Hello again everyone!

I can't remember when I posted the last chapter...I'll have to check. Anyway, I was lucky to get this up...we had an early-winter storm in my town. It was only six inches, but it was wet as hell, and the power lines and tree branches were falling, transformers were blowing, and we were out of power for two nights.

North Cal usually only gets that kind of thing in January.

Anyway, thank you Slinky and Ranchan, I'm glad you thought it was funny! I do like there to be some comic relief thrown in there, even though it's a relatively serious story. Thanks for reading!

The day was cold and clear, with a blue sky that was a lively backdrop behind the glowing snow. The ice was melting from the pines, leaving them a deep but verdant green, and the road was clear.

Thank god for small miracles.

Dean was sitting in the front of the Impala with the Psycho Killer, and Sam was sulking in the back seat. Waking up had been odd-though Dean would consider himself an early riser, he rarely got up to leave at two in the morning-but the conversation between his brother and the stranger had been chock-full of intrigue, more than enough to keep him awake. Sam was sullen and the killer was worse, and they'd come dangerously close to blows in the parking lot. Dean had no clue what was going on, but he figured it might be a good idea to find out.

And then, out of the blue, the answer came. A single amber eye reflected in the rearview mirror was all the warning he got. "You know why yer brother's drinkin' blood out of a whiskey flask?"

Just like that.

The boys were speechless for a few seconds, both horrified...but for different reasons. The same basic scent still electrified the air. Logan picked out disgust from the boy in the back, separating it from Bloody's guilty stench before the two smells could mingle. Sam looked over at the Canuck, shocked, and Dean's bulging eyes had taken over the rearview mirror. Of course, both boys also decided to yell out their responses in tandem.

"Dude!"
"Sam, seriously?"

Logan growled at the sharp voices and glared at Sam with hard eyes. "Name's Logan, Sam." To Dean, he growled, "It ain't human, either, that's for damn sure."

If it was possible, Sam's eyes got even wider. "I-that-you can't know that!" Sam sputtered. At the same time, Dean opened his mouth. "Seriously, Sam? What the hell?"

"You know somethin' bout that shit?" Logan growled.

"Sure, it's-no, I don't know a damn thing." Dean was distracted, but after a life on the road, he wasn't exactly stupid. Still, he hadn't quite covered up his slip soon enough to hide it from Logan, and the kid smelled plenty suspicious even without the slip of his tongue. Dean knew he'd made a mistake...so he chose to look smart about it instead of naive.

"I'm not telling you anything. And Sam, that has got to be the stupidest thing you've ever done. I mean, c'mon, you chose to do that now?"

"I had a good reason!" Sam whined, frustrated. He glared at Logan again...and, pulling out a canteen of water, flung the ice-cold liquid right at the old Canuck's head.

Logan noticed the boy's motions soon enough to dodge most of the spray, but it still splattered over his lap. He let out a snarled curse and gave Sam a rough cuff to the side of his head, knocking the boy's temple against the door with a loud thud.

"It was just water!" Sam protested loudly, pressing a gentle hand to his head. It wasn't bleeding, but that had hurt.

"Sorry if I ain't too gentle," Logan snarled sarcastically back.

"Don't waste the Holy Water, Sam," Dean said coldly, "You already know he's clean."

Logan snorted. "Holy Water? You boys in some kinda heathen cult?"

Dean glared at the rearview mirror and the amber eye reflected there. "I sure as hell wish that was all it was," he muttered darkly.

The eye narrowed, and Dean expected the man to say something...but Logan just grunted and looked away. The two brothers glanced at each other, and Dean made his decision then and there. He just gave in...he was good at reading people, and against all odds he trusted this man enough to let him hear the truth. "We hunt demons."

Logan growled, and Dean grit his teeth, ready for the storm. "What the hell?" the old Canuck snapped, glaring at Dean in the rearview mirror and then whipping his head to the side to scrutinize Sam with hard black eyes.

"...And-other things," Sam added, surprised at himself. He didn't know why his brother had told the guy about hunting, but what could he do to fix it now?

"That's crazy talk," Logan growled, his voice dangerous, just daring the brothers to lie to him. "You boys don't know what you're sayin."

"We thought you were a vengeful spirit," Dean replied earnestly. "You aren't, obviously, but that's what we thought. And I thought you were a demon. I was wrong again..." and then he frowned, his narrowed eyes the only thing Logan could see in the mirror. "What are you, anyway?"

Logan snarled, but seemed to remember his words at the last minute. "That's none o' yer damn business."

"We're gonna figure it out," Sam muttered to himself, just loud enough to make sure the killer heard him, but quiet enough so that he (hopefully) wouldn't garner a reply.

No such luck. "Shut yer mouth," Logan rumbled in reply.

And the car was silent again.

Logan crossed the Canadian border about two hundred miles east of Vancouver; it had taken him only nine hours to get from Yreka to British Columbia, traversing a distance that would have taken anyone else at least twelve hours to cross. But even after he'd safely gotten himself and the boys over the border, Logan didn't stop until he'd pulled into a motel in Grande Prairie, Alberta...it was eleven o'clock at night, he was wide awake and even at a level of consciousness that was akin to half dead corpses the brothers had noticed.

"God, I thought we'd never stop..." Sam slurred, stumbling towards the hotel room. Dean chuckled loudly at his brother. "S'not my fault!" the younger hunter whined in protest. Logan watched them languidly, puffing at a Colorado he'd fished out of his pocket. He hadn't bothered to get himself a room...it seemed like a painful waste of money when he wasn't all that tired and he could sleep just fine out on the curb. He listened absently as the boys dragged themselves inside, locked the door and collapsed on their beds. The Canuck shook his head in amusement...they didn't even take off their shoes.

But his good mood faded as soon as they started talking.

"Whadda you think he is?" Dean mumbled, his voice muffled through a pillow. Sam was silent for a long time, but eventually he did respond. "I dunno. Y'really think he was in 'Nam?"

"Dunno." There was a pause. "How'd he know it was demon blood?" And then Logan heard someone sit up, and a pair of shoes thunk on the floor. "You didn't tell him yourself, did you?"

"No!" Sam's voice was as earnest as it could be while he was still half-conscious. "No, he-he just kinda knew, I dunno. Scared me when he came out, too, I didn't hear him at all..."

"Just don't do it again, okay?" Dean was dead serious now, his words relatively well-articulated. "I mean, that was pretty stupid. I thought you...I guess I didn't think you'd stopped, but..."

"...nope..." came the response-and then the boys were asleep.

Logan could feel the growl rumbling in his chest; he didn't bother to contain it. He turned away from the hotel room and stalked down the block, heading for the nearest gas station. Hopefully they had something strong...he didn't think a Molsen would do it tonight. The sidewalk was coated with a gritty layer of snow mixed with dirt, and there were huge piles of snow in some of the parking lots where the plows had abandoned their loads. Winter in Alberta was a lot harsher than winter in California, and Logan examined the icicles on the streetlamps as he exhaled in plumes of creamy smoke. He rounded a corner and walked into the food mart of the Petro-Canada station, the light and warmth closing in on him like a golden trap. He went straight to the back, following his nose until he found the booze, and picked up two of the biggest bottles of whiskey he could find.

The kid at the counter gave him a look and grinned, showing off a yellowing smile that was missing one too many teeth. Logan caught the scent of speed. "You really going to drink that shit?" the guy asked, rocking back on his heels as he rang up Logan's purchases, but his cocky smile faded as Logan glared.

"At least I ain't killin' myself over the habit," the Canuck growled as he walked out. He didn't bother to look back and see what kind of a reaction he'd garnered.

He wandered the city for a long while before returning to the motel, emptying one bottle before he got back and leaving it in a pile of slush by the street. He finished the other one while he was leaning against the hood of the Impala. The drinks were finished all too fast, and Logan found himself clipping the end of another cigar sooner than he'd expected.

Throughout the night, one long-suffering thought was running through his head: What did I get myself into?