Again, thanks to Ladystarhawk for pulling out the whip.

Don't ask.

And thanks for all the comments, and for putting this story on your alerts! MUCHLY APPRECIATED!!! - Kam

***************************

Hai smiled up at Dean when he entered the tent. "You are good?" she asked.

Good? There was absolutely no good way to answer that question. "I'm fine." Dean sat beside her, watching her unfold the blankets they shared, preparing for the night. He slowly ran his fingers up and down her thin arm, and smiled inwardly at the chill bumps that rose despite the dank humidity. Sexual attraction? In spades. Hell, they could even talk a bit, and when did he ever ask that of a nightly companion? But mostly, he just felt good around her. Calm. Almost mothered. Maybe it was that Florence Nightingale crap, where the soldier falls for the nurse that heals him.

He wanted to bring her back with him. Or he wanted to stay. Ignoring everything in the world but her scent was just fine and dandy with him. Why the hell couldn't he have this one thing? This one, simple, goddamn thing?

She caught him staring, and grinned at him. Dean grinned back, the corners of his mouth quivering with emotion. He couldn't help it, her smile was infectious. "It's kinda early," he said. "You getting those ready for a reason?"

She spoke, and he was literally lost in her words. But her eyes shone, and he knew that whatever she said, it was something good, something meant for him alone, even if he didn't understand it. He smiled again, and continued to rub her arm until she leaned towards him, hesitant. His lips met hers. She kissed him for a moment, then pulled away shyly, like it was the first time they had touched.

It was endearing.

"Food?" she asked him, her head tilted inquisitively.

"Always. Yes." Dean forced aside his depression and rubbed his hands together briskly. "What's on the menu? Rabbit au poivre?

She pointed to the small hearth, silently instructing him to start the fire, then leaned over and unwrapped their small portion of deer meat.

"Special occasion, huh?" Dean was impressed. "We're eating in, and it's not rabbit. I'm so scoring tonight." He pointed outside. "Sticks." Pointed back to the fire.

She nodded, and sorted the meat.

He stepped outside, and stopped for a moment. It was insane. He was out looking for kindling to start a fire, so his Indian girlfriend could fix their food over a homemade hearth, which they'd eat in a thatched hut in a place where, hell, he still didn't know where they were. Southeast, somewhere, in a time beyond time. Who was that Walden dude Sam used to go on about? Eat your heart out. There were days when he was convinced he was asleep and having the funkiest, most wonderful dream.

He collected several thin branches from the edge of the wood, stomping them with his heel and breaking them into small pieces fit for the fire. Stopped for a moment to look up at the nearly-full moon that shone down in the darkening night. In that moment, in the pending night, with the stars twinkling down at him from overhead, with the breeze whispering around him and the feel of rough kindling in his arms, his bare feet sink ever so slightly into the cooling soil, he was alive.

He was ALIVE.

*******************

Sam sought out Akecheta. He found him sitting in his own hut, his wounds meticulously bandaged. The scent of a potent herb made Sam dizzy, and he winced as his eyes watered. "Wow. Might wanna open a window or something." He waved away the confused look. "How are you?"

"I will heal." Akecheta had the look of a man half-drugged. He propped his elbows on his cross legs, and leaned forward. "You?"

"I'm good." Sam spied the small earthen pot in the corner, and watched a thin smoke rise from it. "Thanks for asking."

"Your brother?"

"He's. . .keeping busy." Sam smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He cleared his throat and pointed to a mat near the young warrior. "May I?"

Akecheta gestured for him to sit, his movement slowly that usual.

Sam wondered if he should even stay in the hut. He ttried to curl his legs up underneath him, but his sore knee still refused to cooperate. He kept them as close to his body as was comfortable. "I want to apologize. For leaving you back there."

"You did right."

Right never felt so bad to him. "No, I didn't. You saved Dean's life back there. We should've waited, or looked. . ."

"He saved mine."

"Yeah, but. . .I still feel bad. We just, we didn't know. And Dean was hurt, and we didn't. . .we thought maybe we could get some men." He blinked at Akecheta, willing him to understand.

The man just shrugged, and reached out to stir a larger pot that was propped on a hot stone beside the fire. He didn't use a hearth. His fire was in the center of the room, enclosed with stone. The hut had a small opening in the roof, and Sam knew he drew a piece of deer skin over it when it rained. Didn't do much for releasing the scent that now burned his nostrils. "You come here to me," Akecheta said. His eyes glistened in the firelight. "It make you better?"

Sam thought about it, and smiled. "No. Not really."

"Then I can not help you." Akecheta looked up, then smiled.

He was a son of a bitch, that was certain. Sam smirked and shook his head faintly.

Akecheta regarded him, then made a visible move to change the subject. "Your brother. He like Hatokwassi."

"Seems to." Sam wanted to ask the man how he felt about that. He'd seen him eyeing Dean and Hai, and each time he'd frowned. He wondered if Akecheta had set his own eyes on the woman.

An image struck him, of the Mvskoke and Dean fighting in the center of the village with everyone looking on.

"She's good for him," Akecheta said.

"I guess."

The warrior gave him a look, and Sam winced. He knew he was being pretty obvious in his worry. "You do not want them joined," he accused. "You would shame us?"

Sam started. Joined? Joined? What the – when did this – "What? No! No, that's not it at all! I'm glad he's happy, I. . .." He paused. "Are you?"

Akecheta grunted. "Green Eyes is white man. Owe him. Have paid debt."

"Yeah. That's an evasive answer if I ever heard one."

Akecheta return his attention to the pot, and kept it there.

It was a dismissal. And it spoke volumes of the warrior's personal feelings about the budding romance. Sam wondered if he should worry.

He walked out, thinking about Akecheta's words. Apparently if Sam himself didn't approve of the relationship, then it would be seen as a slight against the Creek people. On the other hand, Akecheta could disapprove of the match as much as he liked. For all their talk of a union, they still held themselves superior over the white man. It frustrated Sam, even more so because he knew the eventual fate of these proud people.

And joined? Had there really been talk about it? Or was Akecheta just shooting off at the mouth?

He sighed heavily and looked around the village. There was nothing to do. Dean was pent up with Hai, and as much as Sam wanted to talk to him, he couldn't bring himself to go to the hut. The women were milling about, talking, proceeding from one daily task to another. Men were causing a commotion down the hill in the distance, drinking from a gourd. Laughter sailed up the incline.

Laughter. Drink. Good times. God, he needed that. He thought about inviting Akecheta, but the man has exited his hut, giving Sam a look that kept him in his tracks. Then he wandered off. Alone.

Fine. No problem. Sam headed towards the loud group, ready to make friends and kill his brain.

*******************

"Sam. SAMMY!"

Sam yelled out and sat straight up, then keeled over as the room swayed. Firm hands gripped him, steadying him, and the amused laughter that followed could belong to only one person. "God dammit, Dean!" Sam snapped, shoving him away and bracing himself with one hand on the ground beside him. He was going to throw up. His stomach rolled violently, and he gave a low moan.

Dean dropped into view in front of him, squatting with his elbows propped on his knees. "Well! How you feelin' there, Sam?"

Sam winced up at him. Both of him. "Like I could shoot your ass."

"Out drinking with the boys, huh? They tell you what's in that stuff?"

Sam's hand was waving around in the air, trying to find it's way to his head. "Don't care."

"You know, there's some Amazon tribe that spits into the brew to help the fermentation along. Wonder if these people do that?"

His stomach rolled again. "God, you're sick. And lying."

"Nope. Saw it in a movie. Now you wanna tell me what in God's name possessed you to get bamboozled?"

"Bam-boozled?" Sam winced at the word. "Thought that was the same thing as getting gypped."

"In your case? It is." He stood, and Sam followed the motion warily. "Thought you were gonna drink away your troubles, huh? Well, guess again."

"God, you're annoying as shit." Sam waved his hand in the general direction of his brother as he tried to stand. Dean guided him up. "Oh, God. Think I'm. . ."

"Take it outside, dude." Dean quickly spun him in a half-circle and shoved him towards the door, which did NOT help. Sam barely made it to the entrance before spilling. He felt a hand on his back, listened to his brother telling him how disgusting he was, and spewed again. Several woman winced, then laughed behind their hands. The kids pointed and made the universal sound for disgust.

This was SO not how he wanted to start his day.

He managed to stumble back inside with Dean's help and fell onto his bedding. Groped for the blanket and pulled it over him. Relished the coolness of Dean's palm and fingers as they pressed to his warm forehead. "Sleep it off, little brother," Dean said, and there was no ridicule, just caring.

Sam was already there.

He woke once with Hai smiling down at him. She gave him water, soothed his brow. The touch was the best medicine he could have. He was beginning to understand how Dean could fall for Hai. Her smile was genuine, her eyes untroubled, and he already felt better just having her there. She was everything he needed, everything Dean needed, and he told himself that the next time he woke, Dean would have his blessing. Which wouldn't make things any easier. The thought made his stomach roll again. Was it stress? He was never stressed. Scared, or uneasy, terrified, tense, sure. Stressed?

Sleepy. Just – sleepy. And a voice spoke to him, one he remembered, one he didn't welcome. One telling him to hurry.

The next time he woke, Dean was sitting beside him. He smiled as Sam turned his head. "You're wasting the day away, man. You know, they might not even feed your lazy ass, since you haven't done crap around here to help out."

Sam squinted up at him. His mouth was dry. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and smacked a few times. "Please tell me those men I was drinking with are this bad off." His voice sounded gravelly.

"Oh, sure! They went hunting." Dean grinned impishly.

"Of course they did." Sam raised his head, then lay back with a groan. He did feel better, just tired. Achy.

"Hai went to get some kind of leaf-herb-thing to spice up the dinner tonight. Then she was gonna help in the fields, so I thought I'd make sure you still have a head."

"Sorry to put you through the trouble." Now, what the hell was that? Earlier he was ready to give Dean his blessing? But it was like instinct. A kick in the gut.

His brother just snorted. It was obvious the comment stung, but he was being all "Dean" about it. "Yeah, well, on that note, I've got things to do. I'll be back in a bit, rest up. You'll have to eat something tonight."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam waved Dean away, but not before giving him a meaningful look, hoping an apology lurked in there somewhere.. Dean just nodded and walked out of the hut.

He stayed gone for several hours. When Sam felt like he had his land legs back, he slowly ventured from the hut. Better. His stomach wasn't rolling, and his head felt back in its rightful place, but he felt tired and weak. He blew off the good-natured pats on the back from his new drinking buddies, and pressed away a gourd that was handed to him. Not again. Never again. Toxic. Bad. He searched the area for his brother, but didn't see him.

Darkness fell. The people gathered. The fire was lit. The spit turned. Drummers started a tune, and a few danced, more for the most part the activity was less jovial than he was used to. There were several small groups of people gathered, talking, and as Sam watched as these groups slowly grew. There was low talking, and soloist would pass from one bunch to another, relaying information.

Sam was confused, and found Zertepe. "What's going on?"

The older man looked worried. His eyes constantly scanned the horizon, the fields, the forest beyond. "Three have not been seen. The people are anxious."

"Three, you mean from the tribe? You mean they're missing?"

"They have been gone longer than is normal for their task. Some of my men have been looking, but have found nothing. The people know something is wrong."

Sam quickly looked around, as though his meager eyes could pick up what the seasoned hunters couldn't. "You think the Cherokee. . ."

"No. I do not. But three are gone."

"Which three?" Sam instantly eyed the hut where Dean had been staying. Surely if Dean was one of the missing, they would have told him before now. Right? But he hadn't seen his brother, and he'd pissed him off – what if he went off into the forest, what if – cause Sam couldn't do it again, he couldn't.

His name was barked into the air, and he turned to see Dean coming towards him, tension filling his broad shoulders.

"Sam? You feeling better?

Oh, thank god. It never failed to amaze him, the level of panic he still felt at the thought of losing his brother. Didn't help that he did lose him, for four agonizing months. "Yeah, I'm fine," he exhaled gratefully.

Dean looked hesitant. "As much as I hate asking you this, I was looking for Hai. You seen her? She was supposed to be in the cornfield."

"Several are missing," Zertepe said.

Dean's brow furrowed at the unexpected answer. "Several are missing – huh? What – " He flashed a look at Sam. "Wait, you mean several people are missing, or several women?"

"Two women. One child. And Akecheta is. . ."

Dean grabbed his arm. "Is Hai one of those women?"

Zertepe looked Dean right in the eyes. "Yes."

In that moment, Dean was all hunter. Sam noticed, and though he reached out for him, said his name, he knew the best and only thing to do would be to call up a search party as quickly as he could, because there was no way he was going to make Dean wait, and Dean wasn't going out there alone. His brother didn't hesitate, and men broke from the groups at Zertepe's call.

Sam ran behind Dean into the forest, with a slew of men behind them.

********************************

Dean's instincts had kicked in. He ran as fast as he could, sliding on mulch and jumping over roots, whipping aside the lower limbs, following a trail close to the one he and the warriors had blazed on his first hunt. He ran for what felt like forever, the ground spinning beneath his feet, avoiding the dark shapes of trees reaching for him, but getting nowhere. So it seemed.

He caught a root with his toe, and tripped, sprawling hard on his stomach on the ground. Heard Sam, who had been close behind, curse as he jumped wildly over Dean to keep from crushing him. Found himself face to face with a skull.

It jeered at him with blanched teeth. A long, pink earthworm crawled out of the eye socket.

Dean's eyes widened. He pushed back on his hands and knees, then shuffled backwards as more men appeared behind him, some exclaiming and darting to the side, others tripping over him or running into his back. He didn't feel the pain of their knees plowing into him. He bit his lower lip, then gasped for air, blinking back tears of disbelief as Sam slowly lifted the corner of a light robe. Hai's robe.

The skull was laying on the material. It rolled to the side, pinning the squirming earthworm underneath it, and grinned up at him.

Dean's mouth worked. Everything was spinning, everything except for that damn skull grinning up at him with a boneyard smile that was so unlike Hai's. He felt set of hands grabbing at his arms, wrapping around his waist and chest. Hauling him to his feet, propelling him backwards. Men's bodies, and their shadows, blocked his view of the ground. He couldn't move; they were moving for him, holding him, getting him away. His heart was beating hard, so damn hard he thought it would burst, then it seemed to stop.

He yelled like a man tortured.

******************************

The fields in the distance were wilted. Some of the corn stalks were bent double, the corn mashed into the ground, ruined. The people were afraid to harvest what was left. That was what Hai and her two friends had been doing when it happened.

There was no fire for days. The center of the town remained dark, until Alush came out of his hut and ordered for it to be lit. Slowly the people came out, afraid. Drums hung from straps, sad and unused. They looked at Alush's ashen face, and their fears grew.

Sam was there when Alush finally called them out to the fire, looking for Dean, watching towards the hut for his brother to appear. Dean had seen no one, refused everything. Even Sam was warned away, and the one time he tried to push himself into the hut he found himself pinned on the ground with a man's knee in his back. He'd looked up into Dean's face, his own brother who was watching Sam being manhandled like he'd ordered it, and was frightened by the blankness in the stare. "No, stop. Let him up," was all he'd said, and Sam was hoisted to his feet, then pushed away. Dean had freakin' guards, for Christ sake, keeping people away. Because it was known that he was the mate of Hai, and in mourning. And that was respected.

That Sam was his brother, didn't matter.

Sam didn't understand the extent of Dean's relationship to Hai until he came across a small wreath of dried flowers that was meant to circle Hai's crown. For joining. It had been left before the hut, and vanished an hour later.

So he spent his time waiting, and mourning. Watching. At a signal from Alush, the two men that took turns watching Dean's hut and keeping his privacy, stepped forward and joined the people at the fire. But still, no movement from within the hut.

Zertepe approached the fire, his hands upturned. In a deep, mesmerizing voice he, chanted a prayer. The people answered solemnly, and Sam repeated the words to the best of his ability. He tried to keep his attention on the proceedings, but quietly walked backwards, easing out of the crowd, to someone that really needed him.

Dean was seated in the far corner of his hut. His knees were drawn in close to him, his arms propped loosely on the caps. His head was down. He looked boneless, incapable of movement without breaking, but as Sam's shadow crossed over him as he entered, then to the side, he looked up.

Sam suddenly didn't care if the whole village came down on his ass. He crossed the room in two long strides and bent over Dean, both hands on his brother's shoulders, squeezing, then massaging as he realized Dean wasn't batting him away. He settled in beside his brother, rubbing his shoulders and just being there, like he's wanted to for days.

Dean let him. His head fell against the wall as Sam eased his hand behind Dean's neck. He seemed ready to take comfort, and after watching Dean fight so many internal battled, shoving Sam away, Sam was more than ready to take full advantage of a crack in the armor. He said nothing, but rubbed Dean's neck, fingering the tension away as best he could. He was no substitute. But he'd do what he could.

"I messed up, Sammy," Dean finally whispered, his head still back. "Messed things up real good, this time."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, quietly.

"I forgot the job. Forgot why we were here. We were supposed to stop this thing, Sam." His voice was flat, and filled with disgust.

"Things happened. We got waylaid."

"We don't. Get. Waylaid!" Dean bit out.

"Dean, we don't even know what this thing is!"

"Exactly!" He turned steely eyes to stare at Sam. "That's my point! We dropped the ball before we even had it. We just shrugged and waited for something to happen. We didn't ask questions." He snatched up the shirt that lay beside him, and shoved it under Sam's nose. "We've done nothing but dress the part and play Indian! And look what happened!" He threw the clothing aside.

Sam released Dean and angled himself to face him. "Look, we had to! Okay? We couldn't just come in here like any other job. We had to play the part, that's the only way to understand them."

Dean just shook his head. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Why, Sam?" He looked heartbroken, and Sam blinked quickly. "Why couldn't Grampa-Red Hand-Whatthefuck just tell us what we need to know? I didn't want to understand it like this!"

Sam opened his mouth then shrugged and shook his head, unable to give Dean an answer, as much as he wanted to. Instead, he lay his head back against the hut, and closed his eyes as his brother stared at the floor. Wishing he had his laptop. Wishing he could call Bobby. Wishing for help.

*******************************

That night, Dean dreamed again. The snakes were back, filling his hut, squirming and wriggling out of the eyes of skulls, and they were everywhere, belonging to women and children, and when he opened his mouth to scream his voice sounded like Akecheta's.

******************************

He'd dug Hai's grave himself, with no help. Out in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing to put in it, just dirt. He curved the top into a small mound, and stuck a sprig of flowers in the top. It was a shallow grave. It wasn't a mound. It wasn't even near the small burial site they had. In fact, it wasn't much anything, just something to do, because he couldn't do a goddamn thing.

He knew Sam had been standing behind him for a while, watching, not saying anything. He'd walked up a good while earlier. Dean didn't acknowledge him, and it felt strange having such a large presence loom behind him. A constant prickled between his shoulder blades. But he didn't want to talk. He'd already talked.

"Dean. . ." He heard Sam come up behind him.

"Don't."

Dean was pale, staring at the small mound.

"Dean, I'm so sorry."

"I said don't, Sam."

And another two days passed without them exchanging a word.

*************************

"There is an evil among us," Zertepe was saying at that night's gathering. "We must come together as brothers, and we must pray to the All Knowing to protect us." He began to chant, and dozens of voices joined his, their prayers rising on the sparks that were jettisoned from the fire.

This had been going on for nearly a week. Sam, as usual, watched from a distance. He didn't feel like he should interfere with their proceedings, but he hovered close enough to the ceremony to hear the words. Well, what words he could make out, anyway. Desperately looking for a clue. Looking for something.

With the exception of Dean's personal memorial to Hai, he still couldn't pull Dean out from his hut. Sam's troubled eyes were steady on the flames as he thought back to hunts that had gone wrong, to times when he thought there was no hope. When all he could do was run. He realized there was still so much he didn't know, so much he still didn't understand. How many times had Bobby bailed them out? Pull a rabbit from his trucker's cap and made things better? Or Dad, with his rumbling truck and knack for popping out of dark corners? Or his dilapidated journal? Or a particular book yet another small town library, or research on his laptop, the only thing Dean would actively engage in other than going door to door —

Sam blinked, and realized what was missing. Research. He needed to do research. But there were no books, nothing to —

The old man, the one who was teaching him knots, was staring at him from the entrance to his hut. He didn't turn away when Sam met his gaze. His face, an open book.

Sam blinked, and faced him fully. The man didn't back away, but met his gaze. Of course! He took a step towards him, then another, until he was at the entrance to the hut, with the man looking at him. He gave a single nod, and they entered.

***************************

Dean was asleep, and he dreamed. He was surrounded by green flame, screaming, strung tight on chains and suspended in the middle of nowhere, his flesh tearing loudly from his body. Laughter taunted him, pain racked him, terror filled him, and he continued to yell one name over and over, knowing it was useless, but still consumed with complete desperation. "SAM!"

"DEAN! I'm right here, I'm here, dammit! Wake up! You're dreaming, wake up!"

Dean startled awake with a stinging cheek. Everything was dark, and hands were holding him down. He couldn't move, no, he could! He reached out, intending to push everything away, and instead found fingers wrapping around his, squeezing comfortingly. Sam. Sam was there, and he was able to make out his silhouette. Dean gasped for air, then let his head fall back as his eyes closed. "Sorry," he muttered. "Fell asleep."

"You needed to. You okay?"

He nodded, forcing the dream from his sockets. "Yeah, I'm good." Sat up slowly, noticing that Sam had let him go, but hovered. Fine with him.

"I was coming to get you and heard you screaming from outside. You scared the shit out of me!"

"Dude. I don't scream in my sleep." Dean rubbed at his face and sniffed.

"Yeah. I'll just chalk that one up to my over-active 'you're a lying bastard' imagination. You awake now?"

"Unfortunately."

"You sure?"

"Lay off it, Sam! Christ."

"Then you need to come hear this." Sam tugged at his arm.

What the – "Sam, no. Stop! Said I was awake. Didn't say I was going anywhere." He blinked up at Sam, and recognized the grim set of his brother's mouth. Knew he'd said something wrong.

"Dean, listen to me." Sam crouched down in front of him with such intensity that Dean pulled back, puzzled. "I get that you're hurting. Okay? I know. Believe me, I know." His mouth opened, then closed. His bottom lip quivered slightly before pressed tight. "I've been there, remember?" he said, softly.

Of course he had. Goddammit, of course he had. Dean exhaled and let his eyes close, suddenly feeling his emotions fleeing from him, making him weak. Of course he had. Sam knew exactly how he felt. He'd lived through the nightmare himself. How could he forget? His eyes still closed, he reached out into the air until Sam clasped his hand. He squeezed tightly, apologizing, asking forgiveness, thanking him, commiserating with him, everything in that one grasp, saying what he wouldn't allow his words to. When he opened his eyes, Sam was looking at him, unblinking. His brother gave a small smile, squeezed his hand tightly in return, and they slowly let go.

"I've been asking around. I think we might have the answer to our little problem," Sam said quietly, with a small smile. "Aren't you curious?"

Dean licked his lips. "I'm hungry," he said cautious.

Sam's huge grin made him feel better than he'd felt all week.

******************************

The old man wasn't at the prayer circle. He sat before his hut, swaying and chanting without casting an eye toward his people. There was a young boy near him, Nameesh. The boy gave a nod of greeting to Dean as he sat beside Sam. "Good. You up." The old man said nothing, just continued his chant as he swayed.

Dean blinked, and looked at Sam accusingly. "Everyone around here keeping tabs or something? You got niches going up on a post that shows now much I've been sleeping and such? Hinging bets on me?"

"Everyone's just been concerned, Dean," Sam said, trying to get comfortable.

Oh yeah? Well. Whatever. "Suppose that's a good thing." He looked at Nameesh. "And since when do you speak English? I never knew that. I've seen you around here, why didn't you say something before?"

The boy shrugged. "Nothing to say."

Dean chuckled and pointed at him. "Young, and wise to boot. You hold on to that."

Sam grinned. Probably because Dean let himself laugh. The scrutiny of his every behavior and facial quirk was gonna get on his nerves, real fast. Never mind he did the same thing after Sammy lost Jess. Watched his every move, his expressions. Without letting Sam know, of course, but then his brother wasn't an idiot.

Dean sighed and rubbed his hands slowly, trying to hide his unease. "So. Why are we here?"

"You remember Wankanda?"

Dean raised his chin to the old man in acknowledgment, and gestured with his hands still clasped together. "Wait. He was the one showing you how to cut off the circulation in your fingers, right?"

"That was my fault," Sam smiled. "He speaks some English, but Nameesh here will help. I think he knows something about what's going on."

The man rocked back and forth, making Dean eye him dubiously. It felt too much like Grampa and his damned rocking before they were sent over the rainbow. "Sammy, you sure you can't tell me about this? I mean, look at him. At this rate we might end up back in the stone age or something."

Nameesh raised his hand. "He is almost ready. I will speak for him."

Dean raised his brows, and waited. Anxiously. Wondering if he needed crash pads for this trip.

The old man's hums became louder. He began to hum, then sing, then words formed. Nameesh instantly started to translate in a low voice, one beat behind.

"The Taksvpolkv-cetto. Oh, Taksvpolkv-cetto. Oh, Revered One, look up at us with your glistening eyes, and hear our plea. Take not what belongs to us. We are weak in your grasp, and ill on your tongue. Take not what is ours, it will not please you.

Oh, Taksvpolkv-cetto. We meant no disfavor. We are young and stupid, and you are old and wise. Do not heed our words, for they are foolish. Do not hear our songs, for we can not sing.

Do not mind our children, for they are slow. Do not mind our women, for they are cruel.

Taksvpolkv-cetto, do not mind us at all for we are not worthy of your attention. Go and mind the bullfrog instead."

The words dulled into a hum, and Nameesh stopped his translation, waiting. Sam leaned in to him. "What was that?" he whispered.

"Old saying to prevent curse," Nameesh replied. "He speaks of the Takvspolka-cetto, the worm-lizard, that comes to take our people away."

"Worm-lizard," Dean muttered in alarm. His mind worked quickly, thinking back. "Tell me your name again?"

"Nameesh."

Dean pointed at the old man. "What else does he knows?"

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked, but Dean waved him down again as the old man began to talk in response to Nameesh's question.

"It is from the Cherokee," Nameesh translated. "They cursed us. Sent it over, their vile ways. Want us gone."

"Want you gone, how?" Dean asked sharply.

"It was sent to us. Kill the women, kill the children. All hide, no one works. We starve." The old man started swaying again.

Sam leaned forward. "But this is a myth, right? This can't happen."

"It happens. Hai. . ." Dean choked slightly and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply. "We need to know everything you know," he insisted, and his eyes reopened, vivid. "Everything. You understand?"

The man stared ahead. He spoke, and Nameesh translated. "It is said that the Takvspolka-cetto lives in the ground in the wood. It takes those that abuse the land. It eats them. The women and children are not safe, for they are the future. They are taken from us. Always, it comes. When the white man comes, it comes. When we are at war, it comes. It is the curse of the Cherokee, for it comes when they are near, like the white man, like the war."

"So this story, it isn't yours," Sam clarified. "You heard it from the Cherokee?"

The man's voice rumbled. Nameesh talked over him. "Alush's father was wise, yet foolish too, like a child. Join the tribes. Marry within. Only the blood curse was spread. Now Takvspolka-cetto lives among us, taking our families. The Cherokee wished it, and so it was. They want no union. They want us dead, want our land, like the white man."

The old man's keen eyes passed over them. He held up his right hand to silence Nameesh, and spoke for himself. "You are not like their blood. You are of our blood. They can be too, only they kill too much." He sniffed. "Killing in Mvskoke way is honored. Less bloodshed."

"Yeah, but dead is still dead," Dean offered softly.

"Dead Cherokee is good Cherokee," the man said, gruffly. He waved Nameesh back, now intending to speak for himself.

"Okay, I'm not gonna judge who gets voted off this island." Dean muttered to Sam. "Your turn."

Sam blinked. "Uh – you said the Takvspolka-cetto came to your people, how?"

"I told you. By blood. By a union."

A union. Dean winced. At the word he'd never be able to hear in the same way again. Not that he and Hai were, there was some talk but it was – he paused and looked at Sam. His brother's eyes had widened.

Dean nodded. "Bet you a week's worth of sweet wine it's Akecheta."

"Akecheta?" the old man asked, with a frown. "What has he to do with it?"

Sam leaned in. "He, uh – he has Cherokee blood in him."

The man spat upon the ground. "Zertepe, too. Too much Cherokee. Half-blood. Tells us what to do with ourselves. It's wonder we are here."

Sam shook his head. "Then not Akecheta?"

Dean leaned towards him. "Too much speculation, not enough talk. Let's find Zertepe," he suggested.

"They'll be at the prayer circle," Sam said.

"Then I guess we'll have to interrupt them."

***********************

Nameesh and the old man joined Sam and Dean at the prayer circle. Sam listened, then leaned in and tapped Nameesh. "What's Zertepe saying?"

Nameesh spoke over his shoulder. "He says the curse must be lifted. It's the same thing he's been saying since this happened, only he says it different each time."

Sam's mouth quirked as a memory took him. "I had a professor like that."

"Does he say how it can be lifted?" asked Dean.

Nameesh shook his head. "No. Just that it must be done."

"Well that's a given, and for a medicine man, about as helpful as shit." He poked Sam's arm. "Powwow."

Sam stared. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Believe it. Come on."

"Where to?"

Dean turned to him, his eyes hooded. "The woods."

The what? Sam stopped him before he could go further. "Are you crazy?" he hissed.

Dean rounded on him. "Look, are we hunters or not?" he asked angrily, in a very low voice. "And I don't mean in their sense. We'll take torches. Just do it quietly, I don't want anyone else coming along."

He wasn't leaving Sam much choice, and what's more, he was right. They needed to get back out there. They each procured two long sticks with dried grass and fabric wrapped around one end, and lit both under the cover of the backside of a hut. "Alush has a lantern, but I doubt we could get to it," Sam said.

"Shhh." Dean peeked around the corner to make certain the people were engaged in prayer, then nudged Sam. "Let's go."

They ran down the hill along the backside, then hurried to the edge of the tree line. It was much darker under the canopy. They paused for a moment, the torches crackling just above their heads. Nearby trees danced in the orange light, making the interior of the forest seem all that much darker.

Somehow, it was more daunting than going into a demon's lair. Much more oppressive.

They carefully followed the trodden path to where the creature had been, to where Hai had been. Dean walked around the area, holding his torch towards the ground. The ground was still scored in places from Akecheta's near-capture. "The thing I don't get," Dean said quietly, kneeling, "is if Akecheta is responsible for this happening, then why did it try to kill him?"

"I don't know." Sam angled his light towards the trees. "Maybe there was another reason it wanted him."

Dean raised his chin, his eyes cutting left and right as he took in the surroundings. He lowered it again in thought. "Okay. He was supposed to unite these two tribes. Half Creek, half Cherokee. But the Cherokee decided they didn't want any part of it. This is a Cherokee curse. He's associated with the curse." His brow raised. "Think it's a piggyback?"

"You mean they purposefully sent him back with it?" Sam pursed his lips in thought, and shrugged. "It would explain why they didn't want to keep him when they captured him. Probably didn't realize who they had at first, and when they did, they were afraid the curse would fall back on them."

"And the poor devil doesn't even know what's going on." Dean sighed. This was giving him a headache. He rubbed his brow. "We need to talk to him."

"If you can find him. Good luck with that. He's not in a chatty mood lately. Especially not now. I've tried, but he ended up just wandering off."

"Still – shh – wait." Dean held out his hand. He waited, then there it was again, a low moan – and a hiss. He shot a look at Sam. "Are you hearing this?" His brother's response was lost in an expression of disbelief, and anxiety. "This way," Dean insisted, and they pressed on deep into the foliage.

The sound slowly grew around them, at first just a whisper in the trees, then solidifying. They slowed their motions. The moon broke through the thin clouds overhead, and lit upon a small clearing encircled by pines. They looked on in horror as Akecheta knelt on the ground, his upturned hands holding a bundle of small, thin snakes.

He was singing to them.