutted up the tunnel towards the entrance, and despite their better judgment, Sam and Ben both peered out to look. Through the shadows, they glimpsed an eerily emaciated figure with long, skeletal arms and razor-sharp claws. In the confines of the tunnel, it was slouched forward, but at full height, it had to be at least twelve-feet tall. Definitely not human. Ben started to whimper, compelling Sam to turn and plant his hand against the kid's mouth. Until the wendigo was a safe distance away, they remained perfectly still, but then, with the coast clear, they ducked back into the main tunnel and picked up their pace.
They were not prepared to step on an old covered-up ore pass—basically a hole where material could be dumped to a lower level in the mine. Their weight taxed the wooden boards, and with an alarming creak, everything collapsed. Sam had no idea how far they dropped, but the next thing he knew, he was lying on his back, dazed and aching from head to toe. He groaned, sitting up just in time to catch Ben as he scrambled away from a pile of human skulls.
"Hey, it's okay!" he assured the boy, perhaps falsely. "It's okay, it's okay." Ben was panting and shaking fiercely, but at least he wasn't hurt—thank God for small favors. Still, he couldn't tear his gaze from the grisly remains of past victims, and Sam could tell he was ready to throw up. Allowing him a short breather, Sam quietly took in their surroundings. Judging by the skeletons, this must be where the wendigo stored its food, which meant…
There!
Dean and Haley were both dangling a foot off the ground, suspended by their wrists with rope fastened to the ceiling. They were unconscious, but alive, and while Sam knew the wendigo wasn't ready to eat them, he sighed in relief. His brother was alive! But was he unharmed?
Nervous, Sam crossed the distance between them. He grasped Dean's jacket; examined his face; whispered his name. He couldn't remember Dean ever being so vulnerable before, and felt another rush of panic. What if he didn't wake up? How were they going to get out of here, especially when they couldn't expect John to save the day? This was all Sam's fault.
"Haley, wake up!" Ben had clambered over the uneven ground to his sister's side. He checked her pulse, desperately trying to rouse her.
"Dean!" Sam gave his brother a gentle shake, and Dean winced, moaning back to life. Sam steadied him. "Hey, you okay?"
Blinking, Dean processed the question. "Yeah," he decided, nodding forcefully. While Ben struggled to revive Haley, Sam produced his pocket knife and quickly freed his brother. He passed the blade to Ben and helped Dean stagger to a seat by the cavern wall, where their stolen luggage happened to be stored.
"You sure you're all right?" he asked when Dean held back an agonized groan.
"Yeah," he replied with typical nonchalance. "Yep. Where is he?"
"He's gone for now," Sam said, glancing around the chamber—just to make sure—while Ben approached from behind with his disoriented sister. He helped her sit and removed what remained of her restraints. Exhausted, she was close to passing out again, but suddenly, she caught sight of something that sufficiently jarred her, and she stood up in shock. With Ben's support, she limped towards the far corner where another unconscious prisoner was dangling in the same fashion.
One of the missing campers. Their brother. Haley shuddered, too upset to control her tears. "Tommy…"
Sharing their distress, Sam followed. Ben was on the verge of breaking down, and he stopped short, overwhelmed. Sam gripped his shoulder while Haley reached out a hand to brush Tommy's face.
He instantly jerked awake, gasping in terror.
Haley recoiled with a startled cry.
They stared at each other, eyes wide in disbelief. Then Haley glanced back at Sam. "Cut him down!" He happily obliged, and as the three of them settled Tommy on the ground, Sam noticed Dean riffling through one of their hiking packs. Whatever he found apparently excited him, and he climbed awkwardly to his feet.
"Check it out!" He brandished two flare guns, and for the first time in weeks, Sam grinned.
"Those'll work."
Dean smiled, twirling the weapons like a cocky cowboy.
SPN
Armed or not, as long as they remained so deep underground, they were at a considerable disadvantage. Tommy had gone for days without food or water, and lacked the strength to walk on his own—he required both Haley and Ben's support just to stand, which left Sam and Dean as their only protection. To make things worse, they had no idea where the exit was—they found a tunnel leading out of the chamber, but as they followed it, they passed numerous drifts and crosscuts, and could only hope they weren't in some twisted maze.
Inevitably, the wendigo returned, unable to find its quarry in the woods, and frustrated by their disappearance. It growled above them, making them stop in their tracks. Sam raised his gun, and Dean braced himself for an imminent confrontation. "Looks like someone's home for supper."
"We'll never outrun it," Haley said, straining against her brother's weight. Dean met her gaze and made a few mental calculations before turning to Sam.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Obviously, they couldn't shoot the son of a bitch until it showed itself. They needed to lure it from the shadows; they needed bait. Sam tensed, but honestly, what other choice did they have? "Yeah, I think so."
Dean edged forward, then looked back. "All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam. He's gonna get you out of here."
"What are you gonna do?" Haley demanded, which only earned her a wink.
Dean twisted around and hastily marched into an intersecting corridor. "Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good!" He signaled for them to run, and vanished around the corner.
Immediately, Sam took a different passageway, checking for danger as he went. Haley, Ben, and Tommy hesitated, concern for Dean written on their faces. Sam appreciated their sentiments, but they had to focus. "All right, come on! Hurry!"
They scrambled forward as quickly as they could manage, which wasn't saying much. Sam took the lead, gun at the ready, hating how lost he felt. Perhaps he could psychically reconnect with the wendigo—it knew every inch of its territory, including escape routes—but he quickly discounted the idea. If he made himself sick again, who would save Haley, Ben, and Tommy?
More growling. The damn thing was stalking them, not Dean.
They reached an intersection with a railway leading up, and as soon as Sam cleared it, he regarded Haley. "Get him outta here."
"Sam, no!" she objected.
"Go," he insisted, and when she faltered, he raised his voice. "GO! Go!"
"Come on, Haley," Ben said, urging her to obey. They shuffled Tommy up the tunnel while Sam backtracked several paces. He took cover against the jagged wall and waited for the wendigo to pursue its prey. He just needed one clear shot.
"Come on," he breathed to himself. "Come on."
Silence.
He peered into the shadows where he had heard the growling, where he expected the monster to emerge. But it didn't come.
His brow furrowed in confusion. Where the hell was the damn thing?
A heavy footstep scattered loose rocks along the ground behind him. With a pit in his stomach, Sam turned his head. The face staring back at him resembled an orc from Lord of the Rings. It shrieked savagely.
Caught off guard, Sam whirled away from it, landing heavily on his back. He shot the flare in its general direction, but it easily sidestepped the blast. Crap!
Weaponless, Sam scrambled to his feet and took off at a sprint. In a matter of seconds, he caught up with Haley, Ben, and Tommy. "Come on! Hurry, hurry, hurry!" He shoved Haley forward, glancing over his shoulder to see the wendigo in pursuit.
They ran. The wendigo growled. Haley screamed.
They weren't going to make it much farther, not with Tommy in such poor condition, and even if they could, they abruptly found the tunnel blocked by some kind of cave in. They were trapped.
Cursing, Sam could only think of one defense. "Get behind me!" Turning, he faced the monster with his arms outstretched to shield Haley, Ben, and Tommy. It wasn't much protection, but it was all he had.
The wendigo approached maliciously. Its growling turned into a triumphant howl as it savored their defeat. But before it could pounce, Dean appeared behind it, gun raised.
"HEY!"
The wendigo turned.
Dean fired the flare.
The shot blasted straight into the monster's abdomen. It screamed, its body igniting from the inside out. As the flames traveled up from its ribs to its head, it writhed its shoulders in pure agony.
Sam should have seen it coming. Just like when Jessica died, just like when Roy died, his mind absorbed the wendigo's fate. He experienced its fear, its suffering, its death, and because of his proximity, the intensity was devastating. He crumbled to the ground, out of breath, and a heartbeat later, he succumbed to sweet oblivion.
SPN
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