A/N: Two chapters in one week? Shocking, I know! We've almost made it to the end of the training week, which means we're getting closer toooooo... PROTECTIVE!CARING!DEAN! WOOOO! Trust me, I'm as excited as you guys. I haven't even started writing that part yet, but I'm already so ready for it! If it goes how I hope, it's gonna be real good!

Warnings: Some blood, descriptions of first aid, nothing too graphic, but needles

Remember how Sam had hoped he would feel well-rested in the morning after his low-intensity afternoon? Yeah, right. About that. See he would have felt well-rested had he gotten to bed earlier than 1:00 AM. Turns out, there are a lot of monsters out there, some with a lot of lore. Some had just a little lore that he'd had to read at least three times to try and find the info he needed. It had taken him far too long to read everything. On the plus side, he was able to drink the most water he'd had in a single day since arriving. His dehydration headache went away, which was nice. Other than the fact that it was replaced in mere hours with a tension headache and a crick in his neck from leaning over confusing texts, some in more than one language even.

He went downstairs for breakfast and found a feast laid out on the table in an empty room. A simple note on the table read "Eat whatever you want, and be at the training ground in 20 minutes". Sam ate cautiously. He at until the emptiness in his stomach subsided, but not quite as much as he wanted. He was not about to give Mark a reason to punish him, and he wasn't sure if eating too much food was considered disrespectful or not.

The training ground was empty, which Sam found strange, if not a little disconcerting. Where was Mark? There was a note there, too. This one said "Be careful, I haven't fed my wendigo in awhile. He's probably very hungry." Sam stared at the note, baffled. Was it some kind of instructions being given to him in code? It obviously wasn't meant to be taken literally, as that would imply that Mark had a wendigo that he had claimed as his. That couldn't be right. No hunter in their right mind would keep a monster alive, much less as some sort of a-a pet. Right?

Sam was suddenly thrust to the ground from behind. He rolled over, just as a long claw tore through the air. His world went black.

The next Sam knew, he was hanging by his ankles in a cave, staring at a stone wall. For a few moments, he frantically wondered how in the world he could have ended up in such a position, and then he remembered. The note. A wendigo. A real, living, breathing wendigo. He had been surprise-attacked and hadn't been able to escape unconsciousness. Like all well-trained hunters, Sam's mind switched directly to assessment mode, surroundings first. The cave was dark, but not quite pitch black, so there must have been a source of light somewhere fairly near. The light probably came from an exit, which meant the cave couldn't be too deep. His surroundings were silent, which implied that he was alone. For how long things would stay that way, he had no way of knowing. He refocused his observations to himself. At first, all he registered was pain, everywhere. He forced himself to slow down, start with his head, and work his way down to his toes to find the specific spots of pain, trying to guess at what injuries he had where. His head was pulsing, signs of a headache, but nothing more. His chest was on fire, and, after placing his hands on it, he discovered that it was oozing blood sluggishly. His legs and arms seemed fairly unharmed, which meant all he had to do was get free, and he would be more than able to make his escape.

Using a small knife he kept in his back pocket, he knew he could cut the bindings hanging him from the ceiling. The only issue, was getting into a position where he could reach them. With a little determination, and a lot of core strength he didn't know he had, he pulled himself up and began to saw through the rope. It snapped, and he fell to the ground with a rough thump. Pain flared throughout his entire being, and his vision went hazy for a moment, but he was free. Now all that was left was to get out of the cave.

He crept toward the light, and was surprised to find that the opening to the cave was closer than he had imagined. The cave opened into a forest, and Sam groaned. He would have to find his way back to the house. It was early fall, and the ground was covered in a layer of leaves. With enough luck, the leaves where Sam had been dragged would be upset, and he could follow that trail back to the training ground. A heavy cloud cover meant he had trouble telling what time of day it was, but at least it wasn't rain- A drop landed on his face just to spite him. The leaves showed a clear trail, however, and Sam cheered inside. At least, he would be able to make it back to the house.

Turns out, Sam was lucky that the trail was so clear considering his vision was blurry ten minutes into his walk. By the time he was stumbling up the steps of Mark's house, he could feel himself starting to pass out. His clothing was soaked through with rain. (It was only drizzling, but being out in the rain falling at any speed for as long as he was would soak a person through.) The house was silent and dark inside. He turned on a light and saw a field first aid kit sitting on the kitchen counter. A note on top of it read "Don't forget to take care of your wounds after a hunt." Wet clothes were most important, to avoid hypothermia. Sam pulled his pants down, and his shirt over his head, cursing softly when it pulled against the gashes on his chest. Alcohol wipes cleaned his chest effectively, although painfully, and he assessed the damage using a small handheld mirror. His chest was still bleeding, and he swallowed harshly at the thought of giving himself stitches. He'd had stitches before, given by his dad or Dean, and he'd stitched both of them up before, but he'd never given himself stitches.

The kit had some thread and a needle, as well as a lighter which he used to sterilize the needle. Once he finished threading the needle, he took a deep breath, inserted the needle into his flesh. White-hot agony seared through his mind and body, and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming out, but he managed to stay relatively quiet, and was finished six stitches later. They were messy, but at least he was no longer bleeding. He smeared and antibiotic cream on the wound, covering it with a gauze pad and tape. Walking into the living room with the first aid kit, he lowered himself down onto a chair, deciding to rest for a moment under a blanket and warm up before taking care of the rest of his body.

He was asleep in less than thirty seconds.