A/N Is it customary to put the disclaimer up on each chapter? Hmmmm... Just in case, I don't own these guys, if I did, why would I bother to write fanfictions? Thanks to everyone who gave a review, fave or follow, I love you all. Now, get on with it!
At the Boulders Inn & Suites motel
Dean managed to get the car all the way to the motel without crashing and considered it a huge accomplishment. Somehow, he managed to get through the door of his room and to the phone next to the beds. He sat down heavily as he picked up the receiver and started to dial Bobby's number. He huffed out a breath as he waited for his friend to pick up the phone.
"Singer Salvage, what do you need?" a gruff voice issued from the phone after a few rings.
"Bobby," Dean breathed into the receiver, relieved that Bobby picked up.
"Dean? Boy, what's wrong? Who's hurt?" Bobby immediately demanded when he heard Dean's tone of voice. He knew something was wrong even from the fact that Dean was calling him at all. "Where's Sam? Is he hurt?"
Dean's eyes got a little misty as he listened to the real concern in Bobby's voice. Dean had looked up to that man as a father for many years, and since now his real father was missing, it was good to hear a familiar voice. "Bobby, that's why I'm calling. You know that wendigo case up in Milford, Iowa? Well, Sam and I took that case, and we ganked it pretty easily, but it turns out there were two. Now Sammy's been taken and I'm in no shape to grapple with a wendigo. I'd more likely be killed than help Sam, and then I wouldn't be able to do anything to protect my little brother." Dean swallowed both saliva and his pride before speaking the next sentence. "I need backup, Bobby."
Bobby was silent for a few seconds. Dean must have been hurt bad to even think about calling for help. There was no way in hell Bobby could ignore the boys he thought of as sons, not if they were hurt and he could help. "I'll be there in an hour and a half, two hours tops. Just sit tight. What motel are you at?"
"I'm at the Boulders Inn & Suites, just off of Rt. 71. Thank you, Bobby. I don't know-"
Bobby cut Dean off. "No need to thank me, ya idjit. I'm just doing a favor for my boys. Now sit tight, and don't injure yourself further. Maybe catch a few z's while you're at it, if you can. I'll be there soon." Bobby doubted that Dean would be able to rest with his brother missing, but it couldn't hurt to ask. He hung up the phone and started getting ready for the hunt, packing plenty of flare guns and silver tipped bullets for the shotguns. The silver on the bullets would only hurt the wendigo a little, but the fire from the flare gun would be fatal to it. Wendigos were nasty creatures, once human, but no longer. They were created from men who would go crazy from hunger in a long winter and resort to cannibalism to stay alive. Hundreds of years later, they still craved human flesh to the exclusion of all else. The only reason more people aren't dead is because wendigos would go into hibernation for a couple hundred years at a time. They usually went solo, but this time seemed to be an exception. Gotta be prepared.
A/N Hoo boy, doesn't this look likes it's getting somewhere now. R and R, F and F, all those other things people put down in the post-chapter authors note. Sorry again for the shortness, but it felt like it stopped there.