Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of its creators and those that pay to put it on TV. I'm only borrowing their creations for a little while.

Dean awoke with a strange mix of elation and discomfort. His head and ribs pulsed in time with his heart, something he had been expecting since he had fallen asleep the night before. He tried to keep his face even, knowing he would have a very short fuse all day; just the thought of that alone seemed to shave off a few inches of his already short temper. However, his nose was absolutely delighted by the aroma of fresh coffee as it wafted through the air and covered the stale smell of the dank motel room.

The young hunter inhaled deeply through his nose, the heavenly smell interrupted by the sharp jolt that ran down his sides. He groaned softly, recognizing with sleepy comprehension, that he was laying propped up on his back - something he only did when he was sick or injured. He sniffed at the air again, cracking open his eyes, and pushed away the images of yesterday's events as they started to resurface.

"Mornin', Dean," Sam chirped as he sipped contentedly at his latte and typed away at his laptop.

He hadn't had a difficult time stumbling across a Starbucks to get himself a mocha latte with an extra shot of espresso this morning. The caffeine buzzed merrily through his veins as Sam continued to glance at his laptop screen and jot down little details in his notebook, taking care not to glance too often at his brother out of concern.

"How on earth can you be so cheerful this early in the day?" grouched Dean as he pulled himself up onto his elbows. Dean had never been a morning person and Sam's obvious early riser routine had always managed to irritate the hell out of him. His irritation just pushed him there in record time.

Sam took another sip from his latte before he spoke, "Yea, Dean. Early. Crack of 9:30 and everything."

"C'mon, man, its before double digits," Dean shot back with a rough edge to his voice as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, "Its obscene to be up this early."

"Whoa, Dean! Obscene?" Sam asked, "That's an awfully big word to be using so early."

"Can it, college boy."

Sam smirked at the exchange. He'd never admit it to Dean, but the early morning banter had a purpose. It was Sam's way to check that his brother's concussion hadn't gotten any worse during the night. The snappy comebacks, although unoriginal, were the perfect evidence that Dean was still Dean. Sam could breathe easy for a while.

It wasn't long until he was brought out of his relief by the sensation of eyes boring into him and looked up to find his older brother shooting him with a look to kill. Sam was just about to open his mouth when Dean just shook his head and laughed roughly. Sam pretended not to notice the grimace that followed the simple action.

"So what's on the agenda for today, Sam?" Dean asked earnestly before his face darkened a little as he wrestled with the pressure building behind his eyes.

Damn concussions, he thought to himself.

Dean was a little moody, but Sam knew not to take it personally; he suspected - actually, he knew - his brother was uncomfortable and needed extra sleep to recuperate. He watched as Dean discreetly popped a Vicodin into his mouth and chased it down with the small bit of water leftover from the night before.

Sam kept his face light and untroubled as he spoke, "I thought I could head back to Aurora this afternoon."

"I? You mean 'we' right, Sammy? You're not thinkin' of going out there alone…" Dean said, his statement hovering in the air as he stood slowly. His right arm subconsciously wrapped itself around his middle as he walked, slightly hunched, towards the bathroom.

"Yea, Dean," Sam responded firmly, "Actually, I was. I think you should stay here and…"

"And what, Sam. Sleep? Relax? Paint my nails? Have a freakin' spa day? No thanks. I'm good."

Sam's face tightened and he let a short burst of air out of his nose in irritation. He chose his words carefully, knowing tension would be dripping from his tone despite his best efforts to squash it, before he said, "I just think you should take it easy today, alright?"

"Yea, yea," Dean said complacently as he shut the door to the bathroom. Sam was only half surprised to hear the water start running a few minutes later. His brother could be so stubborn sometimes.

"Don't take too long or your coffee'll get cold!" he shouted before taking a sip of his own latte and getting back down to research.

Sam had stumbled across many pages referencing the Thunderbird. His favorite, however, had been a forum entitled "Is the Thunderbird a real bird?" It had taken all of his self control to keep from laughing out loud. He was fairly certain that Dean wouldn't have found it nearly as funny as Sam had, especially if it meant waking up before 8am.

His searches after that little gem had been flooded with information about Thunderbirds all morning once he figured out how to navigate away from the crypto zoological websites and the paranormal forum websites. There was absolutely no doubt in Sam's mind that they were dealing with the legendary Native American bird at this point. Every description, right down to the glowing yellow eyes and the fierce battle cry that sounded like a clap of thunder, pointed to that final solution.

The younger Winchester rubbed at his eyes as a stinging dryness reared its ugly head. It was a sensation that he knew well from his time spent cramming at Stanford; he also knew that he should take a break from his research, but he didn't want to risk it. If he paused, he knew what he would see.

Even as he fought back the images, they pranced around his defenses and Sam could do nothing more than give in. Adrenaline leaked into his system, jockeying for position above the caffeine, as Sam blinked. His mind's eye saw his brother in the tight grip of an enormous bird, dark in color with jagged teeth in its terrible hooked beak. He stared blankly at the wall of their motel room as his inner vision replayed the event in slow motion. He shuddered as he watched the creature rocket upwards and felt himself tense when he saw the limp form of his brother as it spun and twisted in midair until it landed with a sickening thud on top of a mountain lion carcass. That half eaten animal had probably saved his brother's life.

Sam shook it off the best he could and brought himself back to task. He was still having a bit of trouble uncovering what exactly the second "Thunderbird" creature was and his riddle needed an answer. He darted around through a few more websites until one popped up with feathers, Native American symbols and the cartoon outline of black cactuses painted over an array of sunset colors. He took a long sip of his latte and decided the site was more like a 3rd grader's attempt at a book report than a legitimate site. He was about to click the back button when a picture just barely visible at the bottom of the window caught his attention.

He scrolled down to take in the sight, expecting a hokey drawing similar to the ones that covered the rest of the page. His eyes, however, grew wide in shock and he nearly dropped his half full cup as the image took up the majority of the window now displayed on the laptop screen.

"No way," he said softly, analyzing the image.

It was all there in gruesome detail. The sharply curved beak glinted red with what Sam could only imagine was blood. Serrated teeth hung from the edge of its mouth, a silent threat to whatever dared cross its path. Its feather were dark, but Sam couldn't quite tell if they were brown, black or red. After careful inspection, he simply decided they were some how all three and moved onto the next detail. What caught his interest most, though, was the depiction of rivulets of wind spouting from its wings. As Sam let his eyes wander to the larger picture, he realized the creature was soaring in front of a massive tornado.

He shook his head slightly in disbelief, but was disappointed when he couldn't find any more information other than the caption below it.

Wochowsen? Is that what that thing is?

Curiosity itching at the back of his brain, Sam opened up another tab in his internet browser and had Google cued up in the blink of an eye. He typed the letters in quickly before double checking the spelling; hitting enter put the internet hunt into motion and he waited for the next page to load on the slow wireless connection. A soft thud and a string of cuss words echoed throughout the bathroom and Sam tensed slightly.

"You alright in there?" he called as he tried not to let panic take over. Sam listened intently and heard the running water stop and a flutter of other noises that he knew must've been his brother getting out of the shower and drying off while managing to knock over and otherwise destroy everything that got in his way and pissed him off.

"Just peachy."

Sam rolled his eyes and responded under his breath with a mumbled, "Sounds it."

Sam's search page turned white briefly before it became a list of links with tags to the wochowsen. Sam's eyebrows lowered into a straight line of irritation, however, as he scanned the search results. Every link was purple. He had already searched through all of these sights and only found limited information about the Thunderbird.

"I have to talk to Aaron again," he mumbled as he clicked the back button twice on the browser to display the picture of the Wochowsen once again.

"Who's Aaron?" Dean asked, walking in with his posture slightly better than before as he tried to run a towel over his short hair, "And more importantly, where's my coffee?"

Sam didn't bother looking up as he handed his brother a tall, dark roast coffee without any of the bells or whistles that the younger Winchester so cherished about his caffeinated treats. He thought for a moment about making a rude comment to Dean, but thought better or it.

"Aaron was the guy I bumped into yesterday," Sam said, turning the laptop to face his brother, "This look familiar to you?"

Dean eyed his brother, still not ready to let go of the whole "guy I bumped into" thing as he took a big mouthful of coffee. He glanced at Sam's computer screen and swallowed in one big gulp. His face hardened and his eyes steeled over. Sam knew that Dean recognized it immediately.

"I dunno, Sammy," he began with an arrogance to his tone, "Kinda hard to tell what I saw yesterday seeing as I was so up close and personal."

"You coulda just said no, Dean," Sam replied as he swiveled the laptop back towards himself.

Dean swallowed another mouthful of lukewarm java and reigned himself in a bit. He didn't mean to be so hard on Sam, but he'd be damned if his whole body didn't ache. It was enough to make anyone with a lower tolerance to pain throw in the towel. If he bellyached or threw around his fair share of bitchiness all day, so be it.

"That was it, Sam," Dean said after a moment. His voice had gone a little softer and he hoped his brother picked up the intended apology. He carefully sat himself down on his bed, placing his coffee on the nightstand, and started struggling with his boots while he spoke.

"So what else did you get? Or do I get to play 20 questions with you and that giant rolodex you call a brain?"

Sam picked up on the change in tone and did his best to ignore the tremors in his brother's voice as he replied, "Uh, well, its all pretty much the same from site to site."

He took another sip of his tepid drink, savoring it as it disappeared, before he continued, "Giant mythological bird that brings thunderstorms. Crypto-zoologists believed it to be a living dinosaur in the 1890s. Some sites say it carries a snake with it that creates lightening. Others say the creature does it itself. They all agree, though, that it has glowing golden eyes and it cannot hurt another living creature. Not on purpose."

"So that thing that got me, then. It wasn't a Thunderbird?"

"No. Turns out its something called a Wochowsen," Sam said, doing his best to pronounce the Native American word.

"Huh," Dean said, grimacing as he sat up straight and sipped at his coffee, "So the Thunderbird has an evil cousin."

"Looks like."

"And you said something about a guy. Aaron, was it?"

Sam nodded as he spoke, "Yea. Aaron just kinda showed up in the middle of our little research trip. He's a Passamaquoddy Indian and he knows a thing or two about…"

"Wait a minute, this guy showed up in the middle of nowhere right where you happened to be?" Dean asked, leaning back on his hands to give himself a break from the torture that had become bending over. He tried to look nonchalant as he continued, "And you didn't think it was…weird…or anything?"

"Dean, it freaked me out, alright? But he didn't have any weapons and he started telling me this story."

Sam recounted what Aaron had told Dean, frequently referencing different websites that confirmed the legend. He was sure to include every little inflection Aaron had used and also the little bit about how Sam had caught on that this was a family history. Dean, still resting on his arms, sat and listened patiently. Sam didn't find this incredibly odd; he knew Dean got right down to business when it came to hunting. However, the younger Winchester has a sneaking suspicion Dean sat so still to keep from having to tie his boot and put on the other one.

When Sam was finished, Dean spoke, "You're right. We have to go back to our favorite little ghost town. We gotta talk to that guy."

Sam nodded and watched as Dean's face shifted into a look of determination as he shifted his posture and bent over again to tackle his boots. Wrinkles of pain started to appear on his face as he fought to tie his shoe before starting the whole routine with the other foot.

"First you make a bunny ear with one string. Then you make another bunny ear with the other string," taunted Sam as he shut down his laptop and finished off his latte.

"Shut up, Sam."

Breakfast was taken at a leisurely pace, partly because of Dean's inability to sit comfortably and eat at the same time, partly because of the waitress that had taken to his vulnerability like a duck to water. Dean had caught her eye again, the same brunette with the adorable smile. She had been friendly at first, asking about the Impala, which made Dean beam with pride, and friendly questions about the boys. Dean managed to fluster her with the same tricks he had used yesterday, but his injuries had made her extra attentive to their table. Later, he caught a look in her hazel eyes that he had learned to abhor - pity.

Now, the two Winchesters were bouncing around inside the Impala after Dean had relinquished the wheel to Sam. He had tried to drive, but the bumps and the coordination driving required had tired him out too quickly. Dean tucked himself against the seat of the Impala and willed the car to stop bucking. He was already seeing dark spots.

"So you gonna call dear Sarah when you get back?" Sam asked with a smirk plastered to his face.

Dean swallowed, fighting back the nausea that was clawing at his stomach, and shot Sam a look. His voice was strained when he finally managed to talk.

"Maybe when my ribs aren't forty different colors."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "You want to be in tip top shape for your night on the town, huh?"

"Who said anything about going out, Sammy? I'd rather spend the night in," Dean said with the same strained tone. He waggled his eyebrows for good effect, but it was lost as soon as Sam hit a bump that had him spitting out curses.

"You want me to pull over for a bit?"

Dean shook his head quickly, a little too quickly and the car spun. He clenched his eyes shut and grabbed at the passenger door to steady himself.

Maybe I shouldn't've gone…

"You sure you're okay?"

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice or his stomach. He was pretty sure if he opened his mouth now, he'd be revisiting breakfast. It had taken him way too long to get it all in his stomach in the first place. There was no way he was going to lose it now.

It was another 15 minutes of jostling before Sam finally steered the Impala over to a flat patch right outside of Aurora. Sam jumped out of the car immediately and began surveying the area in shock. Everything that had been standing yesterday was in so much distress today. Some buildings had even been leveled. It was a wreck.

"The hell happened," Dean said. He had taken some extra time to get himself out of the car and Sam couldn't help but noticed that he was walking a bit hunched again. He really shouldn't have come.

"This is a battlefield, my friends."

Sam spun on his heel. It was a voice he recognized, because it was one that he had had a conversation with the day before. Dean turned impressively quick considering his injuries; the intense throbbing that spiked through him never showed on his face. After the surprise visitor, Dean was in full blown hunter mode.

"Aaron," Sam said with surprise.

Dean shifted his weight and spoke, "Wait. You're Aaron? The guy that snuck up on my brother? And now you're sneaking up on both of us?"

"Yes, it was me," Aaron said, unbuttoning his trench coat, "But we don't have time for this now. You must help me."

"Help you?" Dean asked harshly.

"Yes," Aaron said, the agitation in his voice obvious, "Help me so these storms can stop. So these battles can…"

"Battles?" Dean asked, the one word loaded with meaning.

Sam sighed, the picture starting to make itself clear in his head.

"There's something you're not telling us, right Aaron?" Sam questioned. Dean turned to look at him, not missing the tone of comprehension.

"You are right, Sam Winchester," Aaron responded plainly.

"Then start talkin'," Dean said with impatience.

So, without delay, Aaron began to speak. He told the story of the Thunderbird in full starting from the beginning, only pausing once to shoot Dean a look because he was becoming impatient.

The story went something like this.

Passamaquoddy Indian legend tells one of their tribe slipped through two gigantic crushing mountains and found another tribe of Indians that would wear giant eagle wings and take to the sky. These Indians were called the Thunderbird tribe.

Elders of the Thunderbirds found the Passamaquoddy Indian hiding in the bushes and observing their tribe. They dragged him out and demanded to hear why he had come. He said that he meant them no harm. He only desired to find the source of thunder and lightening. They agreed to share with him, the secrets of thunder and lightening, but that he would be changed forever.

They crushed his body in a giant mortar and reshaped him in the image of the giant bird in which they worshipped. They gave him a sacred bow and arrows, but sent him away with no other answers.

The newly changed Indian took to the sky and knew he was strong and fast. He was careful to avoid the trees so that he would not harm them or himself, for he knew that although he was changed, he was not immortal.

He flew for many days and many nights until he saw another great bird with crimson eyes circling below him. He called out in greeting and was shocked to find that this bird did not reply, but attacked him. A great battle ensued, one that left both parties very tired, but at last, the young Indian knew the origin of thunder and lightening. Every time he opened his beak, rumbles of thunder would follow in their wake and every gaze at the giant enemy bird sent lightening towards it.

And so, the two birds shall always battle, for one of each kind is born to the tribe every generation. They are the Thunderbird and the Wochowsen.

When Aaron finished his story, Sam sat in reverent silence, understanding the full weight of what they had been told. Dean, on the other hand, was agitated and it had more to do with the story than the angry pulsations wracking his head.

"So you mean to tell me," Dean started, "that you have us involved in an ancient turf war?"

Aaron smiled wryly as he spoke, "It is hardly a turf war, Dean Winchester."

"Then what is it and why do you need us?" continued the elder Winchester.

Aaron hesitated, watching as the storm clouds started to roll in again from the south just as they had yesterday. This was the way it was and always had been. This is how it always would be.

"Tell me, brothers," Aaron said, trying a new tactic, "Do you believe in God?"

Dean snorted with a smirk on his face. There was no way he wanted to get into a theological discussion right now. He knew there was evil. He fought it on a daily basis. He also knew there was a supreme ruler of that darkness and if Judeo-Christian scripture held true, there was an ultimate being of light too. But after what he had lived through in the pit, regardless of who or what had brought him back, he was hard pressed to believe that there was anything better than suffering and darkness meant for him ever.

"Its about balance," Sam threw in before Dean could go off on Aaron. Everything about his brother's troubled expression screamed showdown.

"Yes," Aaron responded with a curt nod. His voice was strong as he continued, "The Thunderbird tribe was destroyed by the Wochowsen after they changed that man. It is the only thing that stands between my people and complete annihilation."

Dean said with confusion, "Are you telling me the Thunderbird is…is like God and the freakin' Wochowsen is the Devil?"

"I am hardly the Great Spirit," Aaron said with a shy smile.

"You?" Dean asked before he could stop himself.

"Why do you think he's been able to sneak up on us, Dean?" Sam asked, turning to his brother, "Why do you think the storm is coming? Hovering here? Again, Dean."

Dean looked at Sam with an unreadable expression on his features; it would've been humorous if it wasn't for the fact that there was a tinge of pain buried beneath the surface. Despite Dean's best efforts, yesterday's events were getting to him.

"So if you're not God, what are you then?" Dean asked.

"I am only the Thunderbird," Aaron said, beginning to button his trench coat once more. Feathers, dark and shiny, stood out on the fabric and Sam knew then and there that they were real.

The storm clouds drew in close then, purple and heavy with what was obviously rain. Dean tugged uncomfortably at the sleeve of his leather jacket as he did everything he could to avoid eye contact with the half man, half "mythological" bird before him.

"Why do you need us?" Dean asked, finally making eye contact with Aaron.

"I need you to help me get my bow back," he said simply.

Sam looked at Aaron for a moment, appraising him. As the man buttoned the last button upon his trench coat, Sam saw that the boots the man wore began to shimmer on his feet. They stretched and grew until the man didn't have a boot on his foot, but three long toes stretching forward on each foot and one protrusion stretching backwards.

"Your bow? As in, the one given to the first Thunderbird when he was made?" Sam asked, trying to piece everything together.

"Yes, that bow," said Aaron, his voice taking on an animalistic quality, "It was stolen from my by my greatest enemy."

There was a howl of wind, one that made both Winchester's skin crawl and they both knew without a doubt that the Wochowsen was back.

"Go to the northern border of town and continue through. You will find a nest. It is the Wochowsen's. She has my bow. I need it to start the cycle over," Aaron said with undeniable certainty.

"Start the cycle over?" Sam asked, not understanding.

Dean asked incredulously, "Why can't you get it yourself?"

"There isn't time!" Aaron yelled angrily as the screech of the other bird filled the air. It was upon them.

There was a flash of movement from the Indian man as he adjusted his overcoat and began pulling the hood over his head. Sam and Dean could only watch, dumb founded, as the jacket enlarged and took on a completely different shape. At long last, the hood was in place and with a blinding flash of lightening, the Thunderbird stood before them.

A/N: Woohoo! Another chapter! Thanks for a ll the lovely reviews I've been getting! Please, please, PLEASE leave me some more!

xoTrebleMaker