With the door now wide open, the howling and pounding and stomping grew in intensity and as Billy stared wide-eyed at the door, slowly took on the form of….of…something resembling human. Billy shrieked when smoke-shaped transparent hands, of which there were more than two, or tendrils…claws….paws…talons….whatever slithered and weaved around the door frame, seeking entry but denied by an invisible barrier. This….this all was beyond his pay grade. He hunted ghosts that definitely looked human, and maybe an occasional demon, but sure has hell nothing like this!

Springing forward, he pushed past Sam, who either ignored or was oblivious to, the danger and slammed the door shut, gun and knife still in either hand. The smoky apparition slammed and thumped between door and doorframe then disappeared with a howl that to anyone else would have been identified merely as wind.

"What the HELL?" Billy demanded, back against the door, gasping for his recently departed breath. "What the HELL was that?" his head swam. "HOLY SHIT!"

The wet, muddy, bedraggled whirlwind that had burst through the door sent Billy flying with a hard shove, dropped the board used to bar the door into its brackets that were nailed to the wall on either side of the frame, chanted a spell, and sped across the room, shedding its backpack, then its wet coat on the way, ignoring the wet plop when they hit the floor all before Billy could pick himself up from where he'd landed across the room and positively identify Sam! He blinked; once, twice….several times. Yeah, he was pretty sure – fairly sure – what he saw was indeed Sam. He swallowed hard, but before he could force his tongue to work, Sam was demanding answers.

"Why is he on the floor?" Sam snapped, irritably pushing wet, mud-tangled hair out of his eyes. "What did YOU let happen to him? What did YOU do to him? Didn't you LISTEN to anything I told you!?"

"Let?" Billy dazedly repeated. "Do to…I didn't do anything to him!"

Panic making his heart hammer against his ribcage and wincing against sudden chest pain, Sam went to his knees beside his brother and reached with hands that shook – and not from the cold – to grab Dean by his arms and pull him up from the floor, letting him fall across his lap. "Dean? Hey, hey, it's me, just me, you're okay…..what are you doing on the floor? Huh? Come on, hey, let me see." he juggled and wiggled, pushed and pulled until Dean flailed in protest from the rough handling. "Sorry, hey, talk to me."

"Tham?" Dean groaned, head rolling and bumping against a solid shoulder that was wet and cold and rough beneath his cheek. "Ow." he struggled to move, pull away, sit up, do something but gave up after little effort because he was simply held too tight. "Lost….a….." he squirmed and wiggled until the iron band pinning his arms to his sides loosened enough he could maneuver his left hand into sight. He huffed and puffed, panted and gasped. "Ow. An'…..nugh…..oopfh!" he lost his breath when Sam began poking and rubbing and pinching. "Fuck, you doin'?"

"Hmmm? What'r'u saying?" Sam asked absently, too busy checking Dean's eyes, then prying his mouth open to look at his tongue to give Dean his full attention. "Your shoulder, yeah, I know." he felt for a pulse in Dean's neck, more for reassurance than anything.

"My finger!" Dean corrected irritably, rousing and using his other hand to push Sam away. "Stop…..Tham, stop!"

"You're wet and bleeding and on the fucking floor and you're worried about your damn finger? The fuck Dean! Jesus, you just gave me a freaking heart attack!" Sam fired back. "What, you got a hang-nail?" Dean shoved his hand in Sam's face, waggling his fingers, causing Sam to draw back to avoid getting a finger up the nose. "Stop it!" Sam caught his hand. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I…" Dean squinted at his hand and frowned. "I…. think I lost…...a finger!"

Unable to comprehend what Dean was saying, Sam simply stared, aghast. "You….you what?" his mind raced. How had Dean managed to detach his finger? Which one? Where was it? There was no ice! How would he preserve it until he could get Dean to a hospital…Oh No! He couldn't get Dean to the nearest ER! Not for another, what, eight hours?...and…..wait just a freaking minute here! His mind was fast catching up and it lassoed in his galloping panic; there should be blood, a lot of blood if a hand was missing a finger. And a bandage. Why wasn't there a bandage? And the person whose finger was missing might be exhibiting symptoms of shock, wouldn't he? And the hand minus a finger might be swollen or discolored….or…..or…

"Are you…..? You're…..you are! You're pouting?" Sam exclaimed incredulously, snapping to attention. Rational thinking and sanity had returned. So had his vision and he was quite sure Dean still possessed all ten fingers. Still though, he couldn't stop himself from taking Dean's hands in his and feeling for all fingers on both hands, rubbing and squeezing each one as the counted to ten, twice. "You're gonna be the end of me." he muttered under his breath, taking a third count just to be sure.

Dead murmured something, breath hot against the chilled skin exposed on Sam's neck, but Sam had no idea what he said.

"Right, yeah." Sam gave him a hug. "Ok." he curled Dean's five fingers into a fist then bent his head to rest his forehead against Dean's knuckles. "I'll find it. Put it back on. Make you good as new, okay?"

Dean exhaled what might have been his agreement but Sam still couldn't understand what he was saying. He sighed shakily, biting his bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Dean's inability to speak coherently only gave Sam yet another reason for alarm. Pfft. As if Dean's willingness to trust so blindly, acquiesce so readily, and accept so easily that Sam could actually reattach a severed finger in a shack, in the middle of nowhere and all would be ok, wasn't enough to scare Sam shitless.

"Okay Sam, pull it together." he breathed, trying to coach himself into some semblance of calm. It took over a good minute. "Dean?" he shook the weight heavy against his arm gently at first, then harder when Dean's head bobbled loosely, snapping to and fro on his neck before coming to rest with his chin on his chest. "DEAN! Hey, stay with me!"

He was rewarded with a moan, renewed head bobbing and no further response.

Sam cursed. He didn't need a look at a clock to tell him more than four hours had passed. He was pissed, he was worried, he was scared and who better than to vent his emotions on then Billy? He tilted his head back and twisted his chin around Dean's constantly moving head to eye the pot on the stove. A pot that contained contents he couldn't see.

"What is that?" he demanded, trying to decide if he were unable or simply unwilling to get up and let go of Dean to see what was in the pot on the stove for himself. "Is it water or the antidote? Is it boiling? What happened to boil the antidote in four hours Bill?" unwilling he decided. Though heavy, Dean's weight in his arms and across his lap was comforting and he wasn't ready to relinquish it.

Billy waved a hand at the stove, pointing at the pot but finding words to speak failed him.

Sam's jaw clenched. The vein in his throat pulsed. His eyes narrowed until his eyebrows became one. But he managed to retain his temper. Barely.

"Is. It. Water? Or. The. Antidote?" Sam seethed, engaged in hand playing with Dean who was determined to latch on to Sam's fingers and not let go. "HEY! I'm talking to you!"

All Billy could do was shake his head, the ability to speak yet lost to him.

"Take the two steps over to the fucking stove and tell me if it's boiling!" Sam ordered, now struggling to cease Dean's struggles, which he assumed were either attempts to get away from him or attempts to play with Sam and make him pop a blood vessel. "Think you can do that?"

Billy nodded, but didn't move.

"THEN DO IT!"

Billy jumped, clicked the safety on the gun, set it on a table then sat the knife beside it. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's boiling." he stood next to the stove, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, it is."

"What is boiling?" Sam roared, dragging Dean back into the comfort zone between his legs not-so-gently by the waist of his jeans. "Dean, stop. What the hell's with you?"

"Wa…wat….the water." Billy stuttered, willing himself to pull it together. His head hurt, he saw double, he was scared of the weather, the spiritual threat…..Sam, and he worried about his friends and debated how to ask Sam what had happened to them, for they'd yet to follow Sam into the cabin; a cabin Sam had securely barred against entry.

"Then add the antidote." simple and stupid, Sam decided. They all were. How the hell were they still alive? "And stand there and watch it until it boils again. A full boil, not just bubbles around the pan, got it?" he held Dean pinned mostly on his side to the floor with one arm until Dean finally laid still, then gained his knees and using brute strength, roughly hauled Dean off the floor and turned him around to sit on his ass. "Stay." Sam breathed in his brother's ear when Dean began to thwart Sam's attempts to hold him still. "Dean…hey, stay still."

The cabin lacked electricity, but there was enough light from the fire and an oil lantern on a nearby table that Sam could see a red mark on Dean's forehead and when he lightly used his fingers to investigate, found a good-sized lump on the top, just to the right, of Dean's head.

Aaaaannnd another strike against Billy. "Did he hit his head?" Sam asked calmly. Was nothing serious, but still, that didn't mean Sam was happy about it.

"Uh…..yeah, yeah….couple times. Yeah." Billy admitted. "He uh…..got up to get the thermometer and he dropped it. So he crawled under the table to get it and…"

"Help me move him over by the fire." Sam interjected. "Then boil more water. I have to tend his shoulder and clean him up."

"Uh….." Billy asked awkwardly. "How?" he'd added the contents of the sachet Sam had left earlier to the boiling water and stirred the mixture with the wooden spoon. "Why?" the floor, despite a thick carpet would not be comfortable but he suspected Sam wanted Dean to have the benefit of the warmth and comfort of the fire. "Uh, say Sam….the others? Are they…..?"

"Are you always such a dimwit?" Sam huffed disdainfully. "Grab his feet." he gathered his groggy brother in his arms, hands under his armpits and supporting Dean's weight, gained his feet with a grunt considerable effort. "Watch, he might kick." but Dean had gone limp and offered no resistance when he was carried over to the fire and deposited on the carpet before the hearth.

"Me? Me? ME?!" Bill protested, letting go one ankle at a time. "Hold on Sam, just a friggin' minute here!"

"Yeah, dimwit. How can you hunt with people you can't trust? Why? Why would you do that? Why would you blindly follow what you're told?" since Dean was quiet – most likely unconscious – Sam decided to remove his t-shirt and tackle the claw wound on his shoulder. Get as much done as quickly as he could, because chances were, with Sam's luck and knowledge from plenty of past experience, Dean wouldn't stay out for long.

"Maybe 'cause we were, you know, hunting a ghost, a spirit, like I have a hundred times before!" Billy said shrilly.

"And you've managed to live this long?" Sam scoffed, dismissing the argument. "News flash Billy Boy. There are more things out there to hunt and hey, there are hunters who know a hell of a lot more than good ole Nate."

Bill retreated back to the relative safety of the kitchen and pumped water into every available pan then put one on each of the stoves three remaining burners. He alternated between watching the contents of the pots and watching Sam attempt to tend Dean who came abruptly awake and was not at all happy to submit to Sam's administrations.

He thrashed, he brawled, he flung and he kicked but Sam had the room to fight back. He struggled to pin his brother to the floor and once he finally accomplished that feat, held him still and close while offering comfort the only way he could; with patience and words of assurance spoken in a calm voice with a gentle but firm hold that served as a restraining hug.

When Dean broke free, Sam gently but firmly recaptured him. When Dean fought back, Sam easily ducked a closed fist and dodged socked foot kicking out. When Dean gained his knees and attempted to crawl away, Sam tackled him and dragged him back, holding him until Dean quit fighting. Whatever Dean started, Sam countered, until finally, both were exhausted and Dean had submitted.

"You done?" Sam panted, Dean flat on his back, arms flung wide, knees raised. "Dean? Hey."

"Get off me." Dean gulped breathlessly, chest heaving, rivulets of sweat on his cheeks. "Ugh." he moaned, the guttural sound thick with pain.

"Stop fighting me." Sam moved back, letting Dean roll to his knees and push up with his good arm. "Gonna hafta let me see your shoulder, you know." he used his wet sleeve to wipe his own face as he caught his breath. "Damn."

"Fuck you." Dean retorted, crawling away. He didn't get far, butting up against the couch and slumping against it. "Lemme 'lone." his t-shirt was wet and clung uncomfortably to his slick skin but he used it anyway to swipe its hem across his face. "Shit."

"Can't do that."

"Go'way."

"Can't do that either." his own comfort being seen to sometime off yet, Sam reached for a canvas bag and dragged it clinking and clacking next to his hip. "What did you do to make your shoulder bleed?"

"Dunno." but lordy did it hurt. The thought of Sam touching it make him sick. He paled, sweat anew beading on his forehead and dripping from his nose to his lip. "You're not touching me."

"Sorry dude, I gotta." Sam decided not to mention Dean also had to drink another mug of antidote. He used his teeth to tear open a package of bandage pads. "Lie down and roll over."

"Go to hell."

"Nice." Sam reached for a brown bottle and wads of cotton. "Thanks."

"Leave it alone Sam." Dean spoke clearly for the first time. "It ain't bleeding all that bad."

"On your belly." Sam grabbed an ankle and hauled Dean away from the couch, who with a yelp, clawed for something to hold onto. "Come on, let's just get it over with."

Dean gave a kick but Sam had a firm hold and Dean was too tired make a serious effort to break free. He made a last half-hearted grab for the couch to stop his slide across the floor but missed and was soon sprawled on the floor next to Sam's hip. After a bit of a kerfuffle and some scrabbling, Dean once again went limp and Sam easily flipped him over onto his belly.

"He keeps doing that." Billy spoke up. "Passing out."

"Uh-huh." Sam grunted, producing a pair of scissors to cut Dean's shirt off. No way was he going to attempt to remove it over his head. So why the hell hadn't he passed out when Sam had been trying to tire him out so he could hold him still?

Okay, Billy frowned, so news of Dean's habit of frequently passing out didn't appear to freak Sam out. "Say, ah, Sam." Billy stirred the pot. "The others? I mean, are they….did you…..um. Did you….find Craig?"

"They're on their way back." Sam removed the sodden bandage and in his hand was the largest freaking Q-tip Billy had ever seen in his entire life. Even larger than the ones used at the blood mobile! "Craig was alive when I left them."

And that, apparently, was all Sam was going to say on the matter.

"Jesus Dean." Sam sighed, opening the brown bottle and dipping the swab-on-a-stick in. Billy expected liquid. Rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide or hell, even yesterday's remedy of Mercurochrome, long off the market in the States for its mercury content but nope, when Sam withdrew the cotton-swabbed end, it was coated in off-white colored powder granules.

Billy watched while Sam worked efficiently, quickly and without hesitation. Oh yeah, he'd done this before – and done it often. Holding a square of white cloth in his left hand, he pressed, paused to apply pressure, swiped, dabbed the Q-tip and repeated; press, hold, wipe, dab, repeat, the brown bottle within easy reach for repeated dipping. The bleeding slowed, but didn't stop. Sam cursed, laid a clean cloth over the oozing wounds and dug through his bag that still sat somehow nearby, for Sam had chased Dean all over the floor. His hand came out with a plastic tube with a blue end – it looked like a syringe, yet didn't; there was a plunger but no needle. Sam didn't hesitate and though Billy watched everything he did, he still couldn't understand what Sam was doing.

Within mere seconds, so fast Billy hadn't even known what he was doing, Sam had the plastic tube filled with the granules from the brown bottle, blue tab pulled off with his teeth, the cloth removed from his brother's shoulder, his non-gloved fingers pushing and pulling and probing the slash wounds that were deeper then Billy had envisioned – and really, where had those wounds even come from? Despite Dean's howl of protest followed by a yelp of pain, Sam buried the syringe like object deep in the wound and depressed the plunger.

Dean yowled, jerking away. Sam straddled him, pinning him to the floor with his legs only, preventing him from crawling away or effectively fighting back. He quickly refilled the syringe and repeated the process another four times, until all the slash wounds had been injected with the substance.

"That shouldn't hurt." Sam murmured. "Done it a thousand times before."

"What is that?" Billy asked. "What the fuck is that? What kind of witch-doctor first aid shit do you got going on there?"

At first, Sam ignored him and though still pretty darn curious, Billy was reluctant to ask again. "Celox." Sam finally replied, then added. "It's a styptic." now he had an array of bandages, gauze pads and tape and he soon had the wounds sufficiently bandaged. "Bandages and gauze for arterial bleeding, proper use be damned."

"Like….what a vet uses on dog nails?" Billy questioned. "And it comes in a bottle? Really?"

"Yeah, like that." he got up and retrieved a long-sleeved shirt from some bag or another. "Dean, hey, come on." he tried to rouse Dean and cajole him into raising his arms over his head to receive the shirt but when he failed, used his strength to dress his limp but resisting brother in the shirt. "Why can't you ever make anything easy?" Sam sighed tiredly. "You have ten fingers Dean, stop." he gathered Dean's fingers and gave his hand a hard, though not punishing, squeeze. "That boiling yet?" he asked Billy. "Yo!"

"Oh. "Billy turned to the stove. "Um, yeah."

"Then drink a mug." Sam ordered. "And keep it boiling, they'll be back soon and someone's gonna hafta make Craig drink some."

"Uh….okay." Billy noted and wisely kept to himself that Sam had said 'someone', meaning, not him. "Yeah, sure."

"And bring me one." Sam was bent over Dean and as far as Billy could tell, Sam was checking Dean's pupils and pulse and counting his breaths, he just didn't know why. As far as he knew, Dean was still or maybe it was again, unconscious. "Dean, hey, need you to sit up. Come on."