AN: Welcome to almost-fall. Around here that means football and canning. In fact, I have it down to a science making sure the time to take the jars out of the canner falls during half time!

In any case, sorry for yet another long wait for a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it like I enjoyed my Lions beating the Chiefs.

To pull in another football reference, Janice is my offensive line protecting me from grammar and continuity errors without getting any of the glory for it!

* * *

The Nalusa Falaya was beyond sated, well into the realm of glutted. It had never, in all its long existence, eaten this well. It didn't remember a whole lot of details from before, since it had been sleeping for so, so, so long. But it did know that before it was punished for eating two-legs. Not this time.

The Nalusa didn't like to be seen and those who dared to look at it had instantly become the next target. And now, there were so many who didn't turn away! It had been angry about that at first. The two-legs were the ones who decided when it slept and when it woke to rid their land of the legless ones, and in return, they were supposed to look away or pretend they didn't see the Nalusa. When a two-legs saw the Nalusa, as long as they respectfully looked away and kept their eyes down, it left them alone. Or that was the way it had been for ages and ages. It was part of the agreement that had been struck when it had first been summoned in that far distant past.

But it was getting a taste for two-legs now, enjoying the feeling of true satiation. Enjoying having the autonomy to hunt with impunity Perhaps it would take as many two-legs as it desired for once. And perhaps it wouldn't have to go back to sleep again but could keep hunting forever, no longer subject to the whims of the two-legs.

The Nalusa's latest meal had been interrupted with noise and staring and more noise and it had fled, fat and slow from so much eating and completely unused to being challenged. But it would accept subservience no longer. It had the scent of those who'd seen it. It would be back for them.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean didn't like cops at the best of times, but this one was pushing his buttons more than most. As he'd expected, Deputy Douchewad had followed him from the library. Dean had decided to dick with him a little bit and had some completely unnecessary stops – at an itty-bitty drug store where he bought some Mike 'n' Ike's and at a Wendy's for a frosty – before stopping to grab the pizza he'd ordered by phone during his last research break. The cop looked like he was going to get out and say something as Dean was coming out with his food, so Dean hurried and drove away just to piss the guy off. He didn't go immediately back to the library then, either. Instead, he drove aimlessly until he saw a gas station. Deciding to see if they had some rum to go with the 2 liters of Coke he'd grabbed at the pizza place, Dean pulled in.

He parked Baby well away from anyone else, SOP for him when it was an option, and started around the side of the gas station toward the main door. Something glinted in the glass wall he was walking past, and Dean's instincts pinged. He stopped and turned, trying to make sense of the marks on the glass the height of his waist. He ran his finger over the row of tiny dots and discovered that they were actually indents or possibly holes all the way through. The glass around them wasn't even webbed, perhaps because they were so small. He tried to imagine how much force that would have taken given how thick the glass was.

"You there! We need a word."

Dean stood and let his displeasure show on his face as the cop approached. (Yes, he'd introduced himself. No, Dean had not chosen to remember his name.) The we sank in as Dean registered that his nemesis had acquired another cop and both were striding purposefully toward him. "Oh, goody," he said dryly. "They're multiplying."

Both cops put their hands on their respective hips and gave him what were certainly intended to be intimidating looks. Dean just rolled his eyes. Not much intimidated Dean Winchester, and with very few exceptions, humans did not even register on that list.

"I hear you've been snooping around bothering people," said the one Dean hadn't seen before. He was shorter and pudgier than his partner with a little fuzz beneath his nose that was too pathetic to be termed a mustache.

Dean lifted an eyebrow in his best so expression.

When he didn't react otherwise, cop one said, "I never saw any ID or your PI's license."

"License?" Dean asked, putting all of the disdain he could muster in the word. "I'm a paranormal investigator, buddy. Who's gonna give me a license for that? The Men in Black? Dumbledore? Maybe Van Helsing?" Maybe this cover wasn't so bad after all, since it gave him a great opportunity to mess with Andy and Barney.

Naturally, his new friends didn't appreciate Dean's wit.

"Listen, smart mouth, people are missing," cop two snapped and Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the childish insult.

"Yeah, and you're harassing someone who wasn't even in the state until after they went missing. I'm here because you yahoos can't find them. Hell, you probably can't find your ass with both hands." Dean knew before the words were out of his mouth that he shouldn't have said them.

"You could have been around before but only out in public now," cop two continued, as if that made any sense at all.

"So I've been hiding but all of a sudden decided to act like I just got here and rent a motel room?" Dean was so tired of people hindering hunts when they should have been grateful for the help. "Wanna hear my theory?" By now, there were a few bystanders not even hiding the fact that they were eavesdropping. "I think a cop is doing it. Somebody everybody trusts, you know? I think one of you killed Mikey, thinking nobody'd miss a kid like that. Maybe because this hypothetical cop likes young boys. Or maybe he just likes killing. But Evan saw it and though he was too scared to say what went down, the killer cop got thinking, 'what if he ain't scared forever?' So Evan had to go. And then –"

"That's it. You're coming down to the station." The first cop pulled out his handcuffs as Dean stared at him in utter disbelief.

"You're arresting me? What for?" He didn't fight the guys as they cuffed him and herded him toward one of the police cars. He hadn't done a damn thing worthy of arrest, so he knew it was an image thing more than anything else. "If anyone steals my car, or my pizza I'm suing!"

Dean fumed for the entire (short) drive to the station. He had to smirk when the no-nonsense woman with should-length steel gray hair at the front desk asked what they were bringing him in for. "That's what I'd like to know," he remarked just loudly enough to be heard.

"Public disturbance," said mustache wannabe, not sounding nearly so sure of himself now.

"Uh-huh. Did he throw punches? Break stuff? What?"

Dean reevaluated the woman. With her spot at the desk and her civilian clothes, he'd pegged her as more of a receptionist than anything else but the others were showing her deference that proved she was in charge. He just didn't know if she was in charge on paper or just ruled the roost with attitude alone.

Both cops shuffled their feet like little boys in trouble. The first one finally spoke up. "Uh, no, Chief. He, uh, yelled at us and said maybe a cop killed the people who are missing."

"Why?" The woman snapped out the word like a whip. Dean almost answered but her glare stopped him. Might as well let the cops bear the brunt of her ire.

"Why?" asked the first cop timidly.

"Yes. Why did he act like that? Did he just walk up to your car and started yelling?"

The more the cops explained, the colder the woman's expression grew. "Let me get this straight," she said when they'd trailed off, and Dean thought they might get frostbite from her tone. "You followed a random stranger around all day because he dared to talk to your aunt? Then you approached him just in case he was the one kidnapping or killing people even though he wasn't even in town until yesterday? Then, when he grew frustrated, you arrested him?"

"And now my pizza's cold," Dean sighed. He nearly flinched as the woman's glower turned to him. She could give John Winchester a run for his money for intimidation factor. Then she looked back at her cops to see if they'd protest her assessment. Neither did.

"What's your name?" she asked Dean. "And are you really a paranormal investigator?" She said that last two words like she might have said 'shit shoveler.'

"Dean Aday." It was what the driver's license he was carrying said. "And yes. My brother and I, uh, investigate paranormal occurrences."

"Are you armed?" the chief asked Dean. He figured it was a pretty good time for honesty.

"Yes, ma'am." He hid his amusement at the acidic glance the cops got at that. They'd never frisked him. "I have my Colt in my belt and a boot knife." He tapped his left toes. Luckily, he had permits for both weapons. (Fake, but he had them.)

The chief – he still didn't know her name – gave one of the longest sighs Dean had ever heard. "Don't harass people, Aday, and my people will leave you alone." She turned to the cops and her eyes narrowed. "Let him loose, bring him back to wherever you grabbed him, buy him some new pizza and get back to your actual jobs!" She didn't yell, but both cops winced as if she had.

"Yes, Chief," muttered both men. Mustache unlocked the cuffs.

Dean grinned at the cops in the rearview mirror the whole ride to the pizza place, when he reordered their pizzas, and while they waited for the food to be made. The eyes of the kid behind the counter jumped from Dean to the cops and back again like he couldn't figure out what was happening, but he remade the order readily enough when he was paid. As he was boxing the second pizza, the cops' radios went off reporting shots fired at an address that sounded familiar.

Mutt and Jeff took off without looking back and Dean sighed. It really wasn't his day.

He ended up convincing the delivery driver to bring him to his car. He didn't look old enough to drive, but he was an okay kid, so Dean tossed him a twenty when he got out. He had left his phone on top of the first pizza boxes and hoped that the extra pizza would help mollify Sam, who had to be wondering what was taking him so long.

He was surprised to find he had only two missed calls and one voicemail. Maybe Sam wasn't mad after all. He called Sam and frowned when it just rang and went to voicemail. He hung up and called his voicemail as he turned out of the parking lot. He was pulling into the motel lot just down the road as the message played.

"Dean, Brian just called me and it sounds like he's in big trouble. I'm going to...um...borrow a car and head over there. Just – I know you think he's a stoner, but just meet me there, will you?"

A cold wind shot through Dean as he heard his brother's voice. Underneath the rushed words was the sound of running footsteps. Cursing nosy cops and all the delays, Dean pulled a u-turn, the Impala's tires squealing as she obediently took off down the road.

Despite his haste, Dean noticed a car parked well off the side of the road not far south of Brian's house and recognized it as the one the motel owner had tried to pawn off on them. Figuring Sam had driven it there, he pulled up just in front of it and jumped out, grabbing a big flashlight from the trunk, though he didn't turn it on yet. He could hear voices and see flashing blue and red lights down the road about half a mile away and around a curve to the north and slightly east, too far away to make out any words or see what was happening. The commotion could only be at the trailer where Mike Wilson and his dad lived.

Trying to retrace Sam's steps, Dean walked up to Brian's house with his gun drawn. The door was ajar and light spilled out of it but there were no sounds coming from inside. Dean pushed the door farther open cautiously and looked around.

It wasn't trashed or anything, but it definitely looked like someone had left in a hurry. More lights were on and the back door was wide open. Dean moved through the house with his head on a swivel and discovered that from the back door, it was almost a straight shot down a small hill and through some scrub to the Wilsons' place. He took the time to quickly check the rest of the home, finding very little amiss and nothing to explain Brian's (or Sam's) absence.

Looking out the back door without allowing his silhouette to be visible from the outside, Dean flipped open his phone one-handed. He chose Sam's number and put the phone to his ear. It gave only half a ring before going to voicemail. He was about to try again when a text came through.

aaron cresswell bowling green

It was from Sam, and in his relief, it took Dean a moment to place the reference. Cresswell had been a Hunter whose sloppiness had eventually led to him getting eaten by a garm. The only time they'd worked with him had been in Kentucky maybe half a dozen years ago, his ineptitude ensuring Dad was never willing to pair up with him again.

When they'd hunted a flock of kobolds with the man, he'd gone in one direction and Sam and Dean the other so they could flank the monsters while Dad launched a frontal assault. Except Cresswell had gotten turned around and went the wrong way entirely, meaning Sam and Dean's position was overrun and they were forced to hide. The kobolds never found them, and Dad was able to eventually kill a bunch and convince the rest to chase him so the teens could safely come out.

So Dean took that to mean that Sam was safe but unable to risk coming out of wherever he was holed up. He knew better than to let down his guard, but he did pause long enough to take a deep breath, grateful to get confirmation that Sam was okay.

"...not human!" A shout reached Dean, clearly Mike's dad. "You can't leave me without a weapon, you bastards! I don't know if I hit it!"

A second voice answered, much calmer and too quiet for Dean to make out. He could see the beams of several flashlights moving toward the expanse of brush and small trees between him and them. If that's where Sam was hiding, the cops would find him any minute. Well, Dean could do distraction with the best of them. He went to the front yard, took one look at the Winnebago parked there, and knew just what to do. He quickly texted Sam, hoping nobody would hear the notification buzz.

meet at not oak

The directions Brian had given Sam to his place had included the instructions "if you get to the big ass oak tree, you went too far." Of course, the Winchesters found out that not only was it merely a husk of a dead tree and not all that big, it wasn't even an oak. It hadn't helped Brian's credibility any, but the important thing was that Sam would know what Dean meant and it was a location he should be able to get to without being noticed once the cops were properly distracted. He didn't bother to explain anything else to Sam. He wouldn't miss the signal Dean was arranging.

The Winnebago, inexpertly painted a flat green from tip to tip, was unlocked, of course. Dean popped it into neutral and kicked the chocks out from behind the back tires. He turned the wheels the way he wanted them, went to the hood and pushed. It started moving surprisingly easily. As soon as gravity took over, Dean sprinted to the Impala and drove off south, the direction he'd originally come from. Headlights off, he took the first cross street over one street and sped around to come to the meeting place from the east (and hopefully unnoticed).

Even driving with all the windows up and spitting gravel, Dean couldn't miss the sound of the green monstrosity crashing at the bottom of the hill or the shouts of reaction. Judging by the metallic sound of the impact, he was fairly certain that his aim had been true and it had hit the police car farthest from the trailer below. He had taken the time to make sure that nobody was near the path of the wayward RV, but he wasn't above feeling glee at smashing a cop car, even if he a little felt bad for destroying what was probably Brian's pride and joy. (The color scheme might be dreadful, but somebody had put a lot of time and work into painting the thing.)

Since he was where he needed to be and couldn't really do anything but wait, Dean took advantage of it and started eating pizza. It was cold, but he was starving by this point. As he munched, Dean rolled down his window and listened as all hell broke loose a hundred yards away. It didn't sound like the kind of panic that ensued when someone was hurt, which was good. But there was plenty of confusion and yelling, which was also good, because everyone would rush over to see what happened and nobody would notice his brother.

Speaking of which, where was his brother? The unkempt, brush-filled area wasn't all that large and, though the waning crescent moon didn't offer much illumination, there was enough ambient light from headlights and yard lights and the like that Sam should be able to make his way to the not-oak easily enough. Like Dean, he had a well-honed sense of direction acquired from years of Dad's training.

Dean waited long enough to consume half a pizza. Long enough for the angry, confused yelling to die down to a disgruntled buzz as the cops clearly figured out what had happened and started to make a plan to deal with it. Long enough to start sweating and wondering if Sam had missed the message or misunderstood it. Long enough to check his phone for new notifications a dozen times and text Sam half of those times. Long enough to start to get really freaking worried and start imagining what had gone wrong.

Just when Dean had resolved to take the flashlight and start searching, hoping everyone would assume his light was merely one more policeman, a tall figure separated itself from the shadows. Dean sighed, feeling his tension dissipate. He'd know that silhouette anywhere. He waved Sam over impatiently. The last thing he wanted was for the already paranoid cops to find them nearby and connect them to the flight of the Winnebago.

The flight of the Winnebago. Heh. Dean had been to the symphony exactly once in his life (which was one time too many, in his humble opinion) to appease Cassie, the girl he'd been seriously dating. He'd spent most of his time dozing and trying to decide if he dared cop a feel or if all the stuffy people around them would notice. The only songs that made an impression were one that had an actual cannon fire in the middle and one utterly frenetic song that was called Flight of the Bumblebee. As Sam moved across the front of the car with far less urgency than Dean would have liked, he imagined that song playing in the background as Brian's vehicle rolled majestically down the hill and smashed into a black and white, sending parts flying every direction and randomly exploding, causing a movie-worthy conflagration.

As lovely as the image was, it didn't erase Dean's worry-fueled irritation. He moved the pizza boxes to the back seat as Sam made to get in. "What the hell took you so long?" Dean demanded. "Shit!" In the distance, he saw headlights. There was no way to know if it was a cop or someone else, but either way he didn't want anyone to know they were close to the mess he'd caused. Still not turning on the Impala's lights, Dean executed another u-turn and headed back to the motel. He didn't turn his lights on until the other car turned off and they could no longer see Brian's place or any of the flashing red and blue lights.

Dean breathed out in relief. They'd slip into their room and claim they'd been there since Dean had left the gas station earlier if anyone asked. There was nothing to tie the motel owner's car to them, he assumed. "You just grabbed that car, right? You didn't do something moronic like asking to borrow it?"

"Uh…"

Belatedly, Dean realized that it was the first time Sam had spoken and his Sam instincts, which had been chirping at him for the last few moments, got much louder. Dammit. He was out of practice at this big brother thing, something he'd have sworn was impossible years ago. He'd let circumstances distract him from making sure his brother was fine. "Sammy?" He pictured the shadow that was Sam walking to get in the car. Had he been hunched over? Dean had been putting the pizza in the back seat for the brief seconds that the interior light had been on. "What happened?"

"Brian called me," Sam said and though he kept his voice level, Dean knew in that moment that Sam was, indeed, hurt. He never could hide that from Dean. "And no, I didn't ask about the car. I just took it. I saw the shadow thing in Brian's place."

Sam's voice was gritty, and Dean would have pulled over if they weren't already turning into the motel parking lot. "And?!"

"And it was moving away from me, so I tried to follow it, hoping it would lead me to the missing people or whatever. Halfway down the hill, it suddenly turned on me. I got it with my knife, but it never made a sound. Then, uh, Mike's dad must've seen us because he started shooting."

"He shot you?!" Dean spent a split second of near panic, trying to decide if he should put the keys back in the ignition and hightail it to a hospital or run around the car and drag Sam into their room.

"Grazed me," Sam corrected. "And when I woke up, the shadow thing was gone and there were cops looking around."

"Woke up," Dean repeated. He heard how flat his own voice was but didn't even try to act unaffected. That was it, he had to see how badly Sam was hurt. Clearly, Sam couldn't be trusted to take care of himself or report on the severity of his own injuries. Was it always this stressful hunting with him? Or maybe he'd done a better job of protecting Sam in the past. He was considering locking Sam up or at least wrapping him up in bubble wrap. Maybe both. "Room. Now."

Sam didn't let Dean help him get out of the car because he clearly had a death wish. He had an arm curled protectively over his side but was standing mostly upright. In the crappy light of the parking lot, Dean couldn't even see any blood, but that didn't mean a damn thing. He grabbed Sam's other arm. "Get in the damn room, Sam."

Showing a distinct lack of self preservation – again – Sam paused. "Could you bring in the pizza? I'm starving."

Well, that made the bubble wrap extraneous. Dean was going to kill Sam himself.

* * *

AN: The Nalusa Falaya is very loosely based on the Choctaw cryptid of that name. Very loosely.

Andy and Barney refers to Andy Taylor and Barney Fife, policemen on the 1960's The Andy Griffith Show.

A garm or garmr is a great, blood-stained wolf from Norse mythology. Sometimes, Fenrir/Fenris is said to be a garmr, sometimes they are separate entities.

Trucklady53: Ooh, I didn't think about that guy! He was so so, so creepy. I felt so bad for Sam at the end of that episode. When I was a kid, I was convinced that shadows were alive and moved around on their own when nobody was looking at them.

Colby's girl: Thank you so much! I was trying to accurately portray early show Dean and thought about him distracting Sam in (I think) season 2, episode 7 by making annoying noises.

muffinroo: Everything is so much creepier in the wee hours of the morning! I'm so glad you find the interactions to have the right feel. Love your reference in your comment so much. "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" I also thought about the "Shadow Nose" card in the super silly card game Munchkin, which always makes me chuckle. Thanks for the laugh!

Christine: I love that logic! Apparently, they should have believed Brian. Poor Brian. Poor Sam. Poor Nalusa. No, wait. Forget that last one.

sylvia37: Thank you! That's a lovely thing to say!

sfaulkenberry: I'm sorry for the rough week and totally tickled that my update made it a little better. I always like to delve a little deeper into the guys' psyches than a TV show is capable of and you definitely picked up on all the things I was trying to convey. Also, full disclosure: I thought of you when I crashed the Winnebago, thinking it was a scene that might amuse you!

Timelady66: Baby Sam posing as a fed is a pretty funny picture, I agree! Also, not only did I bring everyone to a cliffie, I left you all hanging there. Sorry about that. This mist or shadow monster is a fun trope to write.

Shazza19: Nobody was taken...yet. LOL. You want Dean in jeopardy, huh? I think I can do that. *g*

stedan: I'll take the compliment with many thanks! It's good to know that you (and others) like stories set in the early seasons. It definitely influences my writing to read that. We did get some action in this chapter but mostly I got distracted messing with Dean (and his pizza) and writing about tangents like "Flight of the Bumblebee"! LOL

Kathy: Yes, the Weechesters make me so happy, even when it's just a snippet. I had a feeling you'd mention the reference to Bobby, Sasquatch, and the special brownies! I left it out of my author's notes because I figured enough people would remember that (very goofy) scene.

bagelcat1: I admit to feeling guilty for writing so slowly, and you're so very sweet about it! I absolutely adore the "Dean is a toasty marshmallow" analogy. Would you mind if I used it?