Sam felt his face flush under the gobsmacked stare of his big brother. Dean's hands were all over him in a flash, prodding around for further injury.

"Dean, stop. I'm okay, I promise."

Dean's eyes shot wide and horrified. "How can you be okay, Sammy? This is anything but okay. This is ten miles from okay."

"I know, I know. But now you're creeping me out with the touchie-feelie business so could you just…?"

"Shut up." Dean took a step back but he was still visibly flummoxed. And when the witch returned, that panic morphed into abject rage. He launched at her, spitting venom. She was half his size and he forced her up against the splintery wall of the cabin, glowering an inch from her face. Sam didn't enjoy being on the receiving end of Dean's wrath so he could only imagine how Olivia felt. Actually, he didn't have to imagine. Her face blanched and she shrank back from his tight proximity, the sudden attack catching her unprepared. And weaponless.

"Lady, so help me God, if you had anything to do with this…"

"Dean," Sam said carefully.

"…I will take you and your hexbags and your curses and send everything to Hell where you belong…"

"DEAN." Sam jerked on Dean's shirt hard enough to get through the fury. "She saved my life; let up, man."

A tense thirty seconds passed before Dean finally conceded. As soon as his hands dropped, the witch ducked away from his reach and threw him a glare.

Dean aimed a finger at her. "Don't you give me the evil eye, bitch."

The guy who had ridden up with Dean stood in the doorway, his mouth hanging open.

"I said stop," Sam insisted, one hand held out in warning towards Dean, the other towards Olivia. The two were still staring daggers at each other when Sam pulled Dean aside, wise to put more distance between them and the witch. His shoulder twinged because Dean was not going to make this easy; he resisted like a dog at the end of its leash. "Look, here's the quick and dirty. Her husband bit me; he's the monster. But Olivia—"

"You're on a first-name basis with her?" Dean spat.

Sam had a hand on Dean's arm, the muscle bunched beneath, and he feared Dean might well punch him. "Olivia chased him off and dragged me to safety. There's a chance—"

"Chance? Sam, damn it, you know this doesn't end well! You do remember Madison, don't you? Shit, Sammy."

Olivia finally found her voice. "There is a chance. The possibility of a cure," she said, a brave set to her jaw.

Dean's eyes darted from her to Sam, and Sam swallowed, giving a wary nod. "We've gotta hear her out."

The witch smoothed her hair and set about pulling plates from a shelf. "I was readying to set out vittles; I don't suppose you men are hungry? We can talk and eat."

Sam noticed her fingers were trembling.

xXx

Dean was always more agreeable when he got food in his belly and if nothing else, Olivia was a good cook. She prepared a meal with as much precision as she approached her magicks. Sam had taken the opportunity to peruse her books and spell components earlier that morning, after the previous night's laudanum had worn off. She'd apologized for slipping him the mickey, but it had been necessary. From what information she could gather, Sam's warning signs were progressing far faster than expected. Faster even than her husband, who had been bitten two full moons ago and the Campbells been fervently researching a remedy ever since.

"…and had I not drugged your brother to the gills, he might well have turned last night," she explained, offering Dean a second helping of roasted grouse and turnips.

He grunted but accepted the food. Naturally. "So what symptoms are we talking, here? Fuzzy palms? A tail stump? Chasing rabbits?"

The bespectacled man calling himself Lom chuckled, and Sam growled. All the color dropped from the guy's face. Sam was pleased.

"Accelerated healing. A hair-trigger temper. Strength beyond what a normal man can muster," Olivia said. "But that's before the change."

"I've seen the 'after'." Dean shook his head. "Not pretty."

"Ten foot tall wall of muscle and murder," Sam said quietly.

Olivia carved into her meat. "That about sums it up."

"Fantastic," Dean said. "But you think there's a remedy that doesn't involve pumping my brother full of silver?"

"The Paiute believe there is. I've been trading with them for years, and their shaman has been a boon for people such as us—tangled up in the things that live on the edges of the real world." Olivia set down her utensils and folded her hands in her lap. "I've been told it is not fail-safe, though. You've as much a chance of dying as receiving cure. My husband is already with the Ute, making ready; he did not want me to be there in the unfortunate case that it failed. But now … we have Sam to consider. Tonight is the night we must try. It is the last night the moon is full enough and the spirits are agreeable."

Dean choked out a laugh. "Agreeable spirits?"

"I'm willing to give it a shot," Sam was quick to say, before Dean made matters worse.

Dean gawked from Sam to the witch and back again, mouth working with words that he clearly had to swallow back a few times. Finally, he dragged out a sigh. "All right, all right. But I don't like it. Not even a little."

"Me neither," said Sam. "But what are our choices?"

"Bupkis."

Sam touched at his tender shoulder. "Yeah. Bupkis."