Dean tried not to panic.

With the corpse of the Nalusa Falaya pressing down on practically his entire body, he was losing feeling in his limbs. Not to mention his head was half stuck in the monster's stinking mouth. Each time he tried to shift his face, desperate for more oxygen, sharp-edged fangs sliced his face. He tasted blood from his lower lip and realised he had almost bit right through.

Sam's plan of calling the wardens was only a semi-reasonable one. It was an unspoken law between hunters that they did their best to keep their world a secret. Mass hysteria would no doubt break down any form of society, with humanity seeing enemies in the eyes of even their loved ones, should the truth ever be totally set free. No, the wardens were a last resort.

'Hey, Sammy?' Dean waited rather tensely for his brother's reply.

For a moment there was nothing, and Dean could hear the blood in his ears. Then, the younger hunter's voice wriggled its way underneath the pelt of Dean's prison.

'I've got good news and bad news,' Sam called.

'Uh, give me the good.'

'How 'bout I show you?'

There was another few seconds of silence. Grunting and growling accompanied small movements of the Nalusa Falaya carcass. Either the thing was reincarnating itself again – and by God Dean hoped that wasn't it – or Sam had thought up a plan.

The pressure on his ribcage gradually receded. Dean sucked in a deep breath, immediately gagging on the stink of his horrendous surroundings. As the corpse shifted, a fang began nudging into his skin just below his eye. He managed to jerk his head free seconds before the monster managed to blind him even in death.

'Dean? You all right?' Sam was crouched at his side with an anxious expression.

Dean blinked as rain spattered over his skin, soaking his torn shirt. 'It's raining?'

'Has been for a while.' Sam peered closer at his brother, trying to determine whether Dean had been seriously hurt.

'Help me up, Sammy.'

When Dean was sitting with his back against a tree, Sam flicked on a torch. He shone the beam in each of Dean's eyes.

'I ain't concussed, Sam, cut it out.'

'I just wanted to make sure,' Sam retorted, shoving the portable light in the back of his jeans alongside his pistol. He shot a glance toward the dead Nalusa Falaya. 'How'd you kill it, anyway? I thought you lost your knife.'

Dean tilted his head so the rain was trickling freely across his face. He closed his eyes, a grimace knitting his eyebrows together. 'When the Black Dog attacked that douche of a monster, it lost some of its spine-things. I grabbed one before we came back here for the guns.' He shrugged gingerly with one shoulder. 'Thought maybe it could come in handy, 'specially since I didn't exactly enjoy what it did to me. Although,' he admitted, 'I didn't know it was gonna die from its own paralysis juice.'

'But the spines didn't – I mean, you –' Sam combed his fingers through his wet hair. 'You had no idea that would work - at all! - and you –'

'I didn't have a lotta time, you know!' Dean threw his hands in the air, exasperated, exhausted and aching. 'Can we – Look, can we just get back to the car, already.'

Sam crossed his arms. 'You aren't even gonna thank him?'

Golden eyes set amongst sable fur peeked around Sam's elbow. With a joyful yelp the Grim bounded straight toward Dean.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa!' Dean's outstretched hands were ignored as the huge hound slammed into him. Wedged between the tree and overly happy canine, Dean felt his ribs might snap for the second time in the same day. He was horrified when the Grim began to swipe its rough, wet tongue all over his face. Making noises of indignation he tried in vain to fend it off. Sam threw his head back and laughed, standing there in the middle of a thunderstorm, surrounded by trackless pine forest.

The massive hound backed away, tail still wagging. Dean's mouth twisted in disgust as he wiped slobber from his skin with the back of a hand.

'Nice to see you alive too,' he muttered darkly, but his expressive green eyes revealed genuine joy that the beast still lived.

Sam patted the hound on the back of its neck. 'Sorry, buddy, but we've gotta go. I reckon the forest animals will clean up the monster for all of us.'

The Grim tilted its head to one side. With a sudden movement, it turned and raced away between the trees. Sam and Dean exchanged glances with eyebrows raised. Dean reached out for his brother's offered arm.

'Guess we wore out our welcome,' Dean grunted, wobbling to his feet.

After retrieving the shot-gun from the loam, Sam slung Dean's arm around his shoulders. They were beginning their trek back to the Impala when Dean paused.

'Hey,' he began. Shakily, he bent to pick up his bowie knife. 'Glad I didn't lose this.'

Sam huffed his impatience. 'Come on. We should get back to the car before this storm gets worse.'

Sam helped Dean into the shotgun seat, ignoring his brother's grumbling that he was fine and wanted to drive. As he tossed the weapons in the trunk, something at the edge of the forest made him pause.

'Hey, dude,' he called softly.

'What?' Dean leaned out of the window, looking back at his brother with a frown. 'If it's more of those sons of bitches we're friggin' drivin' away, man.'

'No, Dean.' Sam pointed, a broad smile growing across his face. 'I think I know why the Grim helped us.'

Green eyes widened when Dean spotted the three small forms traipsing around the paws of the hulking hound. The Grim stood amongst the pines, gaze fixed on the brothers. Sam would forever attest that the dog dipped its head in a gesture of respect. He raised a hand in farewell and watched the hound and pups disappear.

Thunder rumbled as Sam slid into the driver's seat. 'Looks like he is a she,' he commented, gunning the engine.

Gravel crunched under tires. Both brothers were glad to leave the reserve behind. It was only when the Impala was pulling out onto the main road, that Dean remembered something.

He glanced at his brother. 'Wait, what was the bad news?'

Sam chuckled. 'Well, you smell like something died on you.'

Dean smacked his brother on the shoulder. 'Bitch.'

'Jerk.'

Metallica blared through the speakers as the '67 Chevy purred on to its next destination.

fin.

Notes:

The monster in this story is based on real Native American myth:

The Choctaws have many tales involving "shadow beings" - in this case the Nalusa Falaya or "Long Evil Being". They are said to inhabit dense forests, often near swamps. Described as having a human-like appearance with long pointed ears and a long nose, the Nalusa Falaya walks upright.

Some sources say the creature was said to slither like a snake or melt into a shadow, so I melded these two features. Along with the claim that they can prick a thorn into human flesh, I created the idea of the spines that are soaked with a paralytic venom.

As these creatures are so similar to the wendigo in Supernatural's first season, I used a bit of artistic license and made the version in this story rather large; the mythology says Nalusa Falaya are about the same height as a man. For the same reason, I left out that the creatures can throw their voice.

It is also a suspicion that Nalusa Falaya children are able to transform into a lightened form, becoming small luminous beings often seen at the edges of marshes. I figured they would make a good distraction and still contain their ability to harm.

Native American mythology is fascinating, and I encourage you to leave me a message with any more information you might have about Nalusa Falaya!