AN: Life circumstances are making it difficult to write, but I'm still here and working on it!

Janice had to deal with extra typos, but did stellar work anyway, as always.

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"Sam, take point, Dean, left flank!" Dad called out, and Sam automatically obeyed and ranged in the correct direction, staying out of the reach of the deranged creature the three Winchesters were facing.

The whatever's appearance was so odd it was easy to overlook how deadly it was. A lanky seven feet tall, it looked like a giant, skinny owl with legs the length of the rest of its body. Its beak was too long for its face, curved, wickedly sharp, and lined with serrated teeth. It had the wings you'd expect (though Sam didn't think they were big enough for true flight), and a second, small pair emerging from the tops of its shoulders. The feathers were all black as pitch except for a band of white around its eyes, like a negative image panda.

It was scary fast, too, whatever it was. It slashed with both its talons and sharp beak, and a shotgun blast to the chest hadn't done anything except produce a dragged-needle-on-a-record worthy screech. The only thing keeping it contained at the moment was a rope they'd lassoed around one of its ankles and tied to one of the ubiquitous cypress giants that dotted the area. Dean had made the nearly impossible toss to snag the foot. Now they just had to secure the other one and figure out how to kill it before it realized its beak could cut the rope.

Sam was holding a second loop of rope with that goal in mind, and he knew exactly why he'd been the one picked to make the throw. As soon as the demonic owl's other leg was secured, Dad and Dean were going to rush it.

To that end, Dean circled to Sam's left so he and Dad could distract and get the creature to raise its free foot. "Hey, Hoots!" Dean called, and threw a rock at the monster's face. It knocked the projectile aside with one of the small wings and made a deep, angry caw but didn't take the bait, still thrashing in an effort to free its foot. Dad darted in from the other side and slashed it with his knife, more to distract than injure as they'd learned that the feathers were almost impenetrable.

Sam vibrated with tension, the rope slippery in his hands from sweat and the oppressive humidity, wishing he could help as his family played Russian roulette with a monster. The owl's leg came up and he made his throw...and missed.

"No worries, Sammy," Dean called.

"Coil it up and try again," Dad ordered calmly, his eyes never leaving his prey. Sam nodded and obeyed, blinking sweat out of his eyes. When he had the rope ready again, Dad moved in closer, trying to cut the closest wing again.

When the strigine head swiveled Dad's way, round, flat black eyes locking on him, Dean darted close and forcefully pulled a handful of feathers out of the wing on the other side. With another eardrum shattering shriek, the thing snapped its larger wings open, too fast for either of its tormentors to dodge them. Both went down hard into the inch-deep water covering the boggy ground, but Dad was farther away and already moving backwards, so he was only caught by the very end of one powerful wing. Dean, however, caught the top joint of the wing under the chin and went rolling ass over tea kettle.

Sam's heart somersaulted right along with his brother, especially as the owlish monster raised its deadly talons to strike the downed Hunter.

He'd never get a weapon to bear on time, which meant his only option was the rope, and this time, he couldn't afford to miss.

Time slowed down as the wicked claws started their descent. Sam saw the lasso leave his hands and those same hands pulling it taut when the loop fell perfectly over the huge foot and tightened around the creature's ankle, but it was as if someone else was acting and he was just a spectator. Luckily, he kept acting on instinct.

Sam pulled back on the rope as hard as he could, needing to keep that foot away from Dean, who had just started to struggle against the muck to try to get some distance but was still in the danger zone.

The thing screeched yet again, jerking suddenly on its upraised foot, pulling Sam stumbling toward it. But he set his feet and used his body weight along with every muscle he possessed to pull back, because the prize for winning this tug of war was Dean's life. Neither contestant looked up at the shotgun blast, Sam because he knew it was Dad trying to give him a distraction, the bird because it was apparently too focused on getting free.

Dad had made it to his knees but couldn't shoot the monster with Dean on its other side. And he wasn't close enough to help Sam get the rope tied around the nearest tree. There was a cypress with huge, knobby roots that he could anchor the rope to if he could just get there.

At 16, Sam was not small. He was actually a smidge taller than Dad (which had secretly been a very satisfying turn of events), but though he was fit and strong, he was not bulky, and the monster kept jerking him forward and erasing most of his progress.

Then Dad made a rare mistake, climbing to his feet too close to the furious monster. A massive wing wrapped around his upper body, reeling him in like Sam was trying to reel it in. Dad wrestled with it, trying to stay clear of the dangerous beak.

Sam cried out and found hidden reserves to pull even harder, ignoring the rough rope cutting into his palms, not knowing how else to help. He could see that Dad was hacking away at the wing that was enfolding him, but he was still being drawn inexorably closer to the snapping beak.

As Sam pulled the rope around the tree he'd chosen, a knife appeared out of nowhere (Dean's knife, Sam's brain supplied) and buried itself up to the hilt in one of the creature's huge eyes.

With a scream of pain and rage the monster threw Dad aside and charged blindly, breaking the back rope.

Sam only had time to think, "Uh oh" before the monster barreled into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground, then stepping on his calf as it ran madly. Sam gasped at the tearing sensation as the claws pierced right through his jeans. He hadn't regained he equilibrium before he found himself being dragged by the rope he was still holding through the muck and water on his stomach.

Dad yelled something that Sam had no hope of hearing, then his wild flight slowed a little. He flinched as something large came toward him from the side, unable to identify it through the sluicing swamp sludge.

The impact with the object wasn't bad, but something wrapped around Sam. It was an...arm? Turning his head, he realized it was Dad, holding the other rope. Dad tilted his body so Sam was half on top of him, shielding him from the worst of it. There was a bang, then they changed directions so quickly they went sliding sideways in a twisted game of crack the whip. Dad grunted and jostled Sam but neither let go.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the crazy ride stopped. Once they finished skidding, Sam rolled off Dad and looked up. Fifteen feet away, Dean was staring back at him, panting. He had a bloody machete in his hand and the monster lay at his feet, head detached.

"You boys okay?" asked Dad.

"Fan-damn-tastic," Dean drawled. At Dad's Look (surprisingly effective even though he was still on the ground), Dean elaborated. "Bruised to hell, but nothing that can't be fixed by a jacuzzi and a hot blonde. Sammy?"

Sam finally convinced his hands to uncurl from the rope, wincing a little at the abrasions. "Yeah, I'm okay." He tested his weight on his calf, feeling the sharp sting of a cut. It didn't feel like a serious injury and he decided it was unlikely to slow him much. "A few cuts and bruises, but nothing much. I may need some muscle relaxers later, though." He held out a hand to Dad, who grabbed his forearm to stand up, sparing Sam's hands.

"Dad, you good?" Dean asked, peering at them like his eyes could pierce the mud and suss out any hidden hurts.

Dad shrugged. "Fine," he said shortly. "So there's nothing that can't wait for triage until after we make sure that thing can't come back?" Sam and Dean shook their heads.

"I have a question," Dean drawled. "Why the hell didn't you two morons let go?"

"It was getting away," Sam and Dad said in unison, then blinked at each other, a little nonplussed at the incongruity of the two of them being in sync.

Dean shook his head, though there was a smile lurking there. "You are a matching set. Crazy bastards!" He sounded proud, the weirdo. "That was pretty badass though!"

He wasn't wrong about Sam and Dad matching each other. Dean was dirty from hitting the ground, but Sam and Dad were more mud than person.

Dad looked at the dead monster. "Let's take care of this thing."

"How?" asked Sam, looking around. There was more swamp than land.

Dad raised his eyebrows and Sam knew he wasn't going to like it.

None of them did.

They spent what felt like a few eons taking care of it. They made a squat tower of wet logs, then put dry ones on top, tinder on top of those, then char cloth. Once they'd gotten a decent fire going, they burned the owl head, then its heart. The rest of the body they dismantled and buried separately and sprinkled everything with holy water.

Sam was just grateful that Dad didn't insist on debriefing the hunt while they worked. Sam wasn't sure he could handle such a dissection and the almost inevitable argument that followed while they were still in the fetid bog. Dad never thought any hunt was "good enough," which pissed off Sam more than it should have.

By the time they were done, the mud on their t-shirts was dried except where their sweat was dampening it. Their jeans, of course, were still damp and their feet were soaked. Their muscles were tired and they were dragging the whole time, but finally they were finished.

Dad asked again if there were any injuries needing immediate attention. Sam looked himself over, but neither his palms nor his calf were still bleeding so he, like Dean, shook his head. They wearily started back for the car.

It was a bedraggled looking crew that hiked back out through the swamp. It wasn't fun to wade through murky water that sometimes went as high as their thighs at the best of times, much less when they were so tired and sore.

On the side of Dean's neck and climbing up his jaw was dark red and purple bruising. Dad couldn't quite disguise the fact that his ribs hurt. Sam felt like his muscles were made of Jell-o and his calf ached. The cool water felt good on the latter, even though it was miserable being wet for so long.

Sam got caught up in his head, focusing on just trudging along, justkeepgoing dontstop that he was caught off guard when the first rays of the sun shone off the Impala's finish. He was as shocked as he was relieved that the walk was finally over.

They barely took the time to put some garbage bags down on the seats before climbing in. Sam stretched out in the back seat, having to bite his tongue to hold back a groan at finally being able to stretch his muscles. His arms, shoulders, and back were all aching from his tug of war battle with the giant owl.

"My life is weird," he thought wearily, trying to find a position that didn't put any pressure on his calf, which was one big, hot ache after the long trek through the muck. He was not looking forward to the inevitable cleaning and disinfecting.

"The next time we find evidence of something from the, uh, ass gothic or whatever it is, let's look the other way," Dean said from the front seat and Sam chuckled, remembering a few days earlier when they'd been in Conway, Arkansas between hunts and Dad had seen a couple news stories about strange happenings around the tiny town of Baker, Mississippi.

"Reports of purple lightning when the sky had been clear, sudden, town-wide power outages with no apparent cause, and animals acting completely out of character," he'd reported thoughtfully. "Sounds like an ars goetia."

The Ars Goetia, whose name Dean had slaughtered so mercilessly, was a list of lower infernal creatures (though it incorrectly claimed to be a list of demon names). They were quite rare, but Dad had heard all about them and recognized the pattern immediately.

"I think that was a stolas," Dad said, but Sam only heard it vaguely. He felt like he was rolling down a hill into sleep. The last thing he thought before falling completely was,

"At least the there weren't any real problems with the hunt."

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AN: This is a fic with multiple chapters. Why? Because, of course, nothing with our boys can be that simple.

Baker, Mississippi is made up.

The Ars Goetia really exists and claims to be a daemoniun or list of demons. I changed it up, as I do sometimes.

Stolas is often described like a gigantic owl with long legs. Naturally, I embellished that too.