Dean proudly defended the success of his hunt amidst joking. He and Scout were a bit shocked to find out they had trumped a real crocodile. Not that the larger Skinwalker wasn't a dangerous creature, but a human mind in an animal body is a lot more predictable than an animal mind in its natural skin. Humans take time to calculate decisions and have certain emotions that may cloud their judgement. Animals however rely on instinct and quick reactions and don't stop to think about what they were going to kill.

After resting his case, Dean leaned in to examine the Skinwalker. Scout stood next to him and eyed the dead man with his sharp eyes.

"How did you get 'im?" Scout asked and looked up at Warren.

"We each went to the separate swimmin' spots. I was up at Buley Rockhole. At about two, I noticed blood trickling down the pools. I followed the trail up the pools and found him hidin' under a log. He was in his croc form, and he didn't notice me. He was obviously having trouble movin' because there was the nasty wound from ya silver knife turnin' septic. Lucky there were only a few locals down in a lower pool and hadn't noticed. I got 'im with my knife and he transformed back. He was much lighter that way, I'm sure," Warren added with a mischievous glance at the crocodile carcass. Dean ignored that and examined the gross-looking wound in his side. It had horrible grey veins sprawled just below the skin and the skin around the wound had turned a sickly green. It looked painful. Scout poked him in the ribs.

"Oi. What exactly is a Skinwalker?" he asked. Dean looked at him funny.

"You jumped on it and you didn't even know what it was?"

"Nah. Figured he was just some sort of were-croc or somethin'."

"Were-croc? Are you nuts? That would be crazy," Dean said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Shapeshifter of sorts then!"

"Yeah, of sorts. He's basically a witch who has the ability to change into an animal if he is wearing its skin."

"I see."

Dean decided he'd had enough of the corpses sitting in his car port.

"Ok, enough feeding the flies. Let's get rid of them just in case they are in fact were-croc zombies."

Warren's group lifted the crocodile body onto the tray, while Dean and Scout hacked a path through the vegetation to create a burial place. They dug the grave, salted and burned the corpse. By the time they were done, the sun was well and truly down. Dylan had already taken off somewhere, and Warren and Jack had left for their place. Joe was lounging around on one of Dean's hamper chairs and drinking a beer. Dean and Scout returned to find a blue Ford Falcon sitting on the driveway, its engine ticking as it cooled off. Scout nodded to Joe, who smiled and shrugged. Scout turned to Dean and held out his hand.

"We have to go now. We were up here to get some supplies from Warren, and he asked up to help out with this hunt. We came, not knowing how many hunters would actually show up. Been good working with ya," he said while shaking Dean's hand, his head tilted like a bird. Dean was surprised, but then he remembered Scout and Joe weren't locals.

"Coober Pedy, right? No were-crocs there I hope?"

"Never gonna let me forget are ya?"

"Nope. Can I get your details in case I need..." Dean was about to say 'help' but thought better of it and ended with, "to use a suicidal cliff-jumper?"

"Sure Dean. In case you need my 'help', I'll give ya my number," Scout chuckled. Damn, Dean thought, he's good. They shared numbers and other small details. But when Scout turned to get in his car and leave, Dean had an idea.

"Wait! I need to find out where my brother is. Do you think you could help me out? I'm not used to the people in this place yet."

Scout looked at Dean with unreadable eyes. He looked to Joe, who understood what Scout wanted and just shrugged. He turned back with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah ok. Motorcycle or Car?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to drive the motorcycle or car? 'Cause I can drive slash ride one for you if you want."

"Oh. Ah... My baby needs me, so you can bring the Fatboy," Dean ordered, which Scout understood allowed Dean to let Scout take one of his rides and not harm his pride. Scout went to the trunk of the car and rummaged through it while Dean raced inside to pack his things. Lucky he was pretty much ready to go anyway.

After Dean loaded everything he needed into the Impala, he locked up the hideout. He realised he would be coming back often to restock and rest. He watched Scout, who was kitted up for motorcycle riding, sling a black canvas bag over his shoulders. He had half-shin length black, buckle-covered boots, blue jeans, a leather vest over a long-sleeved black shirt, black fingerless gloves and Ray Ban shades. His helmet was black with an ornate, tribal-looking bird of prey printed on with wings spread and talons bared. It was silver with icy blue eyes and the talons had serrated edges. Dean thought it looked kind of cool, but he would never wear the helmet because it had a ridiculous-looking brim where the non-existent visor should've slid down from. It was made to look a little like a beak. Then he realised he would have to wear it if he wanted to ride, as he didn't have a helmet. Dean didn't say anything and jumped into the Impala, noting he would have to pick one up along the way. Joe started the blue car and backed out of the driveway. Scout followed on Dean's thundering motorcycle, and then Dean in the Impala. The driveway looked eerie in the headlights thanks to the dense and unfamiliar trees stretching disjointed fingers across where the sky should've been. Dean watched the two hunters ahead of him and decided they were being too friendly. Pretty much all the hunters he had even known had kept to themselves. Dean just couldn't get used to the idea of chummy hunters working together in non-Apocalyptic times. His paranoia just kept niggling at his brain, telling him to ditch them and go by himself, telling him it was too dangerous to trust anyone other than himself until he found his brother. This thought startled Dean as he realised he couldn't trust Sam either. He was alone; just a big ball of trust issues and doubt.

Although the three hunter stopped every hour and a half or so for fuel and to stretch legs, about twelve hours after leaving Darwin, the group arrived in Alice Springs. Scout signalled which service station they would pull into and quickly slipped in next to a fuel bowser before Dean or Joe could get in. When the refuelling was done, the trio decided to have a late breakfast, or an early lunch depending on how you look at it. They found a restaurant that served breakfast "until lunch!", as the sign stated. They entered through the sliding door to the sound of a bell and looked around the small room. The walls were a simple cream with a few posters of old cars. The booths were made up of tables with places for four. The seats were red plush with polished wooden frames. The floor was tiled and there were several slowly rotating fans on the ceiling. Dean strode up to the counter where an old dear wearing an apron met him with a cheery smile. With his prince-worthy smile, he ordered a bacon, sausage and egg burger. He was also dying for a coffee. The woman happily took his order and bustled into the kitchen to give the order to the cook. Scout ordered a simple beef burger, and Joe ordered the same. The hunters chose a booth not too far from the counter but far enough away that the sizzling of the kitchen wouldn't annoy them. Dean rubbed his hands in anticipation, with a grin on his face. He then stopped as he saw Joe smiling and Scout staring blankly.

"What? I haven't eaten for like a whole day!"

"Uh huh," Scout raised an eyebrow, and was about to continue whne he caught sight of the newspaper pile just to the left of the door. He stood and walked over. Dean thought his walk was too graceful for a man. Then his paranoia kicked in and he began thinking things like 'vampire' or some other monster. He shook his head, knowing he was being stupid. He turned his attention to Joe and tried to distract himself.

"So Joe. You don't talk very much."

Joe blinked. Dean waited for a reply, but didn't get one.

"Why is that?"

"I just don't feel I have to. I mean, I used to, but I used to get ignored a lot."

Dean figured it was probably the droning way the guy talked.

"So what's the story, Terminator?"

"Of what?"

"You," Dean replied with a hint of exasperation.

"Oh. Grew up in Coober Pedy. Found out about the Truth from Scout. We were friends but he acted all suspicious around the time of a murder. 2003, I think. Some guy named Wilbur. Anyway, I thought Scout was the murderer the way he acted around others when the subject was brought up. I confronted him, and I told him no lies. So, he told me he was not the murderer, and he said he would take me to the real killer the next night. So, we went to a run-down old house and Scout kicked down the door. He then held a knife to the person inside. Turned out to be a vampire. The extra teeth, strength and his confession of killing Wilbur was proof enough for me. Especially when he slipped free, and Scout stabbed him in the stomach and he didn't complain a whole lot, you know? Scout somehow managed to get his head off in the end. He asked I keep it a secret, and in exchange I told him to keep no secrets from me."

Dean nodded, his mouth watering from the smell of his food cooking.

"So he took off old Draccy's head and all of a sudden, you are a new man?"

"You could say that. Scout thinks I'm really good at getting information. We travelled around the country until recently when we wanted to meet up with some old friends."

"Ooh vacation. Just got off mine actually. Yeah, two years in fact."

Scout nodded, but his eyes flicked to Scout as he returned to the table.

"Mates, does this look interesting to you?" he asked, holding up a newspaper for the two other hunters to see. The headline was "DINGO ATTACKS AT THE RED CENTRE", the sub heading was "Three dead in one week". The image was of the monolithic rock Uluru in the background, with police vehicles in the foreground. Dean started to lean closer to read the article, but changed his mind and snatched the paper from Scout's hand. He slapped it onto the table and began to read.

A third body was discovered last night 500m from Uluru by campers who were out taking a walk. This victim, 42 year old Henry Anderson, was found laying face-down behind a bush at approximately 10:45, still bleeding from his wounds. His body was in a terrible state, namely covered in what appears to be the result of a pack mauling by dingoes. The man was last seen at about 9:23 leaving a restaurant and walking to his car. It is thought that he was attacked there and dragged away into the scrub. The other two victims, 23 year old Freda Garson and 26 year old Darrel Miller, were also found dead earlier this week covered in similar wounds. The actual cause of death for all three victims has been blamed upon broken necks, and not bleeding, which was initially thought. Police officer Sgt Harold Gregory said yesterday...

Dean didn't finish what he was reading because Joe was pointing to the article, covering it.

"Something's wrong. Dingoes don't attack people, let alone drag them off into the outback and kill them!" he exclaimed, to which Scout shrugged.

"Tell that to Lindy Chamberlain," he replied simply.