AN: This is a last chapter and an epilogue all in one. And it's so speedy because most of it was written ahead of time, once I knew where the story was going.

Janice helped, as she so often does, by doing her fabulous beta work.

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The first thing Sam became aware of was the fact that his mouth was full of dirt. He turned his head to spit it out and discovered that his skin felt like someone had rubbed the inside of it with steel wool. He hissed through his teeth at the sensation as he fought the pervasive fatigue weighing him down.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," said a familiar voice, and a warm hand was on his forehead helping him lay his head back.

And just like that, things weren't quite so bad.

Dean was there, Dean was looking out for him, and Dean didn't sound worried, so neither of them were bleeding out and there wasn't some big nasty about to attack.

Sam licked his lips and scrunched up his face when he tasted more dirt. He let himself rest back against Dean's shoulder for one more second. The feeling of his skin not fitting quite right was already fading but not the exhaustion. "You good?" he asked, his voice coming out scratchy.

"Yeah, fine. I don't know what that was, but I'm good," Dean answered immediately. "Hang on." He prevented Sam from sitting up, taking a moment to tie a bandanna around Sam's hand.

It took Sam another minute to remember what the that that Dean was talking about was. At the memory of being frozen in place with a sensation of something crawling inside of him he sat up on his own, bile rising in his throat.

He looked around the clearing – really looked. He couldn't see a single snake corpse left. A small box sat innocuously near his feet, covered with etched symbols that reminded him of the box the nalusa falaya had been trapped in when it was in the museum. Next to it were some crushed flowers, sprinkled with what was probably Sam's blood from the wound in his hand. There was a lot to unpack there, but he had something more important to ask about.

"How are –?" he inclined his head toward the lean-to. "And did you find Mike and Evan?" He turned slowly, feeling like he had the joints of an octogenarian, and studied Dean. Dean looked tired and dirty, but it didn't seem like he'd lied about his condition.

"The two in there are unconscious but breathing. Mike and Evan are in Baby eating all your trail mix," Dean reported. "I got a guy I can call for help, but I left my phone with the boys. Is yours…?"

"Dead," Sam sighed.

Dean nodded, unsurprised. "Think you can climb outta here with my help? And walk like a mile to the car?"

Sam wasn't sure he could walk at all, at least not without a lot of help. He shook his head. "We can't both go and leave Kinsley and Paxton without protection." He frowned at the box. "The nalusa falaya's in there, right? Where did you get the box?"

Dean gave Sam a smirk that wasn't as cocky as he meant it to be. He undoubtedly was dealing with the same feelings of unease Sam was from their brief...possession, if that's what it was...and the leftover worry from Sam getting taken. "It's a humidor. Made of cedar. And the mother's tears came from the motel owner's garden."

Sam smiled and raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Not bad, Sherlock," he praised.

Dean scoffed but Sam would swear there was a slight blush on his face. "Yeah, yeah. You aren't the only one with a brain, you know. Now let's get outta here. The nail falls is trapped and there aren't any bears or anything. Those two will be fine for an hour more."

But in the end, Sam won the argument to stay by the mere fact that he refused to stand up. "I just need to rest a little while. When you come back, I'm sure I'll be able to climb," he argued.

Dean clearly hated it. Detested it. But eventually, he left after Sam repeated his own argument that if the two unconscious people being safe for another hour, one conscious person (and a Hunter to boot) would also be fine.

He was gone nearly an hour by Sam's estimation, during which Sam did some more thinking even as he marshaled his strength and monitored the condition of the two civilians, both of whom woke a couple times.

Dean returned with the cop they'd met in the hospital when visiting Brian. He and Dean had worked out a plan. The cop, Jim, would stay with Kinsley and Paxton and give Dean and Sam a chance to get back to the car before calling in the cavalry. The Winchesters would drop Mike and Evan at the hospital and blow town.

Jim swore up and down that he wouldn't involve them at all, just report that a passing motorist had found Mike and Evan and flagged him down, then he'd followed the boys' directions to the others. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to thank you?" Jim asked earnestly. "The whole town owes you."

"Actually…" said Dean slowly. "You know Levin who owns the motel? His wife planted all these local heritage flowers and shit. The town should buy some for the park. And, like, put up a plaque and all that, you know? That dude's a good guy and half the reason I even found this place."

Sam stared at Dean. He was full of surprises. He almost made a crack about the unexpected thoughtfulness but thought better of it. "And maybe somebody could buy his car?" he added.

Jim was clearly fighting a smile. "I think I can handle that. And seriously, thank you."

It was getting uncomfortable for the Winchesters, so they took that as their cue to get going.

Climbing out of the depression was a challenge, but with Dean's help, Sam finally managed it. He felt like he could sleep for a week. The walk back was tiring too, but Sam was thinking too hard to pay much attention.

"Alright, what's going on in that brain of yours?" Dean asked at one point.

"What are we going to do with the box?" Sam deflected. "I don't really like carrying it around in the trunk or anything." Dad would have had some place to stash it, but they had no idea when they'd actually catch up to him.

"I've got a plan. We're gonna Jumanji that sucker," Dean answered with relish. Sam wasn't sure what he meant by that or if he should be worried, but at least he'd successfully diverted Dean's attention.

Sam had rarely been so grateful to see the familiar shape of the car. By the time they got there, he'd stopped protesting Dean helping him and was just trying not to lean on his brother – who'd made this trip several times now – too hard.

He fell into the front seat and only smiled and nodded at the enthusiastic greetings of the two friends in the back seat. It was good that they had each other, since they couldn't honestly talk about their experiences with anyone else. They were good boys, and he could tell that they were resilient. Sam thought (hoped) they'd come through everything without too many nightmares.

They weren't stupid, either. They both quickly understood the need to keep Sam and Dean out of everything. They walked into the hospital under their own power, already joking and harassing each other.

"Now...the box," Dean grinned maniacally. "Then we'll blow this Popsicle stand."

Dean's grand plan for the box was actually a decent one, if a bit self-indulgent. With a great deal of grinning and looking far younger than his twenty-six years, he tossed the box into the still-wet cement that had been poured for the giant gazebo in the park. Then he hopped in the excavator and smoothed over the place where it had disappeared with an impressively light touch. He couldn't seem to stop smiling, looking so happy that Sam had no choice but to smile back.

He wasn't surprised by Dean's proficiency exactly, but it made him a little melancholy. He could picture Dean on a construction site, probably as foreman, a tough and fair boss who wouldn't hesitate to do hard lifting when needed. Hell, he could picture Dean doing a lot of different jobs. He was smart and good with his hands. More than once, Sam had wished that Dean didn't have to be a Hunter.

"You get some sleep," Dean ordered predictably as they threw their bags in the Impala. "Stop spinning your gears." He gave Sam one of those probing stares that always made him feel like he was ten and had done something he wasn't supposed to. "Unless you have somethin' to say about this case. We're done here, right?"

Sam sighed. "I can tell you what I'm thinking, but you won't like it."

"Tell me on the way, then," Dean said. "Before someone sees us and decides to ask questions."

Sam waited to start talking until they hit the interstate, organizing his thoughts. "Did you look around that clearing at all?"

"Um, yeah, kind of. I noticed all the dead snakes were gone, if that's what you're getting at."

"That too." Sam scratched his nose. Exhaustion was catching up with him. "But I mean it was pretty close to a perfect circle. All the sides were the same height, too."

"You're thinking it wasn't carved out by water." Dean caught on immediately. "So, what are you thinking? It was the footing of a man-made...something?"

"Yeah, exactly." Sam hoped Dean wouldn't mock him once he heard the entire theory. "I think maybe it was a temple or a shrine to the snake god and that's why the nalusa falaya chose it. And, er, I think that something we did woke up the snake god. Maybe what you said about the job being done or the mother's tears flowers with blood on them or something else. And I think that's who...used us...to trap the nalusa falaya." He stared at his fingers. He figured Dean would either mock him for the idea or insist they go back and try to kill the snake god.

"That's pretty out there," Dean said, but not in a mocking way. "It makes sense, I guess. As much sense as anything makes. I sure didn't put those symbols on the box. But...a god?"

"Well, the native peoples called it a god, but that doesn't necessarily mean it really is one. And I don't think we should try to kill it." Sam spoke quickly. He knew they didn't leave supernatural entities alive.

Dean grumbled a little under his breath. "I wish you'd've mentioned earlier that the job wasn't done."

Sam stared at the side of Dean's head. Dean might not have thought of the snake god specifically, but he had been possessed too and had to feel just as violated as Sam did.

When Sam didn't answer, Dean flexed his hands on the steering wheel. "Fine. Why don't you think we should kill it? Because we burned our bridges? Or because we have no clue how to kill a god?"

Dean honestly asking for his input and not just turning around the car like Dad probably would have made Sam relax. "That's part of it," he admitted. "But mostly, it didn't do anything bad, really. We don't know the real story of the nalusa falaya coming into existence, but the only thing the snake god did now is help us seal it away again. None of the history of the area suggests that it's ever hurt anybody. And maybe it's the only way to keep the nalusa falaya locked up."

Dean thought about that for so long that Sam almost fell asleep.

"You got me thinking about Bobby," Dean said out of the blue, startling Sam. "And those pixies that he found in his dryer."

"They were piskies," Sam corrected automatically. He rubbed his eyes. "What about 'em?" The incident Dean was talking about had happened something like a decade ago. They'd found it hilarious because their taciturn "uncle" had been covered in glitter that had taken days to remove completely, but Sam couldn't remember much more about what had happened. His most visceral memory was his stomach hurting from laughing and that he'd laughed so hard he hadn't been any help at all while Bobby chased the piskies down and trapped them in a pillowcase one-by-one.

"That's what I said. Pixies. Anyway, he didn't kill 'em. As pissed as he was, he just threw 'em outside. When we were shocked, he said –"

"Maybe they'd eat some of the mosquitoes," Sam finished. "Oh, yeah." He yawned. At the time, he and Dean had found it mind-blowing that a Hunter would stumble on something supernatural and not kill it, but now Sam was too tired to think about it much. For a second, he felt the sadness of their separation from their old friend, then his eyes were trying to slip closed.

"Anyway," Dean continued with fond exasperation. "In this case, it seems like we don't have to kill the snake dude, though we oughta keep an eye on the news out of Tema for a while just to make sure he doesn't decide to stay awake."

Sam only grunted. He'd save his surprise at Dean's conclusion until he had the energy for it.

"Get some sleep," Dean said and it sounded like the best idea ever.

"Wake me up 'n a couple hours and I'll drive," Sam mumbled. Dean had been up all night too.

Dean made a rude noise in return, but then he turned the music down to a good level for sleeping and Sam was reminded all over again just how good it was to be riding shotgun with Dean again.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Eighteen months later

"You don't remember what the man who kidnapped you and killed your father looked like?" Victor Henriksen asked through gritted teeth.

The man he was interviewing, Mike Wilson, never blinked. "Yes, that's right, sir. I think it's called traumatic amnesia."

Victor counted backwards from ten in Latin, something that rarely failed to calm him. He was known for being a patient and unrelenting investigator, but he was close to losing his temper. It was something the fugitive Winchesters had provoked in him before. He reminded himself of his boss' stringent warnings to soft-pedal potential witnesses. They weren't criminals, he'd reminded Victor, just innocents who'd been fooled by two very talented con men. He thought Victor's determination to get those two in particular was his white whale, so he had to be sure not to piss the man off, lest he get removed from the case.

He knew the two psychos he was chasing had been through Tema. He'd read the police reports about the missing people and the way the Winchesters had showed up in town randomly.

Victor pretended to consult his notes. "Just to recap, a stranger you'd never seen before kidnapped you and four other people and held you hostage in the woods. You and Evan Hollingway managed to get away and flag down a car. You didn't know the driver, but he drove you to the hospital, dropped you off, and called the cops. You don't remember what the driver looked like either. The kidnapper disappeared. And you've never heard of Sam or Dean Winchester."

"Yes, sir," Mike said again. He was standing behind the counter of the old motel where he worked. Victor knew that after graduating from high school, the kid had taken on the job and was slowly repairing the old place with the understanding that the old man who owned it would sell it to him one day, giving him credit for all his sweat equity. He knew all of this because he'd already spoken to the older Hollingways, who'd adopted Mike after the death of his father and who had bragged about him as if he was their own son.

They'd talked just as much about Evan, who was studying at Texas A M. What they hadn't talked about was the strange events Victor wanted to know about other than to say they were grateful both boys were alright and they hoped the "poor, deranged man" who'd taken the boys had gotten help and would never hurt anyone else. Their young daughter knew something – Victor could tell. But she was a minor and he couldn't interview her without permission, which he wasn't given.

"She wasn't involved, you know," Mrs. Hollingway had said. "And she still has nightmares. There's no reason for her to rehash it now."

Henriksen had run into similar roadblocks everywhere he'd gone, even when he could tell someone knew more. The chief of police gave him all the (uninformative) files and seemed content with the open case since nobody had gone missing in her town since. There was another cop who'd eyed Henriksen but had nothing to say when approached.

Another supposed witness was higher than a kite and talked about aliens and mutant bears. The two adults who'd been kidnapped were no more helpful than Mike. Their descriptions of their kidnapper were vague and contradictory. and they didn't remember much of their ordeal at all.

It all made Victor want to scream.

"Fine," he snapped at Mike, who had pointedly looked at his watch three times now. He'd said he had work to do while the sun was still up. In fact, he'd been weeding alongside the motel when Victor had showed up. "Just one more thing. Do you have the motel records from the time in question?"

"No, sorry. Mr. Levin didn't keep computer records before I started working here. I can tell you that there were no credit card receipts that week, though."

He was a good liar, Victor would give him that. But he had no proof the guy was lying and if he strong-armed him, his boss would kick his ass. What the hell did the Winchesters say to these people to get such loyalty? Damned if he knew.

He stared the kid down for a long couple of minutes, then scowled and put his card on the scarred counter. "Call me if you remember anything." He turned and stalked out. Instead of going to his car, Victor walked past the meadow Mike had been working in, through something called The Dorothy Levin Memorial Garden, and went to the park next door. He took a seat on a bench inside a rather ostentatious gazebo and stared at nothing, thinking through everything.

Clearly, the Winchesters had been here. He wouldn't put it past them to have kidnapped the people and killed the elder Michael Wilson. But then what? Had they managed to cause Stockholm Syndrome in the other four in such a short time? The teenagers maybe, but the adults? What did the cop know? The stoner? Evan's little sister? There was some secret here right under his nose and he just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

He was contemplating whether or not it was worth going to Texas to talk to Evan Hollingway when his phone rang.

"Henriksen."

"Got a line on your boys, Henriksen."

At last.

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AN: Poor Victor! I wish he hadn't died in the show. He would've made a great Hunter.

In the Jumanji movies, the magical game that causes so much trouble is regularly hidden away just to be rediscovered in the future.

ncsupnatfan: Thanks! Yup, pretty much nothing can stop Dean when Sam's in danger! Definitely some small bro moments here.

Jenjoremy: Aw, thank you! I love smart boys and gallant boys and protective boys and... Beating the monster with a stick was fun to write.

muffinroo: Ooze of shame! That is fantastic! I accused my fat cat of doing the ooze of shame when he rolled over so he could play with a toy without getting up.

Shazza19: The boys got off fairly easy in this story. Thank you for your nice words!

Spnlady: Dean has a lot of compassion, even if he doesn't always want people to realize it. I'm glad you don't feel gypped by the "fight" with a stick for a weapon, then the monster slinking off like a naughty puppy sent back to its crate. Your comment might have made me a little verklempt! You're so very kind.

Kathy: You spoil me with all your praise. :-) It's such a fun challenge to find new monsters with new abilities and motivations and weaknesses. The cornstarch thing is really fun. And I knew you'd like another flashback, especially with Bobby.