AN: I wasn't sure that I liked the way this chapter came out but Janice did, and she's way smarter than I am, so et voilà, here it is for your consumption.

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Dean was pissed off before he got his eyes open.

He assessed himself as he pushed away the sticky tendrils of unconsciousness. He was slumped in a hard, armless chair, his arms bound behind him and to the chair. Ropes, not cuffs, but well-tied. His legs were similarly fastened to the legs of the chair, and his neck ached from its awkward position. He could tell without moving that he was no longer carrying his gun, boot knife, or the knife he'd had on his forearm.

He looked through his lashes without moving his head, his senses slowly giving him more information. He couldn't see much about his own condition except that the knees of his jeans were torn and the skin underneath was scraped and bloody. He would figure out more once he could lift his head.

His situation wasn't why he was pissed off. It didn't help, but it wasn't the initial reason.

No; Dean remembered what had gotten him into this predicament and realized that that was what was making him so angry and annoyed.

As Dean went to step out of Henry's Pizzeria, a wiry guy with a heavy-duty camouflage jacket opened the door from the outside and held it for him. Dean nodded his thanks, hands full of pizza boxes with a bag of breadsticks balanced on top. Henry had thrown in quite a few more than typically came with the order, saying he knew how boys could eat.

Behind Dean, the door-holding guy didn't actually go inside, just let the door fall closed, but of course Dean didn't know that.

Dean took two steps from the door and to the side because he was meeting another man, tall and thick, with dark hair clipped so close that you could see his scalp. He sported what looked like a knife scar over his right cheekbone. As he came even with Dean, he suddenly lurched sideways, shoving his shoulder hard into Dean's and sending Dean stumbling sideways into the passageway between the pizzeria and the outfitter store next door.

Even as it happened, Dean had to admire the professionalism of the set up. Three guys were waiting in the space, too narrow to be called an alley, too dark for anyone to see in unless they were right next to it, bounded by two brick buildings with no windows facing that direction. Scar face and camo coat were right behind Dean, whose hands were full, which impeded him even further.

Despite knowing they were being watched earlier, Dean hadn't seen this coming, which meant they were good. Damn good.

But so was Dean.

He threw the boxes at the wiry dude with a dirty blond mullet right in front of him, knowing the thinness of the space could be one of his best assets, since they couldn't come at him more than two at once. He threw a hard elbow behind him but whoever was there was built like a brick shithouse and grunted but didn't move much. Dean punched the guy in front of him, knocking him back into the other two who were that direction. If he could just get back to the street, chance were good there would be witnesses and these guys would have to give it up. Dean reached for the gun at his waistband, but whoever was behind him grabbed his arms and tried to pull them behind him as if to cuff him. Well, if he was being attacked by a huge-ass dude, he'd take advantage of it. Dean leaned heavily into the hold, brought both feet up and kicked the chest of the man he'd punched. The three in front of Dean all went down in a heap. His weight had thrown Andre the Giant off balance and he twisted free. The man was reaching for a choke-hold and that was perfect. Dean grabbed two fistfuls of coat, bend forward sharply and sent the guy flying over his shoulder onto the growing thug-pile.That left just the door man. As Dean spun toward him, something hard caught him in the temple, knocking him to knees. The world took a dizzying twirl, but Dean still managed to punch the man in the side of the knee hard enough to make it buckle.

A needle slid smoothly into the back of Dean's neck. He jerked away too late, feeling warmth spread through his veins. Furious and desperate, he finally got his boot knife out and slashed blindly behind him, hard going through a thick coat but catching flesh too based on the cry. He felt like sludge was filling him but Dean managed to bury the knife in the thigh of the same leg he'd punched before his candle snuffed out.

So, yup, he was pissed off, not only at the crew that had targeted him and drugged him and tied him up, but at himself for allowing himself to be nabbed by a bunch of guys who looked like they brewed their own liquor in the bathtub. He'd barely drawn a weapon! The fact that he'd essentially taken them all down and was only stopped by being drugged unconscious didn't matter. He'd let it happen and that was on him in his mind.

"He's wakin' up, Dave," said a voice as Dean finally got his eyelids cracked. He felt sluggish, his mouth was dry, and his head throbbed lightly, but honestly he'd had worse hangovers. He wondered briefly what they'd dosed him with that worked so fast and didn't have many residual effects.

"Sure am, Dave," Dean said. "And you owe me some pizza." He blinked a few times and took in his surroundings. He was in a log cabin. It was well-built but crude, like whoever had done it had cared only about functionality and didn't give a shit about appearance. For example, the logs fit together perfectly to keep out the winter cold, but they weren't trimmed completely of bark.

Dean was near the middle of a very large room with various chairs that fit right in – some were Kmart specials, some were sturdily hand-made and unpainted. Two empty cable rolls held up a slab of wood to create a makeshift table and other rolls were in use as either end tables or ottomans.The guy who'd been wearing a camo coat was sitting in a crude Adirondack in front of Dean and he'd been the one to call out. A blond with an ugly beard and torn Coors shirt sat next camo guy with one leg propped up on the "coffee table." There was a slightly bloody bandage around the latter's thigh, which Dean knew was his work.

Dean rolled his head to his left to see a man he didn't recognize walking toward him from a large kitchen and eating area that took up the entire back wall of the cabin. This guy – Dave, apparently – had long gray hair pulled into a ponytail and the air of someone who wasn't afraid of anything and didn't take any shit. Dean would put real money down that he was the leader of this group, whatever or whoever they were. He figured either they were a nest of something he and Sam had never suspected or they were the world's unlikeliest sex traffickers.

Dave called out three more names – Steve, Paul, and Lance (seriously? Lance?) – as Dean rolled his head back farther until he could make out a row of beds behind him with a large curtain half-pulled that was apparently the only way to shut them off from the rest of the abode. The whole thing had the feel of a bachelor pad meets a barracks.

Playing up his disorientation, which was nearly gone by now, Dean continued his perusal of the room while listening to the men who were filing in from his right, drawn by Dave's call. Then Dean saw a familiar figure on the floor to his right, tied hand and foot and frighteningly still. And he was furious. Gut-churning, vision going red, straining at his bonds until blood ran down his wrists furious.

"What the hell did you do to my brother?!" he demanded in a voice of gravel. He knew you didn't give away information like that, but he was too livid to care at the moment.

Sam's face was turned away from Dean, and he was lax in a way that indicated he wasn't aware at all. There was nothing visibly wrong with him that Dean could see from this angle, though he was absolutely filthy, caked with mostly dried mud. Sam's breathing was rough and congested, and Dean cursed the drug that made him so oblivious to his brother until now. He was, he decided, going to kill each and every single one of these men, whether or not they were human.

"Your brother?" asked Dave calmly. He and all of the other men except the big guy with the really short hair were sitting now. "Nice to know your kind can show some loyalty." He studied Dean like a bug under a microscope as Dean caught up to the words.

Your kind? Did they know the Winchesters were Hunters?

"He's fine. He just didn't choose to come quietly, like you."

Dean shunted the blinding anger aside just enough to focus more on Sam. His breathing didn't sound wet or bubbling, just congested like he had a bleeding nose, maybe. "He's fifteen, dickweed." He included every one of the six other men in his glare, catching each man's eyes and cataloging both bruises he'd been responsible for and some damage he hadn't, including a bandage he'd missed seeing on the hand of the dude who'd been wearing the camo jacket (Mike, Dave had called him) when they'd come after Dean. "Paul," had hands covered with tiny scars that probably meant he did a lot of something like welding or wood-working, had the bulk of a bandage on the left side of his lower torso.

"Looks like he got his licks in, though," Dean sneered. "How many of you did it take to bring down one skinny teenager?"

"That animal bit me –" Mike started whining, but shut up immediately when Dave waved a hand. Interesting. They had a definite hierarchy and despite their rough appearance, had some discipline, too.

"I think you know what we want, boy," Dave said, still way too relaxed.

Dean had no idea, actually. Maybe they wanted to know where Dad was? Whatever it was, he couldn't give it to them. These guys were pros and hadn't bothered to hide their faces or names from him. They didn't intend to let Sam and Dean get out of there alive. Probably had driven Dean's car and cleaned out the house so everyone would think they'd just moved on and had no idea that Dad would hunt them to the ends of the Earth if they tossed his sons in a shallow grave or roasted their bones or whatever they ultimately had planned.

Not happening. Dean hadn't survived werewolves and that freaky crocodile/octopus thing near Boca Raton and the half-succubus waitress in Tampa (screw Florida, anyway) and kept Sammy alive all this time just for them to get taken out by half a dozen...um. He probably should figure out what they were.

"I won't say another word – well, not any that you want – until you show me Sam's okay," Dean said through gritted teeth. He was going to kill Dave first, he decided. Camo, er, Mike next, since he'd done something to Sam that had made the kid bite him.

"Get him up so he can breathe better. Let me see his face." Dean was probably revealing too much again, but it didn't matter in the face of his need to check on his little brother.

"You don't get to –" started Beardo. He wouldn't be a threat, Dean decided. Even if he were armed, the glassiness of his eyes said he'd had some chemical pain control that would slow his reflexes.

"Rick," Dave admonished, and Dean took note of the name, the same way he'd been cataloging everything about their captors.

There was Dave, the alpha dog, who'd probably had the same ponytail since the 70's but might actually be the most dangerous member of the Berkshire Clampetts. Steve must be the sulky-looking skinny guy who sort of lurked in the back. He was mean, but a coward, Dean thought. Probably had a weapons kink to try to make up for being the runt of the litter. Mike with the bandaged hand was squirrelly and probably the youngest guy there. He seemed uncomfortable but Dean had the impression that he was also desperate to prove himself to the rest. Paul was older than any of the rest except for Dave and looked a little softer. He probably had some kind of technical role. He also moved with a bit of a wince. Lance was taller than Dean, and Dean already knew he didn't go down easy. He had some weight around his middle but was far from fat. Dean thought he might be favoring his right shoulder a little since getting thrown. Then there was mullet-headed stoner Rick of the bum leg courtesy of Dean's fist and then knife. Six assholes. Might be a bit of a challenge to get out of there.

"Steve, turn the boy over," Dave continued. To Dean, he said, "That's the only request you get. From here on out, I ask the questions. Answer them honestly and this goes easy. If not," he nodded at Sam. "He's leverage. We'll do whatever we have to."

Dean ground his teeth until his jaw ached watching as Steve, who looked like an angry Enos from Dukes of Hazzard, strolled over to Sam. Making sure Dean was watching, Steve used the tip of his shoe to hook under Sam's shoulder and carelessly flip him over onto his tied wrists.

Dean clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms and mentally moved Steve up to the second-to-be-killed slot, especially since Mike seemed to deliberately not looking at Sam. Guilt, maybe?

"Face," Dean gritted out since he still couldn't see Sam's face with his head tipped forward and all that hair flopping down. Steve waited long enough that it seemed like he wouldn't do anything, then bent and used a handful of Sam's hair to tug his head back until Dean could see his face.

Dean swallowed. Sam's face was covered in blood, presumably from his nose, which was swollen and probably broken. Despite the blood and mud, Dean could see a darkening bruise on Sam's left cheek too and recognized the injury. "Who. Kicked. My. Brother. In. The. Face?" he demanded, each word sounding like it was being dragged out of him with meathooks.

"It doesn't matter," said Dave, leaning forward so his folded hands dangled between his knees. "We did what we had to in order to get you both here. We will learn where the egg is and destroy it. Our family has been waiting a hundred years to find it – we aren't going to get squeamish now." His confidence was unnerving, as was the fact that only Paul and maybe Mike seemed even the slightest bit disturbed by the fact that they'd beaten up and tied up a couple strangers, one of whom was just a kid.

Dean didn't miss the fact that Dave hadn't offered to let them go if they cooperated, just said that it would 'go easy.'

"You did it, didn't you?" Dean asked, glancing at Steve and still thinking about Sammy being kicked in the face by some backwoods douche and really wanting to start the killing now. (It was a damn shame they were so good at tying knots. It might take some unsupervised time for him to get free.) Steve smirked and Dean nodded at the confirmation before turning back toward Sam. "Yeah. Okay, that makes you first, then Dave. Probably Lance next." Lance was probably the biggest physical threat, so it made sense to kill him earlier in the list, but sometimes you just had to go with your heart.

Sam wouldn't be okay killing a human being, no matter what they did to him, but Dean might have to save one or two for Dad.

"Where is the egg, Dean?" snapped Dave, sounding impatient for the first time. Noted. He didn't like to be ignored.

If he'd planned to unnerve Dean by using his name, he was disappointed; Dean didn't even look at him. Half the town knew their names – and they had to use their real names to get Sam into school – and besides, these guys had certainly tossed the house by now. Dean hoped they hadn't found the hidden compartment in the trunk of the Impala or hurt his baby in any way.

"There are wardings and spells on this house that will keep you from using any of your magic to protect yourself. Do you really want to have to endure torture or watch your brother go through that? Because we will not stop, and we have two days to break you."

Suddenly what Dave was saying penetrated through the haze of anger and Sammy-please-wake-up and gotta-get-him-outta-here that Dean was trapped in. He turned his head to Dave and his mouth fell open. Then he began to laugh. He couldn't help it.

He saw that the men were annoyed by the laughter. Dave scowled, Lance leaned forward like he wanted to come over and punch the laugh off Dean's face, and Steve literally fondled a knife like some villain from an old kung fu movie, but it still took Dean a few long moments to get himself under control.

"You – you're Hunters," he wheezed, almost setting himself off again. "You want the egg and you think we're – " He didn't giggle, but it was a near thing. "You think Sam and I are witches, is that right? Oh, this is too good. Boy, did you asshats FUBAR things."

"Damn straight, we're Hunters, and we know exactly what to do with your kind –" Lance began.

"We're Hunters, too, you half-brained, obsessed, redneck shitheads!" Dean yelled.

That got a reaction. Someone yelled bullshit and a few others muttered denials or surprise and Dave's eyes widened for a second.

"We didn't know about the egg until after we got here," Dean continued, wondering if telling the truth would actually work. He didn't have a huge amount of confidence that it would, but it would be nice to have a chance to physically check on Sam, who he was pretty sure was awake and playing possum now.

Of course, if they did believe Dean and let him go, he wouldn't get a chance to kill anyone. Completely off-base and misguided or not, these guys were still Hunters and apparently thought they were saving the world or something. He'd definitely throw a few punches, though. Probably more than a few. "We figured it might be a good idea to destroy it, but –"

"Stop," said Dave, doing that annoying thing that Dad could do of speaking softly but with unmistakable command. "Nobody knows about the egg except for us and the witches we knew would come for it one day. We saw you at the house of the old Houghton witch and know you took the egg from there. We also saw the house you were staying in and know you've been tracking the thing's signs, so you'll be ready to unleash the monster when it hatches.

"We've been raised for this, Dean, literally waiting for this time our entire lives. Your lies are not going to fool us."

Many of the man's words had the sound of something that had been repeated over and over, probably passed down from parents and grandparents, if he was telling the truth.

"Yeah," that was Lance. "So if anyone from your little witch family comes lookin' for you, we'll be ready for them, too. Which breed of cockroaches are you, anyway: Leòid, Stark, Cártaí, Loughlin, Plum?" He recited the list like something long-since memorized.

"We didn't steal the egg, it hatched, you douche canoes. We didn't even get to town until after that. Did you even go to the Houghton house and look at that hole in the wall? Cuz that's where we found Albert's book and learned more about what was going on. Oh, and as for nobody knowing about the egg? You are so wrong. All kinds of people know that something big's coming without even hiding out in the woods like the Swiss Family Robinsons sitting on your hands for a hundred years just waiting for the chance to torture the first strangers who come into town! Talk about riding the crazy train!" Dean was on a roll now, leaning forward as far as his bonds would allow and yelling at the top of his lungs. (Hey, he'd held onto his temper for a long time.)

"And by the way, your ancestor was just as big a dumbass as all of you are – once Al figured out what he had, he was trying to figure out how to kill it. It's a pretty damn big screw up to not only take out the guy who's working on the same thing you are, but to do it before finding out where the freaking egg was hidden!" Dean was actually panting lightly by the end of his rant, the absurdity of being picked up by fellow Hunters (sort of) and mistaken for the very thing they'd been hunting themselves only adding to his fury. Still, he managed to sneak in a 'crazy train' so Sam would know Dean wanted him to keep playing dead.

"You're lying," Steve snarled because of course he did.

"What book?" asked Dave, completely missing the most important parts of what Dean was saying. He was frowning, his lips pinched in irritation, and Dean added doesn't like not knowing everything to his mental list about the man.

And, huh, if they'd searched the house, they certainly should have found the book. Unless Sam figured out trouble was coming and managed to find somewhere to stash the book where they couldn't find it in the shoebox-sized house. Only his continued anger and years of practicing his poker face allowed Dean to keep the smile off his face. They had no idea how much they'd been underestimating little Sammy Winchester. Some of them had injuries to prove it, but that wasn't all the kid had done.

"A journal passed down by one of those witch families, I guess," said Dean. No reason to lie when the truth would just whet their appetite for the book. "They wrote about how to protect the egg. Al put notes in it, too, like the fact that he was told he was protecting people. He figured it out, though, and was looking for a way to take it out before it ever hatched. Which it has now, so your focus oughta be on finding it and sending it to monster Hell."

"Where is the book?" Dave asked, eyes narrowed and his jaw set, and Dean knew that the time for just talking was over.

"Let us free, give us our weapons back, and I'll give you the damn book and help you kill the thing," Dean offered. Not that he'd actually let them off that easily, but he wasn't getting very far on getting himself free.

"Cut him, Steve," Dave directed, his eyes steely. "You will tell me where the book and the egg are," he told Dean confidently. "If you do it now, we'll kill you and your brother humanely."

Grinning and licking his lips like the freak he obviously was, Steve walked over flipping his knife back and forth in his hands.

They probably weren't going to really hurt Dean, not yet, but start small and work their way up. He was considering just taking it for now pretending to break. He had the room to headbutt Steve, but as tempting as the thought was, he didn't want to take his shot just yet, not with all six hillbillies in the room and his little brother still injured and bound on the floor.

Steve slid the side of the knife along Dean's temple and cheekbone like he was a creepy movie villain. Behind him, the men looked intent and determined except Paul, who dropped his eyes and Mike who liked he might be sick. Interesting.

Steve leaned so close that Dean could smell the onions on his breath, anticipation dripping from his every pore.

Dean's heart was pounding because while he thought this would just be some shallow cuts, he just didn't know how crazy this guy was or how much Dave would hold him in check. But Dean and fear were old friends. Besides, he preferred action to this waiting, even if it hurt. So he curled up one corner of his mouth in what hopefully looked like an unbothered smile. "I didn't pay for a shave," he taunted. "Or don't you know what to do with that thing, Enos?"

Dean braced himself as the knife pushed harder at the hinge of his jaw but before the skin could split, Steve was suddenly no longer in front of Dean.

With a cry, the nutcase fell sideways, landing across Mike and Rick's laps. There was a very clear crunch when Sam's feet had made contact with the side of Steve's knee. It was the same move Dean had tried on Lance in the alley but was far more effective with two feet and space to wind up than with one short punch. The knee was definitely messed up. Dean was torn between pride and dammit, Sammy, you weren't supposed to draw attention to yourself.

There was chaos for a moment, then Dave ordered Mike to help Steve, who hissed and swore the entire way out of the room, not bearing any weight on his leg. Then Dave himself stood and hauled Sam to his feet by his collar, grabbed his hair with one hand, and put a wicked-looking knife to his throat. Dean and Sam both froze, eyes locked. Sam bit his lip and his heart was beating so hard Dean could see the pulse in his neck, but he didn't make a sound.

"Leave him alone!" Dean yelled in a terrible voice he barely recognized. "He's just a kid."

Dave just pulled Sam's hair harder, forcing his head farther back. "Next time you talk without permission, Sam pays for it," Dave hissed in a near-whisper that hit with the force of a bullet.

When Dean was silent, Dave spoke right in Sam's ear. "Don't want to see us cut your brother up, do you?"

Sam shook his head as much as he was able.

"There's exactly one way to avoid that," Dave continued as Dean shook with restrained and impotent fury. "Tell me where the egg is and what protections are around it."

Sam's eyes never strayed from Dean's. He had to swallow twice before he answered. "H-hatched," he said softly.

Whip-quick Dave flicked the knife, nicking a spot on the bottom of Sam's jaw. Sam didn't make a sound, but his wince made Dean's hatred for Dave swell even more. Dave looked at Lance and tipped his head toward Dean. Lance sauntered over, pulling a knife – Dean's knife, that asshole – and cut Dean in the same place. It hardly registered as pain because that wasn't what this was about, not yet.

They had no idea that the sight of blood would hardly break a Winchester. Hurt me, not him, Dean pleaded silently. He stared hard at Sam, willing him to tell them whatever he had to in order to stay alive.

"Don't lie to me, witch," growled Dave. "I've read more than you can imagine, and the thing won't hatch until the third auspicious day."

"Not a witch," Sam rasped, then kept talking really fast. "I know why people think that, but what it said in the Greek was that on the third auspicious day it would go through génisi, which you translated as birth. But in ancient times, that was used interchangeably with emfánisi, which now means something like emergence. I think, uh, it means that the Ides of March is when it will come into its strength. So that's probably –"

Sam broke off with a soft gasp as Dave cut him on the cheek this time, still so shallow as to be barely more than a scratch, but a few inches long this time. Dean hardly noticed that he was getting the same treatment. He barked out a harsh, angry laugh, risking Dave's further wrath.

"All those years, all those generations, and one teenage kid figures it out right in a couple days. But you'd rather kill us than admit you and your whole inbred family got it wrong. Because of that, the monster's gonna eat this whole damn state instead of us killing it before it can emerge or whatever."

Sam's eyes changed. He was still terrified. He was trembling and tied up with dried blood all over his face and fresh blood trickling down his neck and one cheek. And there was a realization in his eyes that they were going to get hurt no matter what they said or did. But beyond all of that was a trust that gave Dean hope. Sam had absolute trust that Dean would get them out of this situation somehow. It might suck first, but they would not die in this little cabin of horrors. Dean wasn't entirely sure about that himself, but he knew that Sam could read him, too. So he buried his uncertainty and let his pride in Sam show through.

"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity," Sam said, flinching at the cut on his chin that earned him. Dean knew the quote. They'd attended a high school named after Martin Luther King, Jr. for a couple months and the quote had been above the door.

Willful stupidity, more like, Dean thought, but he understood what Sam was saying, though he doubted the children of the corn here appreciated it.

"Get another chair, Lance," Dave decided, proving Dean correct. "Seems like this is gonna take a while."

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AN: The most fun parts of writing this chapter was trying to think of insults for Dean to say. Got any good ones for subsequent chapters? Please share them in a comment!

The Clampetts are the family in the old TV show Beverly Hillbillies.

The Swiss Family Robinson is a Disney movie about a family marooned on a deserted island a la Robinson Crusoe.

Children of the Corn is a Stephen King story and subsequent horror movie franchise with a rural setting.

In case anyone cares, there is a method to my madness of choosing names for witch families. Leòid is the root name of MacLeod (as in Rowena), Stark is the last name of the witch couple in Shut Up, Dr. Phil, Cártaí is Irish for 'cards' for the witch Patrick in The Curious Case of Dean Winchester (since we never learned his last name), Loughlin is the last name of the witch family in Regarding Dean and Plum is the name of the witch family in Various and Sundry Villains.

Anything that isn't in English I got from Google translate, so I apologize for any errors.

We just celebrated MLK day here, so I decided to mark it with one of Dr. King's quotes that I love the most.

Timelady66: Heh. These guys weren't even in my original plan for the story, because I even mess myself up sometimes. That's how I manage to surprise even savvy readers...lol. Janice suggested the Hardy Boy reference (after your comment) and you both were right that it was perfect. Don't ever be sorry for throwing a plot bunny my way – my brain is already full of bouncing pingpong balls, so what's one more?

Lena: Janice was also worried about Baby getting run off the road, but nope, she's (presumably) safe. I loved the Hardy Boys, even better than Nancy Drew, because there was more actual adventure, you know? I was that kid who read books like Treasure Island and the Sherlock Holmes collection over and over and over. Yeah, I was trying to establish that Sam's at that age where you so badly want people to see you as an adult even though you really aren't one yet. For the record, we have a rule in our family that if you are the one who goes out to pick up food, you're allowed one piece of whatever on the way home (or a handful of fries, or whatever) as "tax." When the kids were little I used to get this cup full of doughnut holes from the local coffee shop whenever I went, and I always ate the first one, even if they were in the car with me. Hehe. I'm not surprised that you got buried in snow. That huge snow storm got everyone around us but didn't come here...so weird. There are two on their way, though. Michigan in winter, ya know.

Colby's girl: I know, I know. This one doesn't end much better. Does it help to know that the next chapter is about half written already? It could be done as soon as tomorrow (though Saturday is more likely, honestly). It's cool to hear that the monotony in the previous chapter actually helped ramp up the tension because that was what I was really hoping for. I hear you on not really being surprised by the winter weather. I laugh at the meteorologists sometimes when they get all excited about a storm coming. I'm like, it's Michigan, guys. Lots of lakes, lots of snow. And I still can hardly believe I drove in the blizzard with my kids in the car! Growing up in the country I tend to figure I can drive through anything as long as I don't stop. LOL

muffinroo: Erm, yeah. I had a relapse! Is it bad that I'm really happy that you felt the tension I was trying to build in the last chapter? Good call on the Hunters. They almost didn't really feature in this story, but got kind of pushy and made me write more about them, the meanies. As for peeking inside my mind, I don't recommend it!

sylvia37: I have more about the town's complicity (or not) in the next chapter, and I had you in mind when I wrote it!

Long Live BRUCAS: Yeah, it's never a good thing when Dean doesn't show up when Sam's in danger! Good call with the townsfolk, but the Hunters are sort of...town adjacent. Ha!

stedan: Yup, um, so...guess the boys are getting hurt now. I'd apologize but honestly we all know I'll do it again…Hopefully, that wait wasn't too long!

Atlasina7: Heh. That was kind of the opposite of prognostication, right? So glad you're reading!