Disclaimer: I haven't got any rights to Supernatural, and I'm not getting paid. Oh well. On to the story! Please leave a review! Sorry about the delay, I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month and it's killing me….

"Wow," Sam said as he watched Dean through the door. "He hasn't made a peep for two hours."

"Yeah, it's a miracle," Garth said. "It'll be a bigger miracle if you can get him to eat something other than human flesh."

"True, it's been three days and he hasn't eaten anything normal," Sam said worriedly. "I'm not sure how this will go. Wendigos aren't really known for their diverse diet. What if he won't eat?"

"Well, we do still have most of a John Doe upstairs. But," Garth said with a disgusted look. "You're doing the prep this time."

Meanwhile, upstairs there was a heated argument going on. Bobby stood on one side of the table, while Alice stood on the other with her arms folded. Neither one of them moved towards the cellphone on the table between them.

"I'm not calling him," Alice said again.

"Well, neither am I,' Bobby said angrily. "Make Sam do it."

"I'm not sure anyone has to," Alice said nonchalantly. "We could act like we never got the message."

Bobby scoffed and shook his head. "John will rip us a new one if we don't call him back. John may be an idjit, but it's still his son."

Alice stalked out of the kitchen, calling behind her, "Then you can call."

Bobby snatched the cellphone and stalked out the front door. He angrily dialed John and waited for the ringing to start, hoping that John wouldn't answer the phone. He cringed as he heard-

"Bobby! How long does it take to call me back," John said angrily into the phone. "How's Dean?"

"He's making progress," Bobby said.

"How long before he'll be ready," John asked.

"For what," Bobby asked, confused.

"To be up and moving. I've got more cases than I can do alone. I need the boys back on the road," John explained.

Bobby felt the wave of anger wash over him and spat in the phone, "John, Dean isn't going to be ready for a while; maybe a long while. Get that through your thick skull. You show up here for any reason other than to help; Alice won't be the only one waiting on the porch with a shotgun."

As Bobby snapped the phone shut, he watched as a beat up Pinto slowly drove up the driveway. He stepped in the front door and called for Alice. She stepped out onto the front porch just as a young man stepped from the car. Bobby instantly recognized the man as being Native American. The man's dark eyes and hair was typical but the Metallica t-shirt and faded jeans made Bobby wonder what was going on. They watched as the man hesitantly walked up the porch, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.

"Is Sam here," he asked.

"Who are you," Alice asked.

"Jim Walsh," the young man said. "I'm from the Fox Nation. Sam called me and asked me to check out a Wendigo."

As they all packed into the panic room, Alice armed and standing by the door, Sam watched as Jim Walsh walked up to Dean, his eyes wide from disbelief.

"You have no idea," Jim Walsh. "This is unreal. My grandfather told me stories of Wendigos, but I never thought I would see one."

"Well, I don't suppose he told you how to save someone who's been turned into one," Sam asked.

"My grandfather was like you, he hunted for unnatural things. He always had a story, said he got it from his grandfather," Jim said. "He never tested it; he never could catch a Wendigo to try it out. How did you catch this one?"

"Drugs, lots of drugs," Sam said with a small smile. "So what's the plan?"

"Well, since we can't realistically move him to the reservation, we're going to need to build or find a sweat lodge here," Jim explained. "We're going to need the Manitou."

"Manitou," Sam asked curiously. "I think I saw that name when I was researching Wendigo. Is that like a Wendigo enemy or something?"

Jim laughed and shook his head. "The Algonquin tribes believe the Manitou are spirit beings, they are part of everything: plants, animals, machinery even," he explained. "They are healing; they may be able to draw out the Wendigo spirit. But we will need a sweat lodge. They live in the stones and they will travel out in the steam. They are why you will feel invigorated after you go to the sweat lodge; they go into the person and pull out the impurities. "

Alice considered what the young man was suggesting, it didn't sound like total lunacy, and the Wendigo did kind of fall within the expertise of the Algonquin culture.

"The thing I want to know is how we trap the Wendigo spirit. If we get it out of Dean, won't it just find another person to possess," Bobby asked.

"Yes, but my grandfather had a plan for that," Jim said. "Wendigos represent famine and winter. So we trap the spirit and burn it. But, Dean isn't ready yet. The more a Wendigo embeds itself in a person, the more likely it is that the person will die without it. You're on the right track by trying to find Dean, by appealing to his human side. The scents, the music, it was a great idea. I will say that you probably need to spend a little more time trying to get through to Dean. You want him to be able to withstand the process, if his spirit is weak he might have a hard time."

"Well, the biggest problem we're having is getting him to eat," Sam said. "He only wants human flesh."

"Well, Wendigos are insatiably hungry and food motivated. I'd say you could probably help him to expel it by starving it out," Jim said. "You have him restrained well and if you could refrain from allowing him flesh, Dean would be better for it."

"What if we do more damage by starving him," Garth asked.

"Will he eat anything other than human flesh," Jim asked while looked at Dean.

Sam shook his head, looking dejected.

"I've got an idea," Bobby said. "Not that anyone's going to like it. Dean especially. But it'll let us get normal human nutrition in him without that pesky Wendigo clamping his jaws shut. A feeding tube."

"Seriously," Sam asked.

"That's actually an ingenious idea," Jim said. "The Wendigo won't get his fix but Dean's body won't suffer any more nutritionally than he is already. What kind are you thinking of using?"

"Well, the only one I know that won't require a trip to a hospital is the nasogastric tube," Bobby said. "But putting one in place is still going to require someone with experience. Alice, you know of a qualified person in the area?"

"Actually," Jim said hesitantly. "I'm qualified for that. I'm doing my residency down in Atlanta."

Everyone stood quietly for a few minutes, considering what they were actually about to do. "I can call my uncle, he's a physician, and have him get me the supplies. I can have him overnight them. We still need to find a sweat lodge," Jim said. "If this is what you want. No pressure."

Sam nodded before he found his voice, "Yeah, it's what we want."

As they filed back up the stairs, Alice said, "I think I have a place we can use as a sweat lodge. Jim, Bobby, let's go check it out."

Sam and Garth stayed behind as Alice led the two men across the property to a barn. Jim looked confused until she led them to a small door. She wretched it open and they all stooped to look inside the small room. The smooth river rocks that lined the floor and walls were held together with old mortar, the single light bulb hanging in the room illuminating the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. Jim stepped through the low doorframe, walking around the room, his fingertips grazing the rocks.

"What was this used for," Bobby asked.

"When the barn was new, it was used for storing vegetables. Since then it's been used for hiding runaway slaves headed for the North, smuggling during prohibition, and a few other choice activities," Alice said. "Think you can use it Jim?"

"The stones are good," Jim said. "I'll have to make a few changes, if you don't mind."

"Have at it," Alice said. "My barn is your barn."

That night was the first night Sam slept for more than an hour at a time. He was nearly giddy when he bound into the kitchen the next morning, Alice already making breakfast for the ever expanding group of hunters she had taken in. As they shoveled down the pancakes and sausages, they began to discuss the day's goals.

"What are you going to try today," Bobby asked. "Dangle a bottle of whiskey in front of him? Apple pie? Dirty laundry?"

Sam chuckled at the thought of hanging dirty socks over Dean. "Whiskey or pie he'll probably forgive."

"I'll start working on the sweat lodge in the barn. The feeding tube supplies should be here today, if the mailman can find your house," Jim said. "It's a maze here in the Amish settlement. I'm pretty sure I'm the first Indian to set foot here."

"Not quite, but close," Alice said with a sly grin. "The mail gets dropped off at the little general store, I'll have to go pick it up."

"What about me," Garth asked. "Anyone need me today?"

"You and I have an errand to run," Bobby said. "Get your gear."

Sam didn't see Alice hand the jar of Wendigo goo out the front door to Bobby and Garth, or the flare guns they were carrying.

"I'll be in the panic room," Sam said.

"Not without a spotter you're not," Alice said with a glare.

Alice and Sam waited until Jim was in the barn before they headed downstairs. "So what did you bring," Alice asked.

"Smells that he'd never forget," Sam said. He slowly untied the shirts that Garth had religiously changed out every night, stealing them from the laundry hamper. "We've got gun oil, gun powder, and whiskey."

"Seriously," Alice asked as she watched Sam pour a shot glass and hold it out to her. She hesitated as she took it. She watched Sam arrange the other items around Dean so the smells were close. They watched as Dean's eyes opened, the spark of green much more noticeable than it had been yesterday.

"You in there Dean," Sam asked. "If you are, you better listen up. We're coming in for you, just hang on." Alice watched as Sam sat on the stool at the foot of the cot, fiddling with the MP3 player she had found.

Meanwhile, in the barn, Jim was burning sage and wheatgrass. He began to chant lowly, appealing to the Manitou and slowly started beating the small drum he had brought with him. He knew it would be a few hours until the package arrived from his uncle, he hoped he could have the barn ready by then.

Somewhere in the cold, hungry shell that Dean had become, something stirred. It wasn't the hunger that racked his body with pain, or the cold that made his bones ache. It was a sound, one he used to know. One that he should still know. He felt the monster inside him, its agitation growing at the smell of warm flesh and the sound of beating hearts. He tried to latch onto the sound, it was warm and soothing. There was also a smell, several of them. He pulled in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs. It smelled bitter and made his mouth water, he remembered this smell. He had smelled it before. He could almost feel the burning sensation, the warmth. He opened his eyes.

"Sam," Alice said, motioning to Dean. "Look."

Sam watched as Dean looked at him, trying to lift his head so he could see. Sam slowly eased off the stool, rising into Dean's field of vision. Sam watched as Dean began to take long, drawn out breaths. Sam held the glass out towards him.

"Figures," Sam said with a laugh. "He remembers whiskey."

Alice walked out to Dean, standing by his head. She dipped a finger in her glass and held it over Dean's face, the first drip landing in his ear. He quickly looked up at her hand, his lips pulled back in a warning. She let a few drops of the alcohol drip into his mouth. "Let's see how far that gets him," she said.

Three hours later Sam, Jim, and Alice were standing around Dean, each looking apprehensive. "Okay, we'll have to sedate him more, usually the patient's awake for this but I really, really don't want to get bitten," Jim explained. He stepped up the IV line and began to adjust the rate. They waited until Dean's eye's closed and his breathing became a perfect rhythm and then slowly moved forward.

"Sam, hold his head, just make sure he doesn't move to either side," Jim said. They watched as Jim coated the tip of the tube in xylocaine gel before he began to measure the tube, starting from Dean's nose before looping it around his ear and then to his xyphiod process. Jim took a deep breath as he began to gently ease the tube into Dean's nose, slowly sliding it in until he reached where the stomach should be. He picked up the large empty syringe and filled it with air before he grabbed the stethoscope and placed it on Dean's stomach. Sam watched as Jim pushed the syringe into the end of the feeding tube before depressing the plunger. He waited until he heard the telltale sound of air rushing Dean's stomach before smiling and turning to Sam. "Perfect," Jim said. "We'll have to check the tube for correct placement before every meal, in case he gets it dislodged. Also, we'll want him to be reclined but not lying flat for feedings. Remember, it's a gravity feed. And we only want to use it for two weeks tops."

"I imagine he'll want it out ASAP," Sam said.

"One thing we might want to consider is the psychological implications he's going to have," Jim said as he hooked the bag of nutritional slush to the tube. "He might not be able eat properly right away. He will more than likely have some hesitations; he might remember what he ate before now. If he does, he may have a hard time with chewing and swallowing regular foods. The tube might a thing for a while."

Sam looked at Alice, she could tell he was about to lose it. He wanted to hear that Dean would be alright, not hooked to a goddamn feeding tube that was hanging out of his face. She fought to keep the snarl off her face and gave Sam the nod to leave. She would stay and keep watch.

Meanwhile, Garth and Bobby were just walking back into the kitchen; Sam could smell them before he could see them. He walked into the kitchen, his nose buried in the crook of his elbow. They were covered in the Wendigo goo. Garth looked ready to vomit, but he waited next to Bobby; until Sam stopped and sat at the table. Bobby reached over and set a small metal object in front of Sam. He sat for a minute staring at the dirty charm on the table. It was Dean's necklace; the one Sam had given him years ago. Garth and Bobby each landed a gently pat on his shoulder before heading down the hallway arguing over who deserved to shower first. Sam sat quietly, tears running down his face, necklace in hand when he heard a loud knock the front door. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes as he swung the door open.

"Dad," Sam said. "What are you doing here?"

Here ends this chapter. Hope you guys can deal with John for just a bit, I always wondered why he never had a bigger part. I mean, realistically, they resurrected EVERYONE but him. Oh well. The next chapter will be up quicker than this last one. Please leave a review! Thank you!