Do I find it interesting that I start every chapter with a description of the road conditions? Yes, yes I do.

Here's one of two chapters where I actually have a plan for what will happen. The next one will be like that too-as in, I have a plan-but I haven't written it yet. Hopefully this will make you guys happy though, since I know from my own alerts that no one's been adding chapters. The holidays are too busy!

And thank you to all reviewers and bookmark-ers and readers in general! You inspire me more than a hundred seasons of Supernatural and any number of X-men fics ever could.

The roads were straight and fast up north, coated with a thin, greasy layer of ice and bordered by more pines than you'd ever see in your life. Logan took full advantage of the relative freedom, the gas pedal tapping against the floor and the Impala occasionally leaving the road as it crested hills.

"Why do you have to drive so fast?" Sam hadn't gotten used to the speed yet, and even though the highway wasn't exactly weaving through the trees it still made him queasy.

Logan glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "'Cause it's fun." He spoke as if this was a known fact, and the hunter was a complete idiot for asking about it.

Sam snorted at Logan's choice of words. "Killing, strong alcohol and driving so fast that your face peels off. What else do you like to do in your spare time?"

Logan growled. "I ain't fond of the killin', boy. I had a history with those bastards that'd give you nightmares."

"You'd be surprised at what could give me nightmares," Sam sneered and looked out the windshield at the racing trees. He frowned; was it just him, or were they passing more slowly?

A strange but somewhat familiar sound caught the hunter's ear, like two pieces of silverware rubbing together through a hunk of meat. It was quick-almost silent-and when he glanced down there were three enormous knives just centimeters away from his throat. Sam gasped and choked on his own breath, swallowing convulsively, But he didn't move an inch. The killer was still watching the road. If he accidentally twitched, or flicked his wrist on purpose...

What Sam's eyes were telling him took a little bit longer to get through to his head than the thoughts about his own morality.

"Those-they, ah-they come out of your hand." He made a face and pressed his back harder against the seat.

"They sure as hell do," Logan replied coldly-and then the claws were suddenly gone, snapped back up into his forearms. He put his hand on the gearshift as if it had been there all along. Sam watched it like it was a poisonous snake.

"That's my history with those fuckers." The Canuck's voice was low and black with anger; not just irritation like it had been before. "There's a lot more to it that I ain't sharin'. Ya still want to figure where in hell I come from? Have another talk with your brother-'m sure you two'll find some kinda explanation that suits ya."

Sam was silent for a minute, affected by Logan's tone and still somewhat shocked. And then he did speak, an insolent anger seeping into his tone. "You were listening to us?"

Logan snorted. "I heard you...an' I went to get some booze."

Sam frowned at that, unsure what to make of this guy. Was he trying to be friendly, to find a common ground? Or was he just dealing with the brothers while he had to?

No, that can't be it. He was still towing them around Alberta. But why? He obviously doesn't care.

Or maybe he did.

Sam glanced back at his brother; Dean was leaning sideways across the back seats, his head lolling against the window. He wasn't snoring yet, but he soon would be. Sam wished his brother would wake up-he didn't trust his luck with Logan-but he just sighed and turned to look out through the windshield again. It was silent for a few minutes.

"Can we stop at the next gas station, or whatever?" Sam asked at length. He looked over after a short pause and saw Logan's jaw muscles working angrily beneath the skin-apparently he didn't like that idea-but the Canadian just gave Sam a quick nod and readjusted his hand on the gearshift.

Sam took that as a not-so-subtle hint to shut up.

The Petro-Canada on the side of the road wasn't part of any town, but it was still spotlessly clean and brightly lit...a testament to the company, or at least to the strict policies they had in place. Logan pulled up to the pump and stopped the car with a jerk; Dean was awake by now, and he grumbled about Logan's harsh treatment of his vehicle as they all clambered out. Wolverine ignored him; he didn't bother to spare the hunter a second glance as he turned away to fill the Impala's tank, and Dean's complaints tapered off as he headed for the station's standard Food Mart.

Sam went looking for a phone.

The brothers had left all of their belongings back at the Queen's Inn-clothes, computer, and for Sam, his phone-and common sense told the younger hunter that they weren't going back any time soon. He didn't know if Dean had brought his cell with him or not, and he didn't really want to ask to use it...that guy Logan might find out and take away their last resort. But he had to do something to get them out of this mess. The situation had gone from dangerous to deadly when Sam saw those knives come out of the killer's arm, and now the hunter was going to call in some outside help.

The payphone was on the sidewalk behind the Food Mart, but it was still in sight of the pump. Luckily Sam /had/ brought his wallet, and since he and Dean paid with cash most of the time (to avoid a paper trail), he had plenty of change. He slid a few quarters into the slot and dialed one of Bobby's numbers, occasionally glancing back at the car to make sure he wasn't being watched. He wasn't.

Bobby picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Bobby, it's Sam." Sam took a deep breath, relieved that he was having this conversation at all. "Ah, I think we need your help."

"What's goin' on?" Singer asked, instantly suspicious.

"I need you to set up a hunt for us, and be ready to kill when we get there. There's this...guy we've been traveling with who's not...human."

"Whaddya mean, he's a demon or somethin'?"

"No...it's worse than that. He's not a demon at all, and he's more resilient than one anyways. I shot at him with a salt round and it just...bounced off his head."

"You try iron?" Bobby growled sarcastically...please tell me you tried iron! "Silver?"

"Well, no...but if it can't even get into his skull, what's the point?" Sam glanced at the Impala again, then turned back to the phone. "And he has these knives that come out of his hands. I dunno if they come out of both, but they're huge. They have to be half a foot long, at least."

"He has knives comin' out of his hands?" Bobby sounded like he didn't believe that. "You sure you ain't been drinkin' too much, boy?"

"I'm sure!" Sam sighed. "Look, if you could just be ready for us when we get there-we really need to take care of this guy. He's...he's dangerous, and I-"

"I'll be there, Sam. Come to my house."

Sam nodded, even though Singer couldn't see it. "Thanks, Bobby."

"See ya in a few days." And the line went dead.

Dean was already back at the car by the time Sam finished talking to Bobby, eating a skimpy-looking burrito out of a paper wrapper, and Logan was leaning against the gas pump. When Sam walked up, Dean grunted a greeting from around a stuffed mouth and pulled two more burritos out of the plastic shopping bag sitting on the trunk.

"We need to go to South Dakota," Sam announced, taking the food from his brother.

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Dean looked askance at his brother. "Why?"

"Because I talked to Bobby, and he says there's a bunch of demons getting together in Sioux Falls."

Dean frowned. "Why didn't he call me?"

"He was going to, but I called him first. I didn't know you had your phone...I left mine in the hotel room at the Queen's." Sam reluctantly looked over at Logan, questioning him silently about heading south again.

Logan was glowering at Sam now; he pushed away from the gas pump and got in the car, grumbling about 'damn heathen rituals' as he did. The boys got in as well.

"So," Sam started, his voice punching holes in the tense atmosphere. "Are we going to South Dakota?"

"It ain't like I got anythin' better to to," Logan replied sourly, turning the key with a quick jerk of his wrist. Sam wondered briefly how he could turn his arm like that with the knives inside.

"Alright, it's off to Bobby's then!" Dean said with a grin, kicking his feet up in the back seat.

Unfortunately, his good mood didn't take.