Chapter 8

"My, he's a glutton for punishment that one isn't he?"

Sam had dropped to kneel at Dean's side one hand on his brother's heaving chest the other cupping his head protectively. Concern bit at his stomach as he was torn between his need to help Dean and his hunter's instinct to maintain a cautious watch on the racoon, or whatever it was, as it scuffed its way across the floor.

"Mmmmmm…" The racoon whumphed heavily onto the stone hearth in front of the fire and stretched out its snout towards the meagre warmth. "Fire…it's so pretty…and cleansing," The latter phrase sounded menacing and Sam shifted his weight, readying his muscles but the racoon settled further apparently not at all worried by the presence of the two men. "…I'm drying nicely. Don't you think?" It stood, shook itself and settled again.

The surrealness of the situation suddenly hit Sam and he nearly laughed at its absurdity. The racoon was talking…the racoon. No wonder Dean had been so freaked. That's what he must have meant when he'd asked "Did it say anything?" Sam sniggered quietly to himself picturing Dean in a tête-à-tête with the racoon.

"Laugh it up fuzz-ball." Groaning Dean tried unsuccessfully to sit up floundering until Sam, taking pity on him, slipped an arm underneath, pulling him into a supporting hold against his chest. The elder Winchester leant heavily and Sam could feel his brother's quickened heartbeat as Dean, with his breath harsh in his throat, looked wildly around.

"Where'd it go?"

"It's over by the fire." Peculiarly Sam only felt a slight sense of unease at sharing the shelter with the racoon, he'd address the talking part later but the creature had given him no cause for alarm. It hadn't threatened or harmed him or Dean and earlier his brother had been really out of it, alone and defenceless before Sam had gotten to the hut. If the creature had wanted to take them out then it'd had the opportunity several times over.

"What's it doing?"

"Sitting by the fire."

Dean lowered his voice and Sam could barely hear him. "What is it?"

"It's a racoon."

"Yeah I know that." Some of the Dean pissedness had returned and glancing down Sam saw with relief that some of the colour had returned to his brother's face as he continued. "But what is it? I mean its gotta be something right?…not just a racoon."

Sam viewed the creature thoughtfully it seemed to have found an interesting smell because its black nostrils were pressed to the hardened earth giving small snorts of air before inhaling. The nose moved and the snorting and huffing continued punctuated by the occasional sneeze.

"What's it doing?" Dean shifted forcing Sam to loosen his grip so that his brother could turn and see. There was still a hint of anger in Dean's voice and Sam felt his brother's fingers grip and twist in his T-shirt.

The racoon lifted its head. "I'd tell him to keep still; it's only going to hurt more if he keeps squirming around."

"What's it to yo… ." Deans breath hitch and Sam felt him still, stiffening with pain. The creature caught Sam's eye and Sam saw a glint of amusement. Echoing silently Dean's earlier 'sonofabitch' the young hunter realised that the racoon was deliberately jerking his brother's chain? The statement was innocent, concerned even but that look… What the hell was this thing? Certainly as Dean so rightly pointed out it wasn't '…just a racoon.'

The creature pushed itself up crumbs of soil dropping from its muzzle fur as a paw swiped down its length. For a long while it sat contemplating them and Sam got the distinct, uncomfortable, impression that he was on view that it was studying them as he was studying it.

Slightly taken aback Sam found that although questions formed in his mind he was unable to voice them.

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"Sam…" Dean clamped down the clutching panic within him and whispered trying to pull his brother back down so the racoon couldn't hear. That thought in itself was completely crazy but the whole scenario was so beyond Looney Tunes that Dean wasn't going to attempt to apply anything like logic or reason, he just needed to know one thing.

"…tell me you can hear it…tell me it's talking and that I'm not going completely insane."

The racoon's ears twitched and it looked up, not at him but at Sam. "He thinks I'm some kind of hallucination, thought he was speaking to himself."

Colour and heat rose inside Dean flushing his skin and his utter exasperation boiled over. "You…" Dean pointed at the creature. "…Shut up." This thing was ripping him wide open. He was feeling really out of it, the situation kept getting more and more bizarre and now not only was this thing talking but it was talking over him to Sam as if he was some kind of retard.

Dean roughly shrugged his brother away, gritting his teeth as the pain escalated. His vision blurred and for an instant he could see two racoons; twinned green eyes staring at him, mocking his weakness. Another flash of hot pique and the question left his mouth before he'd engaged his brain. "What the hell are you?" He felt Sam tense beside him and had a fleeting sense that maybe he'd gone too far but a fiery indignation pushed that aside. He stood his ground or rather he sat as straight as his ribs let him and stared the creature down.

"Good question." The racoon didn't seem phased by the candour, the tone or the stare but seemed disinclined to answer as it turned shuffled a few steps and stuck its head in Sam's backpack routing again. "That food?" Its voice was muffled. "Not the dry crumbly stuff but that hard brown sweet stuff." It pulled its head out.

"The Candy?" Dean was incredulous, this thing wanted to talk confectionary?

"Hmmm I liked that." Its tongue slid over pointed teeth to lick its muzzle. "Got any more?"

"No."

It was long seconds later in the awkward lull of conversation that Dean realised the racoon had been referring to the food he and Sam had left back in the clearing. "You ate the offering?"

"Yeah…why was it meant for someone else?" It cocked its head to one side questioningly but with a slight air of menace.

There was no way Dean was mentioning fairies.

"It's a long time since anyone made an offering." The racoon's eyes took on a distant look. "I remember … in the past, aeons…" It tailed off and Dean found he was holding his breath, waiting, until gathering itself the racoon refocused fixing its green-eye stare upon Dean. "Meagre though yours was I appreciated the gesture."

Dean felt like he'd been praised, admonished and reproached all in one go. Riled he was about to throw back a response when he felt Sam's hand close around his arm in warning. He glanced at his sibling and received a slight shake of the head; obviously Sam thought that now was not the time to challenge the creature. Dean bit back the retort but glowered, first at Sam and then at the apparently unconcerned racoon.

"You sure you don't have any more of that stuff? I can smell…" It was back to foraging through Sam's pack and Dean heard the crackle of a wrapper. The racoon's head emerged teeth clenched holding a corner of blue cellophane.

"What's this?"

"A Granola Bar."

The racoon picked the bar from its mouth and deftly turned it over and over in its paws.

"You have to take the paper off." Sam offered helpfully leaning forward holding his hand out.

Dean incredulous, elbowed Sam in the ribs and widened his eyes trying to send the nonverbal message of, 'What the f**k are you doing?' but his brother avoided his gaze and unwrapped the proffered bar returning its contents to the eager racoon.

The creature retreated sniffing the snack and licking experimentally before biting down into the soft malleable cereal. It chewed, jaws moving side to side in a grinding action occasionally flicking its tongue out to catch the detritus filled saliva along the line of its teeth. It was disgusting but Dean found that he couldn't look away.

"I like an audience but not usually when I'm eating."

"Sorry." Sam's apology was a breath and Dean felt a tug on his arm. He shook it off, angry all over again giving Sam another 'What the Hell?' look but he caught the warning in his brother's eyes and slumped back without further protest. Dean let his body relax slightly leaning on the wall behind him. The movement pained as much as the effort exhausted him and slowly his head thumped back onto the wooden slats as his eyes closed.

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The interior of the hut was getting cold. The sun had set some time ago and the lengthening shadows threw dark ominous shapes across the floor as Sam sat watching over his brother.

He shivered and finally, stiff and aching, ventured across the floor to re-kindle the ash-covered sticks in the fireplace. The racoon had been gone for about an hour but Sam had been reluctant to move too far from Dean or to give anything on the outside any indication that the hut was occupied but the cold had finally gotten to him and he knew that Dean was going to need something warm inside him so he decided to risk a small fire.

Working methodically Sam cleared the hearthstone already having made the hard decision to stay another night in the sparse shelter. He had his reservations about the safety in doing so but knew there was not enough light left in the day to hike out of the interior and his next instinct, to get as far from the hut as he could in the dusky twilight, had to be abandoned because Dean needed rest and was in no shape to walk far let alone spend a night on the damp forest floor.

Reaching for a stick Sam bent the green wood around his shin and managed to rip it into a length he could use. His knife lay snug against the base of his spine but he didn't want to dull the blade with the mundane task. He split several more twigs then searched out the matches he'd carefully stowed in a waterproof container. Dean had kidded him about being such a Boy Scout and how Sam had always needed to 'be prepared' but Sam had taken the teasing without comment. He glanced over at his sleeping brother wishing he was awake to see who had the last laugh.

Sam noted how pale his sibling looked, lines of pain etched across his slumbering features. Dean's body was hunched in on itself arms protectively around his torso, his breathing, shallow. It was a bad position to sleep in and Sam knew he should wake Dean and get him to lie down but he decided to wait until he'd got the fire going.

Sam turning back set sticks around some splinters of log and struck a match. The kindling took a little coaxing and he had to blow gently for several minutes but eventually the wood caught and a thin trickle of smoke trailed up to the roof timbers.

Sam sat back satisfied with his efforts.

"You gonna call room service or shall I?"

Dean was awake. "You're awake?"

"Obvious much." His brother shifted uncomfortably and Sam heard Dean cough, gasp in a breath and cough again.

Sam turned his concentration back to the fire, listening intently. Dean wouldn't thank him for noticing his pain but that didn't mean that Sam would ignore the signs. Gathering every ounce of casualness he reached into his backpack. "Want some soup?" Sam fished out two rectangular tins and several packets. He selected dried vegetable flavour. "Vegetable or Chicken?"

"You don't have a cheese burger and fries in there do you?"

"No," Sam laughed, "but I've got…." Sam reached into his backpack.

"Sam if you say Granola Bar I swear I'll start swinging."

"…some Trail Mix." He held up the bag.

"You've gotta be kidding me, didn't you pack anything that can remotely be called food?"

"Dean this is a highly nutritional …"

His brother grunted irritation showing all over his face. "Sam shove the home ec lesson."

Sam shoved it and lapsed back into silence, preparing the soup then adding more sticks to the fire. Staring unseeing into the darting flames, his mind weighed his options, mulling over, calculating his next move.

Since Dean's fall all his attention had been focused on finding his brother and then when he'd found him on fixing him up. The hunt had become secondary and still was, his priority being to look after Dean but as he considered his options he realised that he couldn't ignore the threat because whatever it was that was killing people was still out there between him and Dean and civilisation…and that was without adding the racoon into the equation.

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Pain penetrated Dean's sleep state insinuating itself into his dreams, wrapping itself around his body escalating the throbbing hurt until it couldn't be ignored. Earlier he'd fought against the rising tide of lethargy trying to prove to himself and Sam that he was fine but eventually a heavy weariness had crept up on him closing his eyes and dragging him down into a fitful sleep. Now he struggled to remain cocooned in the warm drowsiness which allowed him to believe he was alive and ready to kick-ass.

To wake meant cold, stiff pain and the knowledge that he probably owed his life to a talking racoon. He let these thoughts itch not fully acknowledging them but not banishing them either and then as he vaguely felt Sam leave his side he allowed himself to drift into full consciousness.

Sam had his back to him and was breaking and arranging sticks to make a fire. That was good? Wasn't it? John's voice invaded Dean's fragile composure curt and authoritative. 'Never light a fire unless it's absolutely necessary.' Rattled Dean fought against the automatic criticism he should have voiced, knowing that his brother knew the rules and realising that Sam must think the need for a fire outweighed the risk. It took a few moments for him to realise that he was probably the cause of Sam's concern.

The flames flared catching on the tinder and the pain in Dean's head burned with the same ferocity, crackling and sparking behind his eyes. He squinted and strived to make his next words light. He went for animated too but the effect wasn't quite what he'd wanted.

"You gonna call room service or shall I?"

"You're awake?" Sam turned towards him.

"Obvious much." Nothing got passed Sam. Dean had the decency to feel bad at this uncharitable thought but covered his guilt by trying to move, easing his hugged embrace to straighten his body from its slumped sleeping position.

The movement irritated something deep inside his chest; he felt the muscles spasm and was unable to prevent the eruption of a cough. He clutched at his chest, arms tightening trying to prevent a second explosion of pain as his diaphragm convulsed again. He tried to breathe through the torture but that required expanding his lungs and that hurt. He tried to concentrate but the whole thing had increased exponentially the pressure in his head, sending the hammering at his temple, pounding outward in rippling arcs.

"Want some soup?" Sam was rummaging in that friggin' bag again. "Vegetable or Chicken." How much stuff could one person have packed in such a small space? However, Dean who had been holding his body tense waiting for the agony to subside suddenly realised that the sick feeling had left his stomach and that he was in fact hungry.

"You don't have a cheese burger and fries in there do you?" What he wouldn't give for a nice juicy burger, preferably ground racoon.

"No," Sam laughed, "but I've got…." Sam reached into his goddamned backpack. Dean was beginning to hate that thing.

"Sam if you say Granola Bar I swear I'll start swinging."

"…some Trail Mix." He held up the bag.

"You've gotta be kidding me, didn't you pack anything that can remotely be called food?" What did Sam think he was a squirrel?

"Dean this is a highly nutritional …"

All Dean could manage was a grunt and "Sam shove the home ec lesson." What he needed was food, real, greasy, bad for you food with an order of bacon on the side not berries and nuts.

His brother went back to his imitation of a chef de cuisine, emptying the contents of the packet soup into a small tin and adding water. Dean mused that Sam had never acquired the subtle art of fine cooking; he'd improved, as the meal at the yurt had shown, probably under Jessica's tutelage, but somehow he never 'got' that food was supposed to taste good as well as be good for you.

Dean sighed and prepared himself for reconstituted soup made with rain water. Slowly, warmed by the fire, he felt his body relax until he realised that something was missing. Warily he checked the interior of the hut. No racoon, fantastic, he couldn't face confusing verbal sparring while he ate. It would give him indigestion and be way too much effort in his present state. Besides, he still wasn't sure exactly where he stood on the whole talking animal issue.

"Here, eat this while it's hot."

Jerking awake Dean blinked. "Huh." He must have fallen asleep.

"The soup." Sam held the tin out holding it carefully with a sweatshirt, no doubt, thought Dean snarkily, something else his brother'd had stowed in that bottomless bag. Gingerly he straightened and when his pain-o-meter only went up a couple of notches he held out his hands and Sam placed the steaming mixture, shirt and all, into them.

The smell alone had his salivatary glands drooling and he took a sip, mentally lamenting that his life had brought him to the point where a bowl of soup was the best thing ever.

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Watching Dean wolfing down his portion of the mean meal with satisfaction Sam savoured his own much smaller helping, sipping slowly making it last as long as possible. He'd saved only enough for himself to feel the benefit of its warmth in his stomach; his brother needed the nourishment; walking out of the forest was going to take a lot out of him especially with his injuries.

"S'good." Dean gave grudgingly managing to smack his lips with his mouth full, then tipped the tin and poured more in. Sam watched him affectionately; food never failed to put Dean in a good mood. His brother seemed to be regaining some of his composure and although he still looked pale and pained he was more animated and alert than he had been.

Mid swallow, with a sudden lurch of fear, Sam glanced towards the hut door, his attention caught by a movement but it was only a leaf blowing in the draft and he let out a silent sigh of relief. He'd thought it was the racoon returning and he wasn't ready for that yet he wanted to talk to Dean before the creature made a reappearance; although he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say or how he was going to say it. Their visitor seemed to have an unsettling effect on his brother and Sam wondered not for the first time what the creature and his brother had talked about to have spooked Dean quite so thoroughly.

"Dean."

"Mmm" Dean scraped his finger around the inside of the tin and stuck it in his mouth before he looked up. "What."

"The racoon."

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Dean…" Sometimes Dean was so exasperating. "…We need to …"

"SAM don't go there." His brother clunked the tin onto the floor and folded his arms across his chest, which would have been a great final gesture if he hadn't winced.

Immediately Sam was next to him. "You hurting?"

"M'fine."

"Let me see." He reached out.

"M'fine …s'the same as last time you looked." His brother tried to back up but the wall behind stopped him and again he grimaced. Sam withdrew his hands, he didn't want to force Dean and there wasn't really much else he could do but he felt he should do something.

"D'you need more painkillers?" Dean's nod was almost imperceptible and Sam, happier, decided not to say any more. His sibling's acceptance of analgesia proved that the pain must be really bad and he handed over two small white pills and a bottle of water.

Dean took a swig and Sam took advantage. "I think the racoon's a spirit." His brother spluttered spraying water everywhere.

"A ghostly talking racoon that's all we f**king need."

Shaking his head Sam tried again. "No not a spirit, a spirit."

"Huh?" Obviously Dean wasn't following him.

"An entity, a kind of forest deity. It's often seen as a tall thin old man with…"

"NAKED GANDALF."

"What?" Sam was startled by Dean's triumphant shout.

"Naked Gandalf I saw naked Gandalf …here…in the hut." Despite knowing that there was no one else in the shelter Sam craned his neck round making a visual sweep of the interior.

"He was here, sitting..." Dean forgetting his injured ribs and hip in his excitement surged forward pointing to the middle of the floor, "…there." He fell back with a groan hugging himself. "I thought I was seeing things…you know."

Staring at the spot Sam tried to form a mental image of a naked Gandalf and failed miserably.

"And his eyes…his eyes…they were green." His brother was appealing to him wanting Sam's acknowledgement that he wasn't, hadn't been going insane.

"I saw an owl with green…" Pieces of jigsaw began to slot into place in Sam's mind. The owl, the racoon, the old man – it was a shapeshifter, no…not a shapeshifter in the true sense but something that could change your perception, appear as different creatures. "The old man, the owl, the racoon they're all the spirit… Crap."

"Crap, what? Why crap?" Alarmed Dean searched his brother's face. "Sam. Why crap?"

"I read that it can appear as plants."

"Crap." Dean got it; this thing could be a tree, a leaf, a blade of grass anything.

"Some reports say that it can appear as a large talking mushroom."

"Now you're yanking my chain."