Wow-o-wow! Where has the first half of this year gone? It's June people! JUNE! Happy Summer y'all!

Five seconds.

Five seconds for four adult men to exit a cabin after a verbal chant from one of the departing four in a language the other three didn't recognize. The same chant was then repeated after the door securely slammed shut behind them. Three men hit the trail and started in the direction that would lead to their parked vehicles while the chanter took dubious shelter under a nearby tree, his collar turned up against the cold, to watch the cabin for nearly a minute. Finally satisfied the cabin remained warded and protected, his spell unbroken, Sam set off after the others who hadn't bothered to wait for him.

"Sam?" Ronnie was coming towards him, the beam from his flashlight struggling to cut through the dark mist and thickening fog. Still, it and its carrier gave Sam a welcome he was relieved to see. This was not a day to be out on one's own. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Sam responded, joining Ronnie who had stopped to wait for Sam to catch up. "I'm good."

"You sure this, ah, weather….storm, whatever….will stay here at the cabin?"

"Wish I wasn't, but yeah, pretty much." Sam cast one last look over his shoulder, stuffed his doubts deep and set off down the path. "Let's go."

He soon took lead and set a fast pace. No one complained, hell, no one even dared comment. They kept pace and they did so quietly. The further they got from the cabin, the less fierce the storm became until it died away altogether. Again, no one said a word: Nate remained silent because he was still pissed that Sam had been right about everything and wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his temper from flaring into a fist-fight – and really, now was not the time to put the younger Winchester in his place. Ronnie didn't speak because he was totally behind Sam and really, what was there to say? Luke fumed silently, not verbalizing his discontent because he feared if he opened his mouth, Sam would shut it for him and a visit to the hospital would be required before he'd be able to open it again.

Sam didn't pay the others much attention. His thoughts and concentration were focused on the task before him. He contemplated how much help he was willing to give and how quickly he could finish and return to the cabin. He settled on the decision that he'd help them find and rescue Craig, but that was all he was doing. And dammit, this time he meant it. If they didn't hop to it and obey his commands, he'd leave them on the mountain to make their own way down. And he was sure, once they had Craig, they wouldn't want anything else to do with him and would stop listening to anything he had to say.

"Do you have a plan?" Ronnie asked. Having been to the cars and retrieving the needed rope, they were hiking back up the path and maybe it was his imagination but the air was getting thicker and the sky, while not yet dark, was murky. "You….you said eighteen hours. Does that go for Craig as well?" they veered onto a path that led away from the cabin. Sam determinedly avoided casting a longing look at it, forcing his feet to carry him away from where he wanted to go.

"I'm sure Nate has a plan." Sam replied grimly. And though he'd hear it – should Nate offer to share it – he'd be damned if he made one measly attempt to implement it. He had his own and it was the only one he was going to follow. "Craig is contained and left to die and if his body is found, it'll just look like he fell to his death off the cliff. Their focus is on the two who got away. If we're lucky, by the time they realize we removed Craig from where they put him and come after him, we'll have reached shelter."

"So, no sign of this nest you think he's in." Ronnie reasoned, shaking his head. He wanted to question who 'they' were but figured Sam had enough on his mind and didn't want to divert his attention unnecessarily. "You know your shit." he settled for moving forward and reserved the right to ask questions later.

Sam grinned ruefully. "Yeah well, with Dean in your life…...you kinda gotta." he wiped his face on his sleeve, the rain coming down harder. "Not everything you hunt is a ghost or demon, you know?"

No, Ronnie didn't know, but he was fast learning Nate didn't know everything about everything like he claimed he did. "You said Dean had been poisoned, but not Billy, what about Craig?"

"Won't know until we find Craig and ask him what, if any, kind of animal he saw."

***000***

Billy stared at the closed door, the icy draft that had swept in still swirled around the cabin. He didn't move, just sat shivering at the table, staring at the door. All he could think was something, somehow had gotten into the cabin. Minutes ticked by, the fire snapped and popped, logs shifted, windows rattled, the door thumped, or was that his heart?

"You hear that?" he whispered. "What is that?" he gained his feet and crept to the window, flinching as lightning flashed and the window vibrated within its frame. "It's going to get in here, isn't it?" he continued to whisper as he crept from window to window. "I don't like this." he put a hand to the window and rubbed the pane, trying to get a better look outside. "I can't see anything, but I sure hear something."

Odd, Dean thought as he fought his way from the depths of the plush sofa and pushed unsteadily to his feet, Billy hadn't acted the pussy-foot milksop out on the trail and Sam hadn't said anything about Billy having hallucinations, so what the hell was his problem now? Dean frowned, mind turning around and upside down; what had Sam told him? Something about wards and spells and spirits that weren't necessarily evil but dangerous nonetheless and Billy may or may not have been poisoned or affected or whatever, and if he had to, he was to tie the kid up to….to…..to...to what? There was something he was supposed to do. Several things, like…..like…..huh.

Well, damn.

"It's cold in here. And getting colder. You feel that? Do you?" Billy prattled on. "Why's it so cold?"

Dean held to the back of the sofa, arms trembling. It took several moments, but his head finally cleared and he looked about for the shirts Sam had divested him of. Billy was right, despite the fire Sam had banked well before leaving, it was cold in the cabin.

Well, shit.

He really didn't feel well at all and he took a brief moment to indulge himself, wallowing in self-pity about the circumstances of his life that never allowed him to see to himself first. Too tired to struggle with sleeves that didn't want to be found, he abandoned his flannel and settled for the long-sleeved thermal Sam had left on a chair. His left shoulder balked but with teeth gritted and breath held he FINALLY managed to work the shirt up his arms and over his head using only his right arm.

"You hear that, right? Right! Don't you?" Billy was whispering nervously, peering at the window. "What is it? What is that!?"

Wow…ow…..oh, that hadn't felt good at all. Hunching his right shoulder, he wiped the sweat from his face. He huffed in disdain; sweat caused by the exertion from the simple motion of pulling a shirt over his head! When his breath finally returned and his head cleared a second time, he made his way to the nook in one corner of the room, separated by a half wall that served as the kitchen.

Window….window….where was the window? Sam said there was a window…..oh, there….wow. That was supposed to be a window? He braced his weight on one palm spread flat against the wall and fumbled with numb fingers for the thermometer, that once he found, he hoped he'd remember what to do with it. He found it, hit it, knocked it to the floor. Fuck. He bent over and went forehead first into the cupboard. Stars, he saw stars. Ow. Righting his balance, he tried to lower down to his haunches and landed so hard on his ass, his teeth clacked.

Well, hell.

After a bit of flinging and flailing, a significant amount of cursing and an aching temple and stinging ass, he finally ended up all fours and crawled under the table in search of the elusive thermometer. Finding it, he went down on his elbows for easier balance so he could lower his head and read it without disgracing himself by decorating the floor with that nasty shit Sam had forced on him.

68 and he needed it to read 65, he was good. All was good.

"DEAN?"

His name being bellowed startled him and he reacted, bringing his head up sharply. Unfortunately, he was under a wood table and the crown of his head cracked it with such force, his stomach heaved. Ruh-roh. Knowing his luck, he'd probably split his head open! He gave his head a slight shake – wow, so not a good idea, but no….nothing tickled or felt weird. So, least he wasn't bleeding.

"DEAN?"

Aah, okay, so….what next? The floor was so near and the sofa was oh-so-far away and he couldn't remember why he was up or where he'd been going or what he was doing and the table over his head offered protection from that big ole nasty bird who wanted to carry him away and yeah, that silly threat would give any sane man reason to believe he might be crazy, but not him. Nope. He couldn't even laugh it off, 'cause in his life, it could – and someday, probably would – happen.

Well, fuck.

He shuffled backwards, intent on withdrawing from under the table, but his shoulder gave way and his left cheek scrubbed the floor. Ow, that hadn't felt too good. He sighed, bit his lip and waited for the smarting sting in his abused face to cease. Okay, no reason not to pass out right here, on the floor, under the table; Sam wasn't there to make him get up, so he did, the thermometer still in his hand.

Across the room, Billy, having finally discovered that Dean was no longer on the sofa, shouted his name frantically. When he got no response, his first thought was Dean had left the cabin, but once panic passed, he bet Dean would not have disobeyed Sam's orders to remain inside. He had no idea how much time had passed since Sam and the others had left or from when Dean departed from the sofa, but pulling himself together, he began a search of the small cabin that other than the large living and kitchen area, consisted of one bedroom and the bathroom.

"Dean?" he pulled a chair out from the table and squatted down to shake him awake. "Dude? Hey, what are you doing down here?" he cast a nervous glance at the window, it was firmly closed and intact. "Dean? Talk to me here buddy, come on."

Whether it was the unfamiliar voice or the insistent shaking, Dean woke easily and quickly, but groggy. He jerked upright, whacking the back of his poor head. He rolled to his back, hand fisted around the thermometer, prepared to defend himself until he recognized Billy and it dawned on him there was no threat.

"You okay?" Billy asked, concerned. He offered Dean a hand up who took it, coming to his feet with a wince and a shudder. "What…..?" Billy started. "I mean, you…say, what were you doing?"

Dean held the thermometer out. "Dropped it."

"Yeah, okay, whatever." Billy gestured to the window, then the door, then the other window. "What do we do about that? I mean, you hear that, don't you? You gotta hear that."

"For Pete's sake." Dean sighed. Finally clear headed, he padded barefoot over to the sink where he pumped water into the basin. "It's called wind."

"And you know that how?" Billy prattled on but Dean ignored him. "That's not wind. Not wind I've ever heard before. When have you ever heard wind like that?"

All-righty then, Dean ole buddy, take inventory: Let's see; shoulder – hurts, chest – tight, head – spinning and throbbing, hip – pulsing, throat – sore, stomach – rebelling again against that vile shit Sam made you drink, feet – cold…..he frowned and looked down, rubbing his sore cheek with numb fingertips….he was barefoot? His feet were bare? Now, how the hell had that happened? And when? And where the fuck where his boots? And his socks? And why had he taken them off? Oh right, yeah, since the bunker had more or less become home, Sam was always cleaning, dusting and vacuuming, and didn't allow shoes on the furniture, always walking about and shoving Dean's feet off the table or desk…wait, that didn't account for the removal of his socks now did it?

He cast a look around; this wasn't the bunker and who the hell was the babbling moron? His mind whirled frantically. Panic and flight or stay and fight? He blinked, both hands gripping the sink. Pull it together Dean, he scolded himself, get ahold of yourself. He shuddered, shoulders shaking and elbows quaking as he waited for his head to clear a third time.

There, that was better. Maybe. Kinda. Sorta. No, not really.

"….think it'll get in?" Billy was still talking to him but Dean had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Or who the hell he even was. His eyes roamed, saw, passed on, then froze and reverted back. There! Oh there were his socks! Hanging right there in front of the fireplace. Hopefully they were dry, 'cause his feet were freezing. "…..we run for it?"

"Wah…..what? Wait." he paid Billy little, if any attention, focused on retrieving his socks and….and….and…he was at the sink….why? What had he been doing? He didn't remember much, recalled even less, but one thing he knew better than to ever forget was Sam's words of warnings and instructions; even if he didn't understand why. "You go near that door, I'll knock you the fuck out." he reached for the small kitchen table, and supported his weight against it with one outstretched arm. Not good enough. Remaining on his feet required letting his hip rest against the lower cupboards with both palms on the counter. Feeling his knees shake was one thing, knowing they would dump him on the floor in an ungainly heap was quite another. "Sam said stay here, stay inside. You touch the window and I'll break every bone in your hand."

Billy blinked, befuddled by the violent tone from a man who shook and swayed unsteadily. "Uh….dude….Dean?" he said uncertainly, whatever had held his attention out the window now forgotten. "What's wrong with you?" God, he hoped nothing. Sam hadn't said anything about his brother not being okay! Had he? Yeah, maybe he had. "Dude, you okay?" probably not, hadn't he found Dean passed out, on the floor, under the table?

"Yeah." Dean swallowed hard. Once, twice, a third time before deciding it safe enough to assume the vile concoction wasn't going to make an undignified reappearance. "What?" he shook off the lingering dizziness, turned back to the sink and soaked a towel in the cold water he'd pumped into the basin. Damn. It wasn't that he was unused to pain, in fact, he was quite familiar with it, but this….this wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before.

"You have to hear that." Billy retreated to his previous perch and resumed his seat. "Don't you?"

Glumly wishing for ice, Dean wrung the wet towel out and held it to the back of his shoulder, lamenting the wetting of his shirt before shrugging it off and turning his attention to Billy. Walking over to the window Billy couldn't stop staring out, Dean pressed his nose against the cold glass. It rattled and shook and wavered, causing Billy to yelp and scramble off of his bar stool, knocking it over with a clatter.

"Chill out." Dean rolled his eyes, and slowly made his way over to retrieve his socks. Leaving the towel on his shoulder, he sat down on the sofa to put on his thankfully – atta boy Sammy – dry and warm socks. On top of how sick he felt, his concern for Sam and his confusion over why they were even in this predicament – whatever the predicament was – the last thing he needed was a hysterical kid with a concussion on his hands. "Sam didn't tell me you were some nervous ninny."

"I don't know your brother." Billy muttered, jumping when something pounded fiercely on the front door to the cabin. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is that!?"

Dean glanced up, casting a look towards the door that held steady despite the fierce beating it was taking. "Doors are gonna shake and windows are gonna rattle, but they're gonna hold. We'll be okay."

"You don't know that!" Billy argued. "How could you possibly know that? Why aren't you scared? What if they get in? How do we fight them? It? What are they anyway?"

Dean sighed. "I don't have a fucking clue what 'they' are or what 'it' is. Sam brought me here. He left me here. He said as long as I stay here, I'll be safe. Now shut the fuck up and leave me alone."

"And that's it? That's all you got? Trust? You trust him? Just like that? Trust him that much?"

Dean just stared at him, his curled lip and narrowed eyes clearly displaying his thought that Billy was stupid. "Uh….yeah." he said sarcastically. "He's Sam." he was too tired and in too much pain to have much patience with the clueless hunter.

Bill stared back incredulously. "Uh, yeah, so?" he mimicked Dean's sarcasm. "I mean….just like that…nothing else? 'Cause Sam said so? I dunno, your brother is, huh, kinda, um, you know, a card or two short of a full deck. You get what I mean? Hot-headed."

"Sammy?" Dean snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, okay."

"What? No? You don't believe me?"

"Hot-headed, hardly. Hard-headed, oh yeah." he gave Billy a thumbs-up, too exhausted to do anything more. "I ain't up to dealing with no dumb fool." he laid his aching head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Ugh, he felt like shit; he ached and he hurt and he was in some serious pain but hey, at least his feet were warm. "So don't go and do anything stupid. I ain't in the mood to hog-tie your ass, but I will." how many times had he hit his head anyway? He counted off the times he could remember on his fingers: his forehead, the top of his head, the back of his head, his cheek…..all in under a minute or so, right?

His eyes rolled, his fingers curled inward and his hand fell limply into his lap.

Billy's look turned from incredulous to nervous. Oh, Sam's brother was pale and shaking and sweating from undeniable pain, but Billy didn't doubt for one moment, the eldest Winchester wouldn't carry through with his threat. Well, if he could manage to stay conscious, that is.

Memo to self, Billy thought hastily: Winchesters do not play well with others. Do not, at any time, for any reason, hunt with the Winchester brothers ever again.