I know it's been ever so slightly longer between chapters with this one, but there was a lot to get right. Hopefully, I've managed it.

Thanks, as ever, to all those reading this and to those reviewing. If I don't get a chance before next Thursday, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas or Hanukka.

I don't own any characters and my plots are based off the first season of Supernatural, the second episode, Wendigo.

Enjoy!

John came to with a weary moan. He opened his eyes to darkness, picking out huddled shapes, blacker than the midnight that surrounded him. He sat up slowly, tensing for the expected pain that would throb through his head. It felt like his skull would shatter from the pressure, usually, except …

Nothing. John frowned, trying to get his bearings even as he attempted to work through the strange numbness he felt. Overuse of powers was a serious felony, the crime punishable by his brain screaming. Why wasn't it?

"Dude, be cooler."

John jumped, glancing up. One of the huddles was sitting up also, staring at him. John grinned in relief.

"Virge! Are you all right?"

"I'm not the one talking to myself," Virgil answered cryptically.

"But your leg?"

Virgil dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. "You know how to get out?"

"No," John admitted. "I haven't had time to assess our situation."

Virgil fixed him with a look. "We need to get out of here. The others are counting on you."

John blinked. Maybe his head was little worse than he thought. He couldn't follow Virgil's jumping conversation. "Me?"

"It's what they do, right? Get in a bind and expect you to come up with a solution. We need a solution to this mess, Johnny."

Virgil was channelling Scott now, gone was the light hearted banter, replaced by the need to get them out. John felt like the weight of the world rested on one of his shoulders, his brother's safety on the other. Amounted to the same thing, in the end. He thought, hard. "Are you restrained?"

Virgil shook his head.

"Me either," John mused. "I thought we'd be restrained."

Before he could act on the absence of bindings, his wrists shot forwards and together, against his will. "What the hell!"

Heavy rope wound around the joints, his ankles following suit. "Virgil!"

"Nice going, brainiac," a voice bit. "You couldn't have pictured us not trussed up like a kinky vid?"

John blinked. "Gordy?" he asked, stupidly.

Virgil shook his head. "Still me. Infused with Scott level determination and Gordon style sayings. I'm a lot of fun, aren't I?"

John swallowed. "Did you hit your head?"

Virgil didn't reply with more than a smirk.

"Did I hit my head?" John whispered, seeing clearly for the first time since he'd woken.

"Not exactly, although you're suffering some neurological damage," Virgil replied, taking pity on him. "You remember what you did? What I told you not to do?"

John shivered. Oh, yeah. That.

"Screwed with your processing abilities and your brain's taking a time out," Virgil continued. "It didn't much like sharing space with the Wendigo and threw a bit of a tantrum."

So I'm actually unconscious? John didn't voice it, but he swore he saw Virgil nod. Okay. He could deal with that. Strange that his subconscious had dredged up poor old Virgil to share this with, but at least he wasn't alone.

"I was the last person you saw," Virgil told him and John frowned. If he was going to insist on reading his thoughts, John's mind might decide to throw another strop. It got rid of the Wendigo, after all. And returned John, which was a relief to say the least.

"I'm back, though."

John said it out loud. Saying things had, in his experience, always made them more real. He was sure it was one of the reasons Scott never referred to their mother's death. The most adjusted of the brothers, Scott was still in denial nevertheless. John pushed the thought away and took a deep breath, repeating himself. "I'm back."

"Passing out did it."

Virgil was gone now; replaced by John himself and the blond couldn't help but be disappointed. Was it worse to talk to yourself or someone who wasn't there?

"It severed the connection," he told himself, anyway. "Like a short circuit."

The other John nodded. "Your mind sought to protect you from further damage."

"All right, how do I wake up?"

John, or the image of him, laughed. "Can't help you there, Spock."

"My – our? – brothers were captured by the Wendigo too," John insisted. "I'm obviously not dead, so the chances are, they aren't either. I need to wake up."

Not-John shrugged. "Maybe you're still alive because one of them is not?

John hated the way his mind worked sometimes.

They found Scott's camp an hour or so after leaving Tommy's. Alan's heart lifted, his pace quickening as he hurried in, but Gary caught hold of him, pressing a finger to his own lips. Frowning, Alan peered into the camp, spotting what had caused Gary's caution. A figure was moving about, jerky and random, falling down frequently. Alan squinted, trying to make out features under the dense layer of branches. The man helped, moving into a shaft of sunlight and Alan shouted out with joy as it caught the red of his hair like a fire rimed halo.

"Gordy!"

Alan threw himself at his brother, undignified and uncaring. Gordon caught him, barely, but was unable to support his brother's headlong rush and the two of them toppled over. Alan didn't care; it gave him a chance to cuddle in closer, pressing his cold nose into the warmth of Gordon's neck.

"Sprout!" Gordon managed, although he tightened his hold on the boy. "Thank God!"

"I'm sorry!" Alan apologised, as the harsh cough took the last of his breath. Once recovered, he continued. "I'm really sorry Gordon. Please don't hate me!"

Gordon pulled back in surprise, and noticing the silent teen standing awkwardly nearby, returned his attention to Alan. He lowered his head until his lips were beside his brother's ear. "I don't hate you, kid," he promised. "Just promise me you'll never do that again."

Alan lifted his head, cuffing at his eyes. "I promise," he croaked and Gordon cupped his little brother's face. All previous anger he'd felt was stripped away by that hurting, miserable expression.

"We need to get you back to town," he murmured. Alan nodded his agreement, standing up and helping Gordon back to his feet. Once he turned, though, Alan's face fell.

"We have to find Tommy first," he remembered quietly.

"I'm assuming you're Tommy and Hayley's brother, right?" Gordon asked and Gary nodded hesitantly.

Gordon had moved away slightly, the teen's eyes following his moves even though he remained rooted to the spot. The red head eventually found the duffel his brother's had taken when they had set out and began to root through it.

"I'm sure Scott's got everything under control," Gordon reassured the younger boys absently, scattering clothes in his haste.

"I saw the camp," Alan explained. "Gary did too. Gordon, Scott and everyone was there."

Gordon lifted his eyes from the duffel to stare incredulously at his little brother. "You saw them?"

"Yeah," Alan confirmed, "but they weren't really there."

Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose; a Virgil and Dad move that made Alan suddenly miss them more than ever. "You're not making any sense, kiddo."

Alan knelt next to his brother. "They had been there earlier," he explained. "I could tell it was a different time of day."

Gordon sighed, and Alan noticed how tired he looked. "Like a vision?" Gordon tried.

Alan beamed, before hiding his cough behind his hand.

"Yeah," he agreed, trying to swallow. Gordon unthinkingly handed him the last of his juice and Alan choked as the sweetened orange hit the back of his throat. "Gross!"

"I know," Gordon sympathised, rubbing his back. Alan looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Are you sick?"

Ignoring the concern he heard, Gordon ducked back once more into the duffel. "Not for much longer," he said, holding up an epi-pen triumphantly. "Remind me to tell Scott to leave the Glucagon with me, next time he goes charging to the rescue."

Without another word, Gordon pressed the pen against his thigh, and Alan jumped as he heard the needle push through denim and enter flesh to deliver the medication into Gordon's muscle.

Alan pressed closer to his brother. "Gordy?"

Gordon smiled, reaching out to grip the back of Alan's neck. "I'm all right, Sprout," he confirmed. "But we're getting off the mountain the old fashioned way. Ready to go?"

The thought of abandoning the search moved Gary to speak for the first time. "What about Tommy?"

Alan glanced at Gordon. "I saw the thing that took him," he began and Gordon frowned, knowing all too well where this was leading. While he appreciated Alan's loyalty to his new friend, heading back wasn't up for debate.

"Not a chance," he said, perhaps harsher than he intended, for both boys flinched. "We're going back to town, where we were supposed to be. Where Scott will find us," he added, pressing as much emphasis as he could into the words.

With a wheezy sigh, Alan nodded.

Taking a circular route so they boys wouldn't have to see Tommy's ruined campsite again, Gordon wondered if Scott had had the same sort of problems with Gordon when he had been younger. Admittedly, he'd never run up a mountain with a virtual stranger while a flesh eating monster had been knocking about, but he knew he'd caused his fair share of worry. WASP had installed in him a sense of responsibility, but it'd never exactly frowned upon a headstrong desire to place yourself between your team and the danger. Maybe, in his own way, Alan had emulated him.

And if that wasn't a sobering thought, Gordon didn't know what was.

Speaking of Alan, the kid had paused, shock still, staring at something on the ground.

"Sprout?" Gordon called, wearily going back for him. "What is it?"

Alan, looking whiter than the proverbial sheet, simply sank onto the already stained knees of his jeans.

Gordon's heart jumped in fear. "Allie?"

Gary shot him a frightened look, extending it into a glance that scanned the trees nervously as Gordon reached his brother. Amongst the forest litter was a rusting metal cage. It took Gordon a moment to place the item. Why was Alan so freaked about an old lantern?

"It's his," Alan hissed. "Gordon, it's the lantern the ghost was holding."

"Ghost?"

Gary's question held more than a touch of terror and Gordon, torn between taking Alan away from anything that might connect him to the monster and rushing to shut Gary up, almost fell. He really needed to sleep, eat and forget this whole nightmare, not necessarily in that order.

Alan, meanwhile, reached out to touch the lantern.

He wasn't in the dark place that had haunted his waking hours, in fact he was standing in the same place he was currently kneeling. Focusing on a glow to his right, Alan turned and wasn't entirely surprised to find the dead man who'd owned the lantern.

"I never hurt anyone."

Alan wished he'd put the lantern out. The ghost was just as bloody, just as torn as he'd been the previous two times he'd appeared, his face just as shadowed and his eyes just as hard. Swallowing nervously, Alan summoned the courage to speak.

"What do you want?"

The ghost turned away, seeming to watch the night-time woods and eventually, Alan followed his line of sight. For a moment there was nothing, then moving silently, swiftly, the creature that had taken Tommy.

It came towards them and Alan took an involuntary step back, bumping into something solid. Remembering the last thing he'd knocked into, Alan spun in terror, only to find the dead man, whole and alive, standing behind him. Alan stumbled backwards, just as the monster reached them and Alan shut his eyes. He couldn't ignore the screaming, however, or the sound the lantern made as it dropped to the floor. Breathing hard, he opened his eyes again, finding the spirit once more watching the creature, as it carried his body away.

Alan stepped closer to the ghost. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't stop it. But my brothers will."

The spirit slowly turned his hard, empty eyes onto him, before looking back at the direction the creature had taken. When it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, Alan turned also. The monster was retreating back to its lair again, carrying others. Horrified, Alan recognised his brothers.

When he next opened his eyes, Alan was lying flat on his back, Gordon's pinched, worried face peering down over him. "Don't. Ever. Do that. Again."

"Gordon?" Alan whimpered. "It's got them. It's got all of them."

There wasn't really any other choice, Gordon told himself. Alan had refused to give up the location of the thing's lair, insisting on leading them there himself and Gary had dug his own heels in, terrified to be left behind and desperate to see his family. Gordon hoped it wasn't going to be a mistake and he was going to find his brother and sister half eaten or something. He may not know what it was, but it certainly wasn't friendly.

Alan led them to what Gordon recognised immediately as an abandoned mine. Telling the boys to wait, he scanned the entrance. There was no tracks leading in or out, he saw and straightening with a weary groan, he was about to tell Alan he must have it wrong when he noticed a broken twig, right about eye level. The thing might not have left tracks, but its human victims could easily have done. Especially if, as Alan claimed, it had been heavily laden.

Gordon wasn't completely unarmed, but somehow, he didn't think the switchblade he carried was going to be much use as protection. He felt better about the gun he'd picked up from the tent, although he had been concerned Scott had left it behind. Still, with two boys in his care, he was wary about going into the mine. On the other hand, he didn't feel comfortable leaving them hidden somewhere without protection and he doubted his brother's were likely to have the time it took for him to take them down the mountain and come back.

Squaring his shoulders, Gordon came to a decision. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best he could do. Glancing behind him, he beckoned Alan and Gary forwards.

"All right, if we're going in, you're under my orders," he said seriously. "I mean it, no more arguing against my decisions, no more running off where you want, you stick to my commands. To. The. Letter."

He paused, staring hard.

"Understood?"

Gary nodded quickly and Alan offered up a little smile that Gordon didn't return. If he was going to be a commander, he couldn't come across as a brother. He suddenly realised the hard line Scott had to walk with them all. As much as Scott loved them, as much as he'd lay his life down for them, he had to make them understand there was only one leader.

The sunlight didn't penetrate far into the mine and Gordon paused to allow their eyes to adjust. To his right, he could see a darker patch along the rough side of the tunnel and indicating he wanted the boys to stay put, Gordon inched his way forwards. It turned out to be nothing more than a stock room, but Gordon searched through it anyway. Old, rusting mining tools had been stored here, and also weapons against Grizzly attacks. Nearly all of them had been used, it appeared, in fact, it looked as if a fire fight had taken place in the area.

He nearly shouted out when he saw the decomposed body lying behind some boxes, his heart hammering against his ribs rapidly. Taking a breath and closing his eyes, Gordon composed himself in order to continue searching. Nearby the remains, Gordon could see a strange, stubby hand gun. On closer inspection, he recognised it as a flare gun and to his relief, the chamber was loaded. The man had died before he could use it, but it appeared to be his last shot, Gordon could find no refills. Tucking the gun into his belt, he rejoined his brother and Gary, motioning them onwards again.

The mine was a rabbit warren, a mess of interconnecting tunnels but Gordon had cave dived plenty in his time and he knew how to plot his way back out, even without a guide rope. He always figured it was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

Eventually, however, he could have simply closed his eyes and relied on his nose to move through the mine, the smell of rotting flesh pungent in the still air. Behind him, he heard Alan's noisy breathing and Gary's choked expletive. He smiled, grimly. Oh boy, and they were still a distance away too.

Once they made it into the room the smell came from, even Gordon paused. Before him, stretched out like a butchers shop, were the monster's victims. Gordon wasted no more time trying to adjust his mind, his very soul was already stained just by being there, he was sure. He moved forwards, searching for familiar faces.

Only three were … untouched. He refused to assign a verb to it, because the only ones that he could come up with were torn, ripped and shredded and they all seemed too cold to describe the last state of what had been a living, breathing being. Focusing on the three, Gordon breathed out in relief.

Scott was the first one, the girl, Hayley he assumed next to him and just before them … a stranger. His suspicions were confirmed when Gary called his brother's name.

To his relief, none of the three were bleeding, from what he could tell, although all were unconscious. Gordon drew his switchblade, rousing Hayley as he cut her down. He left her to Gary, turning his attention to Tommy, patting his cheek and talking him round as he cut through the ropes. Despite her own ordeal, Hayley was more concerned with her brother than herself and rushed forwards to claim him. Gary joined them seconds later and Gordon turned from their emotional reunion, focused on bringing Scott around. The dark blue eyes opened as Gordon broke through the last of the rope. Scott fell from the hook, and Gordon tried to support him as best he could.

"Easy, big brother," he soothed as they sank to the floor. "I've got you."

"Gordy?" Scott's voice was low, hollow, but his eyes were sharp. "What's wrong with you?"

Gordon couldn't help but smile, despite the situation. Trust Scott to pick up he wasn't on top of his game. "I'm all right," he reassured him. "Just a little wobbly."

Scott didn't look as if he believed him, but something else took his worry. "Where's Alan?"

"I'm here," the boy called shakily from behind them where he knelt next to Virgil, having darted past Gordon at some point.

"You brought Alan?" Scott demanded, hand moving to the back of his head as he aggravated the pain beating a march on his skull.

Gordon grimaced. "Not exactly."

Scott glowered as much as his headache would allow, but Gordon didn't elaborate and now wasn't exactly the time to go into it, so he gripped the teen tightly in an embrace, simply glad to see him.

Alan, who'd been clinging to his brother in relief, turned his attention to the rope that secured Virgil. His fingers were numb, but he valiantly continued to try to untie Virgil until his hand slipped from the knot, landing on Virgil's thigh. Almost in a dream, Alan lifted his hand again, revealing the wound on his brother's leg, and his blood covered palm. Too reminiscent of his visions, Alan stared at Virgil in horror.

"It looks worse than it is."

Virgil's deep voice echoed softly, merging into the ghost's too easily and Alan suddenly felt sick, scrambling back, searching for Scott.

"Alan?"

The eldest Tracy son was trying to find his feet with Gordon's support, but caught the boy as he hurried towards him.

"Virgil's hurt!" he cried out, flinging his arms around his oldest brother, hiding his eyes from the death surrounding him and wishing they were anywhere but here.

Scott hugged the child close, eyes roving his dark haired brother's face, but Virgil, still bound, shook his head.

"I'm all right," he insisted as Alan coughed harshly. "We gotta go, Scotty."

Scott untangled Alan, although he kept an arm around the boy, and stood on his own. He doubted he would last long, and allowed his pint-sized brother to prop him up. The world, dark as it was, resembled a tilt-a-whirl at the moment.

"Where's John?" he asked.

"Over there," Virgil said, nodding in the direction. "He's not woken up, but he's not physically injured."

Scott moved Alan to John's side, while Gordon cut Virgil loose. As he pulled the ropes off Virgil, Gordon froze when he noticed the welling blood on his leg. Virgil caught his little brother's eye and held his gaze, silently telling him not to say anything. Gordon swallowed heavily, unable to break eye contact.

"Scott, you gotta get everyone out of here," Virgil called again, a warning glance ensuring Gordon kept his mouth shut.

Scott, distracted, didn't see. He placed his hand over John's. The blond looked as if he were sleeping. "You can wake him?" he asked softly, reluctant to leave him.

"Yes," Virgil affirmed, although he had yet to move.

"We'll wait," Scott told him, turning slightly to look at him. "I'm not keen on splitting up."

Virgil shook his head. "That thing is coming back, Scott. Get everyone moving; if I can't wake him, me and Gordy'll carry him."

"Virge," Scott began, but Hayley cut him off.

"Please, Scott," she begged. "Please, let's go. Tommy's in a bad way."

Scott paused, torn between his brother's and a stranger's fate. The decision should have been easy, but he'd been brought up to place other people before himself. Besides, the Tracy's could handle themselves better than Tommy could. But while the man had been hanging from a hook for the past few days, he wasn't injured. Weak, dehydrated and hungry, he was thankfully whole, unlike John, who remained unmoved by Alan's quiet begging to open his eyes. Scott toyed with the idea of remaining until a further plea from Hayley, combined with Alan's cough, decided him. He nodded, a knot of unease forming in his stomach.

"All right."

"I found a flare gun," Gordon announced quickly, yet to leave Virgil's side. "The ranger's got people all over the mountain, if you set it off, they'll find us."

He didn't add, and if we're slow getting out, we'll find you too, but the words echoed within the mine nevertheless.

Scott stood, wrapping his arm back around Alan. He glanced from John to Virgil and Gordon. His head pounded to the point of insanity. "Be quick," he ordered, taking the gun.

Virgil smiled gently. "You be careful too."

Hayley and Gary, supporting Tommy, led the group out quickly. Turning back to Virgil, Gordon opened his mouth, but his brother's fierce glare shut it again.

"Don't argue with me," the elder of the two said with quiet vehemence. "I need you to get everyone down this mountain and I need you to stop Scott from coming back up."

"What are you talking about?" Gordon frowned. He reached out to slip an arm around Virgil, thinking to help him to his feet, but to his surprise found a barrier between them. "Virgil?"

His brother shook his head, the barrier fading. "I realise it's not fair to ask this of you, but Scott would never agree."

Gordon shivered, disliking the ominous way Virgil was talking. "To what?"

Virgil glanced across at John, lying motionless where he fell. "I've no idea how to wake him," he admitted quietly.

Gordon, unsure what his brother was saying, studied him carefully. "Then we carry him," he declared.

Virgil's eyes were full of emotion as he turned back to the red head. "I can't walk, Gords."

It became clear what Virgil was suggesting and Gordon refused to linger on that idea.

"If we put John into a fireman's carry, I could support you," he reasoned, but Virgil was already shaking his head.

"You couldn't lift a butterfly right now, kid."

"I took a shot back at your camp," Gordon insisted, but Virgil's hand, slick with his own blood, covered his.

"Get them off the mountain, Gordon."

For a moment, Gordon could do nothing more than stare at their hands, his stark white against the black of Virgil's. Emotion welled and he made the mistake of looking into Virgil's eyes again, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" he demanded angrily. "Damnit Virgil, Scott would've helped you!"

"You know why I didn't let that happen," Virgil told him gently, unfazed by his brother's shouting and Gordon's anger fled, as always, before Virgil's calm.

"Virge," he whispered, swallowing again against the sudden lump in his throat.

"It's an amazing tracker," Virgil continued in that same soft tone. "And I'm bleeding. I won't get my brother's killed, and John wouldn't want to either. You'll go faster without us, kiddo."

Gordon shook his head, ignoring both the logic and the tear making its way down his cheek. "I'm not going to leave you."

Virgil smiled sadly. "Yes, you are."

"Virgil," Gordon pleaded desperately.

"Listen to me," Virgil insisted, but his brother gripped his arm.

"Virge, please."

"Listen to me, Gordy," Virgil repeated. "Tell Scott whatever you like, but you make sure he doesn't turn around."

Again, Gordon began to protest, but again Virgil cut him off.

"Distract him, he's woozy enough to fall for it. Use Alan if you have to. Whatever it takes."

Gordon's voice broke. "I can't."

"You can," Virgil told him, his own voice thick with emotion. "You'll do it to save his life. You'll do it so me and John –"

"Don't say it," Gordon whispered. He paused, before attempting to sway his brother again. "Please, Virgil, please, just try."

Virgil was silent a moment, head bowed, trying to find strength. "None of us are in any state to carry John and I can't – I won't leave him alone," he said with quiet determination. "But I'll do my best to bring him around. If he wakes, we'll follow you."

Virgil was aware it wasn't much of a promise, in fact he knew it was pitifully little, but it seemed to help Gordon. Sometimes his brothers' faith in his abilities staggered him. Virgil lifted his head once more, reaching out to place a hand against his brother's face.

"I'm counting on you to get everyone out alive."

Wordlessly, Gordon pulled Virgil into an embrace. Virgil held him tightly in return, eyes shut, before pushing him away.

"You'd better hurry," he urged.

Gordon wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm and stood, gaze straying to John's still form before coming back to rest on Virgil's upturned face. Trying to smile bravely, sharp angles that cut deep into his soul, he lifted a hand in farewell, before running into the mine's winding corridor.

Virgil watched his brother out of sight. Fighting tears, he closed his eyes against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Then, once more in control, he began the arduous task of dragging himself towards John.