Since that clock's first tick

A dark hue and fear-driven

It's only real till it ends

As the stars fall on our hands

Call the wind the thief for stealing their prayers

Look at us shake the sky

Pulling the whites from my eyes

and as the hands are spinning

they're waving you goodbye

A test for more is what you're striving for

As we sleep, we walk

…

Can't awake the ones who live this life

(Not on our own)

'Cause people are the same

(We are the same)

Only habits change

(Habits change)

But your starry eyes, no, they don't tell me a thing

Staring over heavy heads

…

I swear, I felt you crawling under my skin

I swear, oh, I swear

Towers won't fit our view

Forget the man in the mountains who follows you

He follows you


VersaEmerge — Clocks

The stagnant air suffocating us back at Stanford had dissipated only slightly. We stayed there for about a week, trying to find anything that would lead us to the cause of Jessica's death, to no avail. There were no viable clues to find or tracks to trace due to the apartment—and everything in it—being burnt beyond recognition. Inspectors claimed it was a freak electrical accident. If I hadn't seen Jessica pinned to the ceiling, I might've been swayed into believing them. But no, it was more than that; much more. The feeling that came just moments before her death would stick with me forever. We witnessed it. Not to mention, along with that horrible feeling that overtook me moments before it happened.

We'd been cooped up in the car for twenty hours, cruising down a long stretch of seemingly never-ending road to Bailey, Colorado. Sam clammed up, locking a door and throwing away the proverbial key. On top of barely speaking or eating, he hadn't slept much either, and the deep purple bags underneath his eyes proved it. When Sam finally dozed off about an hour ago, Dean lowered his music as an extra precaution to not wake his brother. Even though Sam's head was craned back in a rather uncomfortable-looking position, I couldn't find it within me to wake him. A few muscle aches were worth some well-needed rest. Focusing on the engine's hum lulled me into a daze.

Suddenly, Sam jolted upright, gasping for air as his head frantically swiveled. I jumped along with him, grabbing the door handle. Somehow, Dean barely flinched. "You okay?" he asked.

Clearing his throat, Sam settled back down into the seat. "Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Another nightmare?" Dean wondered casually, keeping his eyes on the road. Looking out of the window signaled Sam's end of the brief discussion. Having someone pry and push you to talk about things you weren't ready to divulge wasn't easy, but sometimes it was necessary. If it weren't for Dean coaxing me into talking about my traumas years ago, I could very well be a completely different person today.

It could be days, weeks, months, or even years, but Sam needed to talk eventually.

"You wanna drive for a while?" Dean asked, gaining a shocked look from Sam and myself. Since John had gifted Dean the Impala, he seldom let anybody else drive it—save for me on occasion.

"I'd take him up on it if I were you," I encouraged amusedly.

Sam laughed in disbelief. "Dean, your whole life, you never once asked me that."

"Just thought you might want to." Dean shrugged indifferently. "Never mind."

"Look, man, you're worried about me. Both of you," Sam said, glancing back at me. "I get it and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay," he insisted.

"Sure, yeah," Dean grumbled, mostly to himself. I clamped down on my tongue, opting to train my eyes on the fast-passing bright green trees outside. There's no way Sam was perfectly okay. No one could be, not after that.

Eager for a subject change, Sam plucked the map from the glove box and spread it across his lap. "All right , where are we?" he asked.

"We're just outside of Grand Junction," Dean replied.

"You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon."

"Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica–"

"We gotta find Dad first," Sam finished.

Dean nodded. "Dad disappearing, and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence."

"John will have answers," I said. "He'll know what to do." Hopefully.

A short silence fell over us until Sam broke it, saying, "It's weird, man. These coordinates he left us," he gestured to the map, "this Blackwater Ridge ."

"What about it?" Dean inquired.

"There's nothing there. It's just woods. Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?"

"I'm sure he's got a reason."

Much to my surprise, Sam didn't disagree. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but second guess. Why would we need to go out there? Unless he was there somewhere, which could be possible, but it didn't make sense. For the first time in a while, though, it seemed the boys agreed on something about their father, so I wasn't about to come between that.

About an forty-five minutes later, we drove past a beaten-up, rust-stained sign shoved into the grass on the roadside that read:

Welcome to Lost Creek, Colorado
National Forest.

Lost Creek. How inviting.

In hopes of getting more information on the surrounding area, we headed straight for the Ranger's Station, a small log cabin-style building in the center of a dense forest with various hikers and campers mulling around. Inside, multiple displays held the bones and stems of native fauna and flora. A 3-D map of the national forest sat near the door, illuminated with tiny LED lights. Sam and I went over to inspect it—trying to get a feel of the immense woodland we were about to plop ourselves into, with no real clue why.

"Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote," Sam said, pointing to various sections as he spoke. "It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place."

"It seems pretty secluded," I said, grimly peering at the map. "I'd hate to get lost out there."

"Guys," Dean called, getting our attention. He pointed behind himself to a framed picture of a man standing next to the carcass of an impressively large bear. "Check out the size of this freaking bear."

"It is a big one," I said, going to stand beside him.

Dean opened his mouth to make what one could safely assume to be a suggestive comment when Sam cut him off. "And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area," he said. "It's no nature hike, that's for sure."

"You three aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?" a booming voice spoke from behind, coming from a thin, older man in a Rangers uniform.

"Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder," Sam lied swiftly. "Just working on a paper."

"Recycle, man," Dean said, pumping his fist in the air.

I smiled politely and said, "We thought this would be a great place to start our research."

"Bull," the Ranger spat, circling behind the front desk. Usually, people don't call us out so outwardly on our lies.

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"You're friends with that Haley girl, right?" he questioned, an eyebrow raised. Judging by how this man spoke of her, he didn't seem too fond—disappointed, even. I allowed my shoulders to drop at getting caught.

"Yes," Dean replied quickly. "Yes, we are, Ranger–" he leaned forward to read the man's nametag, "Wilkinson," he finished, rocking back on his feet.

The Ranger huffed, shaking his head. "Well, I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?"

"Uh, no."

"You tell that girl to quit worrying," he said, voice softening. "I'm sure her brother's just fine."

"We will." Dean nodded and smiled. "Well, that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?"

Ranger Wilkinson sighed tiredly. This instance most likely wasn't his first time dealing with this Haley person. "That is putting it mildly," he complained.

"Actually, you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date," Dean requested. I shot him a subtle questioning look that he promptly ignored, adding, "It would make her feel so much better."

The Ranger thought it over momentarily, looking for any sign that Dean wasn't being truthful. Apparently, he wasn't very good at determining when people were lying to him because two seconds later, Ranger Wilkinson handed Dean a freshly printed copy of the permit—and we were on our way. Outside, I plucked the paper from his hands, scanning the scribbled print filled out for Thomas Collins. He still had a few days before his return, so I couldn't imagine why his sister was so concerned, or why Dean wanted this damn thing.

"What are you cruising for a hookup or something?" Sam asked his brother.

My eyebrows flew up. "Excuse me?" I asked, looking up from the ticket.

"What? No!" Dean insisted, turning his attention to me. " No," he repeated adamantly.

"Yeah, better not," I said, pushing the permit back into his hands.

Overtop of the Impala, Dean's gaze on his brother turned hard. "You trying to get me in trouble or something?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what you're doing, Dean," Sam defended. "The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?"

"I don't know; maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?" Dean pointed out. "Since when are you all shoot first, ask questions later, anyway?"

Sam quieted for a beat. "Since now," he said, getting into the car.

"Oh, really?" Dean asked, shrugging his mouth in approval. Avoiding the imaginary elephant in the non-existent room, we piled into the Impala. Sam's newfound steel exterior didn't hide his tremendous pain as well as he probably thought. That wasn't him. Sooner or later, it'd become an issue.

A string of houses led to the Collins' residence, a modest two-story house with bushes sprouting colorful flowers on either side of the porch. Dean rang the doorbell beside the tall, tan wood door with three rectangular windows carved into it. A woman around our age with curly auburn hair approached the door skeptically, leaving the second screen one shut as a barrier between us.

"You must be Haley Collins," Dean started with a friendly smile. "I'm Dean; this is Sam and Tori. We're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother, Tommy."

Haley hesitated, her eyes moving quickly between us to gauge our truthfulness. "Let me see some ID," she demanded. Dean pulled his out of his pocket and pressed it against the screen. By how fast Haley glanced at the card, she probably had no real idea of what to look for. Finally, Dean gave her a wide, charming smile, and she relented, opening the door. Dean was about to enter her home when Haley paused. "That yours?" she inquired, looking at the Impala.

Dean beamed like a proud father. "Yeah," he replied.

"Hm," Haley hummed, nodding appreciatively, "nice car."

"Oh, great," I thought, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. A pretty girl complimenting his car? I've lost him now.

With a sweet smile aimed only at Dean, Haley stepped aside to allow us in. When he looked back over his shoulder, Dean wore a shit-eating grin. I pursed my lips and pushed past him to follow Haley into the dining room. Inside, a teenage boy, who I assumed to be her younger brother, was seated at the table, hunched over a laptop. "Who are you?" he asked us.

"They're Rangers, Ben," Haley explained, muttering a quick "Excuse me" as she disappeared into an adjacent room and returned with a stack of plates and a small pot of food. Her brother replaced his laptop with one of the plates.

"Rangers?" the boy questioned, an eyebrow raised. "You're Haley's age."

"Well, the department's under new management. They wanna start 'em young,'" Dean lied with a chuckle.

Ben didn't look convinced, but Haley spoke before he could say anything else. "What do you want to know about Tommy?" she asked, stirring the contents of the pot.

"Well, you went to the Ranger's station because you were worried about him, right?" I asked; she nodded, lips pressed into a sad, thin line. "So, you know that Tommy has a set date to return," I stated tentatively. "A little bit from now."

Although her shoulders dropped, Haley steeled her gaze—trying to remain strong for Ben. "Yes, but something is… wrong."

"How do you know something's wrong?" Sam asked her. Through his sympathetic gaze, the beginnings of doubt circled his irises.

"He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now," she answered, leaning on the back of a dining chair for support.

"Well, maybe he can't get cell reception."

Haley staunchly shook her head. "He's got a satellite phone, too," she claimed.

"Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?" Dean asked.

Ben looked up for the first time since our conversation started. "He wouldn't do that," he insisted adamantly.

"Our parents are gone," Haley interjected, scooping a spoonful of stew into Ben's bowl in an attempt to distract herself. "It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other."

You weren't supposed to get close to anyone on jobs. No other hunters, no civilians. And definitely not the people you were helping. Despite this, I couldn't deny a sense of kinship between myself and Haley. I had empathy for all of the people we came in contact with, but our circumstances, while not exactly alike, were similar enough that my heart ached for her.

"Can I see the pictures he sent you?" Sam requested.

"Yeah," Haley agreed without hesitation. Placing the spoon down, she took the laptop and pulled up a file of a few photos. In them, a man with short black hair clad in camping gear smiled brightly at the camera. "That's Tommy," she said. Next, in the file was a video of the same happy-go-lucky guy. "This is his last message."

"Hey Haley," Tommy smiled on the screen, angling the camera so more of his face was visible. He seemed to be in such high spirits. Nothing appeared to be wrong. "Day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow."

"Well, we'll find your brother," Dean promised. It took a moment for me to register what he said. As bad as I felt for Haley, if her brother simply got lost out there, we weren't the ones to try and find him. "We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing," Dean proclaimed. I shared a subtle look of surprise with Sam. News to us.

"Then maybe I'll see you there," Haley said.

"I'm sorry, what?" I questioned, unsure I heard her correctly. "You're gonna go out there ?"

"I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy," she propped her hands on her hips with fierce determination. "I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself."

Haley's adamant declaration about locating her loved one flooded Dean's eyes with understanding. "I think I know how you feel," he said.

After Sam and Haley exchanged emails, and she sent the files, we told them to be careful tomorrow morning and left. In the short time we spent inside the Collins' home, the sun had already begun to set behind a thick wall of clouds, washing the neighborhood in a blanket of ice. Some sunlight would've been nice. It might've helped improve my mental clarity.

"Hey, Dean," I began on our short walk to the car. "Why did you promise Haley that we'd find her brother?"

"What's wrong with that?" he asked.

"That's kind of a big one, isn't it?"

"Well, it is part of the gig." Dean reached into his pocket for the car keys. "You know that."

"Yeah, when it's something we can handle. You saw how expansive those woods are. It's already gonna be tough getting to John. Finding Tommy would take a miracle," I said, and quickly added, "Trust me, I want to, I just don't want to make a promise I can't keep."

"Who says we can't keep it? Look, we're gonna be out there anyway–"

"Yeah, to look for Dad," Sam finally chimed in, not stopping his stride until he arrived at the car's passenger side.

"Oh, come on, not you, too!" Dean huffed, shoulders falling in disappointment. "Look, let's just do a little digging; see what's going on around here. It can't hurt."

"Fine," Sam said with a clenched jaw. "I'll swing by the library; find out some more about Lost Creek."

"'Course you would wanna do that," Dean teased, getting into the car.

"Do you want me to tag along?" I asked Sam.

"No," he replied quickly and plastered on a tight smile when he realized how fast he declined. "I mean, uh–"

I didn't have to like the idea of leaving him alone in this state, but I did have to respect his desire for time to himself. "It's okay, I get it," I told him sincerely.

"Thanks," Sam said gratefully.

Dean thought he was slick about it, but I'd have to be a complete moron not to notice how he lingered in the parking lot until Sam disappeared into the library. When he caught my eye in the rear-view mirror, he knew I knew, though neither of us said anything.

In a nearby pub where Sam would eventually meet up with us, I absentmindedly drummed my nails on the scratched wooden bar table, finding a particularly deep groove to focus on as my mind ran through the possible reasons John led us here. It couldn't be because he needed our help; that'd be impossible, considering he left the journal in Jericho. Unless he thought something terrible would happen to him out here, and he wanted to be sure we'd find him. It was possible, but that idea didn't sit right with me, either. There's no way John Winchester had gotten lost in the woods. It doesn't matter how expansive they were, or what kind of wildlife resided there, John would sooner drag himself over hot coals with a limb hanging off before asking anybody for help.

Lost in thought, I'd eradicated the noise from everyone around me, but the unmistakable sensation of Dean's eyes—the way my skin tingled in their wake—brought me to the present. I was met with Dean's raised eyebrow. "Welcome back," he smiled.

I chuckled, licking my drying lips. "Sorry."

"You okay?"

"Yeah." I nodded, dabbing condensation off my beer. "What exactly are we doing here, Dean?"

"Drinking," he said, gesturing to his half-empty bottle.

"Very funny," I droned. "Here. In Lost Creek," I clarified.

"Dad wanted us here," Dean said like it was the most simple thing in the world when it was anything but. Over the last month and a half, finding his father weighed heavily on his mind. That was still there, but it shifted, becoming more about doing what he thought John laid out for us than anything.

"Okay. Why?"

"I don't know yet."

"Will we ever?"

Dean cracked a weary smile. "I don't know that either," he said.

I sighed, turning on my stool to face him. "Level with me," I requested, tucking my bangs behind my ear to get them out of my face. Dean nodded, and I continued. "Do you really think all this with Tommy Collins is our kind of thing, or are you just too close to this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Haley's brother is missing, and John–"

"You think I'm letting my feelings get in the way?" he scoffed and shook his head, distracting himself with a swig of beer.

"You do have them, you know," I said pointedly, combating his nonchalant attitude.

"Tor, I know what I'm doing," Dean deflected.

"I know that," I agreed wholeheartedly. "I just have to wonder if you're letting what's happening to us… influence things. A little."

Dean put his bottle back down with a quiet clunk against the wood and stared at the dark brown glass contemplatively. "Maybe a little," he admitted in a low voice, almost as though he was afraid to say it too loud.

"It'd be impossible not to," I said, reassuringly touching his arm. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"But something is going on," he insisted. "Just like Jericho, Dad brought us here for a reason. I know it."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah, I really do."

Despite the dim amber glow of the room's lights deepening the color of his eyes to a shade of emerald, there were tangible sparks of conviction within them. This was so important to him, but more than the freedom that came with hunting, more than getting to kill monsters—it was about protecting people. That's all he's ever done; it's the only thing he knew.

"Then I believe you," I said.

"But not Dad?" Dean inquired, not angry or upset but genuinely curious. I took a deep breath, stalling to find the correct words to express my feelings. It's not that I didn't trust John; I did. But I didn't know what to believe anymore. An argument could be made that he was laying these plans out for us, but if so, again... why?

"I don't know where John's head is right now," I began. "But I do know where yours is. And I trust you. So, if you think this is the way to go, then that's what we're gonna do."

"If only Sam could get on board," he complained.

"He'll come around," I said. Dean cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Never mind," I laughed lightly.

The mention of Sam made me check my watch. He should be here any minute, and we were in need of refills, so I kissed Dean's cheek and hopped off the stool to head for the bar. While resting an elbow on the wooden surface, the dark eyes of a man in his late twenties sitting across the room lingered on me. For the most part, he was easy to ignore until the bartender gave me our beers, and I turned and saw that Sam had just arrived. The man winked and flashed a cocky smile my way—both things done directly in Dean's line of sight. As soon as I got close enough, Dean brought me tightly to his side and held me there, raising a challenging eyebrow at the guy, who almost instantly shrunk back.

"Stop pissing on my leg, Dean," I snickered, sliding behind him to hop onto the stool next to his. Sam snorted a laugh, putting his laptop bag down as he sat.

Dean tilted his head to look up at me. "Oh, you want me to let a creepy dude stare at you?" he asked, flashing an eyebrow.

"Maybe I didn't think he was creepy," I retorted, a playfulness in my eyes that only he could see. The amused grin on Sam's lips began to fall, replaced with apprehension. I turned my attention to him. "What's wrong?"

"Are–" Sam's eyes dashed between Dean and me. "Everything all right ?"

"Yeah, why?" Dean asked, faux irritation vanishing in an instant.

Sam blinked a few times, shrugged his mouth, and mumbled, "No reason," before taking a drink.

"So, you find anything interesting?" I asked.

"Well, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic." Sam opened a leather-bound notebook, taking some newspaper articles from the pocket inside. "Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found."

"Any before that?" Dean asked, taking a clipping from his brother.

"Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year," Sam said eagerly. Despite his complaints, researching and learning so many different things was a side of hunting he always genuinely enjoyed. It surely didn't hurt that he quickly excelled at it. "Authorities said it was a grizzly attack. And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936. Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork."

"Kinda like a ritual," I said, inspecting an article.

"Or hibernation. And watch this; here's a clincher," he held up a finger and set his laptop on the table, "I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out."

Playing the video of Tommy Collins we obtained from his sister, Sam skipped through frame by frame. Tommy's smiling face took up much of the picture, but a tiny bit of the sheer blue tent was visible behind him. A looming shadow flew outside the tent, barely rustling the leaves beneath it.

"Do it again," Dean requested, staring intently at the screen.

Sam obliged, clicking through slower this time. "That's three frames," he informed. The figure's lanky and large, intimidating body lurched past at a frightening speed. "That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move."

Dean smacked Sam's arm, rocking the table below us and sloshing our drinks. I held still two bottles closest to me to stop them from tipping over. "Told you something weird was going on!" Dean boasted through gritted teeth.

"Yeah," Sam said and shut the computer, "you did."

"You thought it was bullshit," Dean accused me haughtily.

"In my defense," I held up a hand, "it seemed like bullshit."

"I got one more thing," Sam said, handing me another article. "In 'fifty-nine, one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive."

Dean quickly scanned the paper. "Is there a name?"

Deemed the town recluse, Mr. Shaw, a gray-haired man with cloudy, haunted eyes, lived alone in a cluttered one-bedroom apartment. It was dark inside, except for the lamp atop a side table. What little light it provided didn't assist in avoiding the random assortment of items lying on the ground. Mr. Shaw faced away from us, reaching into his pocket with a shaky hand to pull out a pack of cigarettes. He took one and lit it, puffing on it as he spoke, "Look, rangers, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid," he said. "My parents got mauled by a–"

"Grizzly?" Sam interrupted skeptically. "That's what attacked them?"

Instead of speaking, Mr. Shaw simply nodded and kept his eyes trained on the lifting floorboard beneath him.

"The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?" Dean questioned. Shaw took another, more deliberate drag of his cigarette and nodded again, but this gesture was weaker than the last.

"What about the missing people this year, Mr. Shaw? Are they all from grizzlies, too?" I wondered. The withered man glanced back at me briefly yet remained quiet.

Dean sighed in exasperation. "If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it," he attempted to convince him.

"I seriously doubt that," Mr. Shaw scoffed out a shaky breath. "Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make," he mumbled, slowly lowering himself onto his armchair. "You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did."

"Mr. Shaw," Sam began, crossing the small gap to sit on the couch across from him. "What did you see?"

"Nothing," Shaw replied, the first hint of truth showing in his voice since we arrived. "It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar…" he looked down with round, dark eyes—the fear in them was palpable. "Like… no man or animal I ever heard."

"It came at night?" Sam asked. "It got inside your tent?"

"It got inside our cabin," Shaw corrected intently as his eyes danced back and forth between us. Horror seeped into them as he recounted that night. "I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming."

"It killed them?"

"Dragged them off into the night. Why it left me alive—been asking myself that ever since." Mr. Shaw paused for a moment before pulling the collar of his shirt to the side. "Did leave me this, though," he said, revealing three huge, long scars from his shoulder and chest—claw marks. The man let out a slow breath. "There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon."

My entire body locked up at the word; air stuck midway in my throat like a rock. Swallowing wouldn't dislodge it. If anything, doing so made it worse. Black and white nightmares slithered to the forefront of my mind and abruptly cut to color on my shaking bright red-covered hands. Ashy cigarette smoke that filled the room turned copper by the imaginary blood. It lingered on the back of my tongue, burning...

Fireworks set off through my fingers and up my arm, stemming from Dean's grasp on my hand. The electrical shock lingered, giving me something to ground myself with. The images faded, disappearing almost as fast as they'd come.

"Uh..." Sam trailed, unsure how to get back on track. "Thank you," he told the man, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Shaw didn't reply with more than a grunt, and we left. The hallway was musty, though breathing out here was far better than inhaling blood-tinted smoke. Bad dreams came and went over the years; however, before picking up Sam, my brain had been relatively quiet for quite some time. What I just experienced hadn't happened in a decade—a lifetime—and it could only be chalked up to the resurgence of my nightmares. After getting over the shock of their return, I'd be all right . Right now, though, the best I could give the boys was a meek, "I'm sorry."

Sam ignored my apology, concern taking importance. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," I said. Dean said nothing but kept me tucked to his side on our way to the parking lot. This was by no means him letting it go. It was simply putting off a conversation until we were alone. If it were up to me, I would pretend it never happened. So, for now, that's exactly what I'd do. "What are we thinking this thing is?"

"Well, spirits and–" Dean cleared his throat, "Those other things don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls."

"So, it's probably something else," Sam asserted. "Something corporeal."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Corporeal?" he scoffed. "Excuse me, professor."

"Shut up," Sam complained, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So, what do you think?"

"The claws, the speed that it moves… could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog," Dean said. "Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal," he mocked in a snooty voice, drawing a laugh from me that I so badly needed. "Which means we can kill it."

Outside, a steady stream of wind blew, cooling my otherwise warm skin and whipping my hair around. I didn't bother to fix it, letting it fly wildly as I leaned against the back door of the Impala and shut my eyes. The trunk popped open, followed by the unmistakable sound of various guns and weapons being shoved into a bag.

"We cannot let that Haley girl go out there," Sam insisted out of the blue.

"Oh yeah?" Dean questioned. "What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?"

"Yeah," Sam said. His suggestion pried my eyes open. There was a reason hunters didn't just go around telling people about monsters; it'd cause nothing but panic. The few people who could handle it would never make up for those who could not.

Dean paused mid-way into stuffing a shotgun in the bag. "You're kidding me."

"Obviously, we can't do that," I added.

"We can't?" Sam asked.

Before he could go on a tirade about John's rules stopping us, Dean said, "No, we can't."

"You are right about one thing," I told Sam, "Haley can't go out there, Dean. She'll end up gone, too. Or worse ."

"Her brother's missing, Tor. She's not gonna just sit this out," Dean said obviously, zipping the duffel bag shut.

"I get that, okay? But whatever that thing is took Mr. Shaw's entire family, did God knows what with them, and–"

"And, what? We go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend," Dean finished with a toothy smile. "Simple as that."

"Now we have to protect her and find her brother? Dean, that's way too much."

"We can handle it," he insisted so calmly, I almost believed it'd be easy.

"Finding Dad's not enough?" Sam asked, slamming the arsenal compartment, then the trunk. He and I had a similar outlook on this situation, but his reaction was uncalled for. Sam stood toe-to-toe with Dean, glaring daggers. "Now we gotta babysit too?"

It was obvious—to me at least—by the look in Dean's eyes that his brother's words struck a chord; I just wasn't sure which one. This high-strung, quick-to-anger person wasn't the Sam either of us knew. It could've quickly escalated into a fight—one I was mentally preparing myself to break up—but Dean chose to get in the car instead. With his chest puffed Sam waited for a confrontation that would never come.

We got a motel room to be somewhat rested and ready for… whatever tomorrow held. The boys didn't speak the entire drive, and Sam went straight to the bathroom with his bag when we entered the room. Dean watched him go, keeping his eyes on the door long after it was shut. When the shower turned on, I cleared my throat, calling Dean's attention to me. "What was all that back there?" I asked.

"What back where?" Dean played dumb, dropping the duffel bag onto one of the two beds. I lifted an eyebrow to let him know I wasn't about to back down until he gave me a genuine answer. "Look, I know Sam's… going through what he's going through. I get it. But it doesn't mean we stop doing what we do."

"I agree," I said.

"But?" Dean prompted.

"But I don't like this thing with Haley."

"She won't back down, you know that. You saw her."

"I know. I'm just concerned," I admitted. "We don't know what we're walking into."

"Never stopped us before," Dean said with a small yet confident smile.

"That is true," I yielded.

"So, you're saying I'm… right?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in jest.

"I'm not saying that," I chortled. Dean smiled, snaking a hand underneath my jacket. He pressed it to my back and pulled me close, tilting my chin upward with his other hand so he could bend down and kiss me. I melted into him, relishing the feeling of his heart beating steadily under my palm. We'd been so careful not to leave any lingering touches or do anything remotely intimate in Sam's presence. After everything he lost, it just didn't seem right. Dean and I hadn't had much time for anything, let alone to talk, so I hoped he knew that's why I was a little distant lately. It certainly didn't come from a lack of wanting.

The content look on his face when he pulled back silently quelled my worries. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head on his chest.

"What happened at Shaw's?"

"Same stuff that used to happen," I said, shrugging off the cold fingers scraping up my spine. "When he mentioned… them," I spat the word, using the same amount of venom I would've if I said what they actually were. "It was just unexpected. I'm all right ."

"Are you having nightmares again?" he asked, holding me impossibly tighter. Now, that question I wasn't expecting, faltered, unsure how to answer. My first mistake was looking into his anxious eyes. Guilt washed over me; he already had so much weight on his shoulders; how could I add more when I should help carry it? Dean tucked my hair behind my ear, stroking my cheek with his thumb as he searched my eyes for the truth. "Tell me," he insisted.

Just as I was about to blatantly lie through my teeth, the bathroom door's lock popped, signaling Sam's return. Dean allowed me to slip out of his grasp. Sam froze in the doorway, his wet bangs hanging over hazel eyes filled with unsureness. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"No, it's fine," I reassured, plopping tiredly at the table.

"Yeah, it's fine," Dean repeated sarcastically, taking clothes from his bag on the bed. He tucked them under his arm, forcefully shut the zipper, and went into the bathroom. It didn't dawn on me until now that all the time I wasted staring at Dean like a deer in headlights gave an answer I was too scared to say. Knowing I was about to lie to him did more damage than telling the truth. That was a bad call on my part.

"What was that about?" Sam asked, sitting across from me. "After everything at the bar, you guys seemed fine."

I furrowed my brow. "What happened at the bar?"

"You know, that thing with that guy."

A sardonic laugh fell from my lips. "Sam, we were messing around," I said.

"Really?"

"Yes. We were fine then, and we are fine now," I insisted. I chewed my lip, hoping he'd just let it go. Even though he had good intentions, I didn't want to discuss it.

Sam watched me momentarily, gauging my body language to determine my sincerity. "Does this have to do with what happened at Shaw's?" he asked, deciding he didn't believe me.

I sighed. "Yeah, a little."

"Well, what did happen exactly?"

"Sam–"

"You should talk about it, Tori."

"I have to talk about my issues, but you don't have to talk about yours?" I questioned. Sam stared at me dubiously, unwavering. "Look, there's something Dean asked, something I should've said… but I didn't. I don't want to bother him with it."

"I don't think you'd be bothering him," Sam pointed out something already known to me. More annoying than his persistence was that I knew he was right. Of course, I wouldn't be bothering Dean. He'd carry any weight for me.

After what felt like an eternity but was only about five minutes, Dean exited the bathroom, ready for bed. "We should get some shut-eye," he said, pulling back the covers on our bed, ensuring he loosened the bottom corner of my side's sheet and comforter while he was at it. Although mildly irritated with me, that didn't stop him from caring. In all the years we'd known each other, I probably only mentioned once about my dislike of bedding pulled too tight while trying to sleep, but that single time was more than enough for Dean. Since then, every bed he turned down—either for just me or for the both of us—he did it.

It could be the tiniest detail, but Dean would remember it if it mattered to you.

Shooting me a pointed look, Sam got up and grabbed something from his bag. It wasn't until he sat in bed and put headphones in that I realized it was an MP3 player. His music was so loud that I could hear it across the room. When I finished changing into some shorts and a T-shirt, I returned to find Dean already in bed, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Shutting off the lamp on the table, I carefully crossed the dark room and crawled in beside him. Taking more time to come up with the best way to start this conversation was ridiculous. There was no good way.

"Hey," I called quietly, propping up on my elbow.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, eyes pulling from the ceiling to meet mine.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, taking the hand resting atop his stomach and gently squeezing it. I continued before he could deny my need for an apology. "I shouldn't have tried to keep it from you. It's just that you've got so much on your plate already."

"It's not like you scraped your knee, Tor. This is serious."

"It is. It's just…" I sighed tiredly. "God, Dean, I don't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it. I thought it was over."

"So, they are happening again… ?" he trailed, cautiously referencing the nightmares.

"Yes," I confessed. Wanting to remove the worry in his eyes, I hurried to add, "But it's nothing I can't deal with."

Dean saw right through me and ran a comforting hand down my arm until he reached my wrist. "You don't have to go it alone."

"I know," I said, collecting my scrambled thoughts. Dean waited patiently, stroking my knuckles with his thumb. "It's scary. It feels like I'm there again," I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

There was never a time when I thought coming to terms with what happened would be easy. In fact, it was a pipedream for a while. Then, somehow, it got better—easier. I could think of my parents without crumbling; I could share fond memories without breaking down in tears or guilt choking me. Once again, I felt small and weak. There was no reason to, especially not with Dean. He wouldn't judge me, he didn't hold me accountable. I judged me. I held myself in contempt for being so feeble. In certain quiet moments, the maybe's and what-ifs that learned to reside at the back of my mind sprang forward. If I had been smarter, done something—maybe it wouldn't have happened the way it did.

Sensing my distress, Dean wrapped an arm around me and brought me close. "It's not your fault," he said for what was, at minimum, the thousandth time in ten years.

Every part of me—except for the smallest bit that wouldn't allow it—wanted to agree with him. A month ago, there'd be no qualms, but now? Now, I couldn't muster the words. The actions weren't mine; they weren't carried out with my hands, but I did nothing, and because of that, blood permanently stained my soul—seeping into the brand left behind by the perpetrator. That never went away. It never would.

"We'll figure it out, okay? We did it before; we can do it again," Dean reassured, smoothing my hair and kissing the top of my head. Allowing his promising words to soothe me, I snuggled into his arms, hoping to find contentment there while I was awake, knowing full well that when I finally drifted off, any sense of comfort would be gone.

A painfully loud, persistent beeping filled my ears, heaving me out of my vivid sleep. My breath hitched as I awoke to the blank, white popcorn ceiling. In my tired state, I groggily searched the dark room through squinted eyes for the source of the noise, finding it coming from the shaking alarm clock on the nightstand that read five AM. I collapsed back onto the dense pillow below me. The same bad dream replayed over and over since we left Stanford; each time I so much as drifted off to sleep, I was transported to that dingy school parking lot. Since it was on its third loop, while irritating for some, I'd never been more grateful for an alarm.

Meanwhile, Sam shuffled around, reaching to slap the snooze button with much more force than necessary as he complained about the alarm being set in the first place. He rolled over again. With Sam's back to us, Dean snaked an arm across my stomach and kissed my temple. "How'd you sleep?" he asked quietly.

"Alright," I said.

"What about... ?"

"Yeah, it happened."

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but Sam moved again, and he decided against it. He kissed me and got out of bed. I remained there for a few minutes, searching for patterns on the rough surface above to try and calm my still-thumping heart. Eventually, there was no other option than to start my day. I brushed my teeth and hair, throwing it up in a messy ponytail so it'd be out of my face while we trekked through the woods.

A long road barely wide enough to fit two cars at once weaved uphill through steadily thickening trees and shrubs until it ended at the mouth of an overgrown trail created only by the constant tramping by brave wilderness enthusiasts. Anxiety ripped from my stomach, and into my chest the further we drove. I wouldn't think twice about tromping through the wilderness any other day, but that nightmare was fresh on my mind and didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. Haley, her brother, Ben, and a man looking a good few years older than us stood around the back of an SUV, strapping on backpacks.

The boys got out of the car, and I forced myself to follow. The nightmare was just that—a nightmare. It would not continue to affect me while awake. With that newfound confidence, I took one of our bags from the rear floorboard and reached for the door handle. Sam opened it and took the duffel from my hands. The constant flopping back and forth between his new personality and his old one was like whiplash.

"What a gentleman," I smiled, getting out of the car. "Thanks."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, 'course," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

We made our way to join the group with Dean, who addressed Haley as he neared the front of the Impala. "You guys got room for three more?" he asked.

She looked a bit taken aback, her deep blue eyes going wide. "Wait, you want to come with us?"

"Who are these guys?" the unfamiliar man asked, taking a protective step closer to Haley. She specifically mentioned not having any family besides her brothers, so I safely assumed he was the person she hired to help them look for Ben.

"Apparently, this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue," she replied, tilting her head to the side in amusement.

The guy narrowed his eyes at us. "You're rangers?" he demanded incredulously.

Dean nodded with all the confidence in the world. "That's right."

Haley popped an eyebrow, her eyes trailing Dean's body, lingering a little too long for my liking. "And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?"

"Well, sweetheart," Dean grinned and passed by her, "I don't do shorts." I snorted at the comment.

"What, you guys think this is funny?" the man questioned. "It's dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt."

"Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be," Dean said. "We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all."

"We don't need help from amateurs."

"A few extra sets of eyes and ears can't hurt. Not in a situation like this," I said. "But being an expert and all, you would know that, right?" I challenged. The man's lips flattened into a tight line, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

"Well, there you go," Dean smiled proudly. "So, can we get started here, or what?"

The further we got into the woods, the clearer it became that our presence wasn't wanted. Not by Haley or Ben, but by Roy, the wilderness exploration expert. The dude was a total tool, but Haley just wanted to find her brother, and I commended her for trying. It was more than most would do in these situations. Usually, people would wait and hope everything would be okay, that the cops would find their missing loved one. In doing what we do, I knew the sad reality was that most of the time, the longer you waited, the less chance you had of a decent outcome.

For a strikingly cool morning, it'd gotten considerably hot outside and much more humid than expected. I was half tempted to take the knife from my back pocket and cut my jeans into shorts, but I decided against it as we trudged through the high, vine-filled grass. It's probably best to avoid ticks, if at all possible. I internally laughed at myself. We didn't even know what monster we were hunting, and I was worried about bugs.

At the request of Roy, we remained in a loose line, with Sam bringing up the rear, followed by Ben—who had an earbud shoved into his ear—Haley, me, Dean, and Mr. Wilderness himself. With those two at the helm, it was only a matter of time before their egos blew up in our faces. Sure, Roy was a dick, but it shouldn't be something to get distracted over. I held onto hope that Dean realized this. Of course, he did not.

"So, Roy, you said you did a little hunting?" Dean asked tauntingly. I rolled my eyes, glancing back to see Sam sporting a similarly exhausted expression.

Roy scoffed. "Yeah, more than a little," he bragged haughtily.

"Uh-huh." Dean nodded a grin in his voice. "What kind of furry critters do you hunt?"

"Mostly buck, sometimes bear."

"Tell me, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?" Dean jeered, moving to pass Roy as we neared a hill. He grabbed the back of Dean's jacket, halting his movements along with everyone else's. Part of me wanted to charge forward, but the other, more logical side told me to stay put. Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Whatcha doing, Roy?" he asked warningly.

Releasing his grip on Dean, Roy bent down and picked up a large stick. He waved it in Dean's face before poking at the ground in front of them. A violent snap of the wood and a chomp of metal echoed through the air as the front section of the stick flew off. The flash of anger passed through me and forced my teeth to bear down. I glared at Dean's back, burning a hole into him that I knew he felt. Too busy trying to fuck with this irrelevant asshole that we'd never seen again in our lives after today, he nearly missed having his ankle snapped in half. That would've been a great end to a hunt we didn't even start. If John were here, he'd threaten to reset the bear trap and make Dean step in the damn thing as punishment.

"You should watch where you're stepping… Ranger," Roy spat mockingly, purposefully stepping over the hidden trap. Considering the sour look on her face, any credibility we might have gained with Haley seemed to dissipate at that moment.

"It's a bear trap," Dean chuckled, trying to cooly play it off. Leaving my post toward the back of the group, I made my way to him, and a sheepish smile twitched across his lips. "Sorry."

"Just be more careful, please," I pleaded. Dean nodded, touching a protective hand to my back as I maneuvered around the hunk of metal. Walking deeper into the woods, everyone appeared to look closer at the ground. Nearly every twig snap made me jump now like we were going to get attacked by bear traps come to life.

After a short, hushed conversation with Ben, Haley cut out in front of me, walking briskly until she reached Dean. "You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers, so who the hell are you?" she questioned agitatedly. When he wouldn't respond or look her way, Haley reached out to grab Dean's arm and turn him around.

Since Haley stopped walking, it forced Sam and me to stop as well. Ben wasn't caught in the pile-up and strode right past to follow Roy, appearing unbothered. Dean peered over the brunette's shoulder, giving his brother and me a nod that told us to go on without them. I shook my head, no and Dean's expression read, just go, it's okay. For show, I left with Sam and got maybe a yard away before stopping and hiding behind a large tree. No way would I up and leave them. If, for whatever reason, we got separated, then at least Ben would have Sam and Roy, and Haley would have Dean and me. We stood a better chance of keeping everyone safe that way.

"We're looking for our father," Dean explained honestly, to my surprise. "He might be here; we don't know. I just figured that you and me, we're in the same boat."

Haley's frustration melted. "Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?"

Possibly, we should have told her before, but it wasn't too ingrained in any of us to be super forthcoming with these things. "Well, I'm telling you now. Besides, it's probably the most honest I've ever been with a woman… ever," he said. My eyes narrowed, and my nails dug into the bark. "Other than that gorgeous girl, of course," Dean said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder in my direction without even looking.

My spine straightened, and I blinked away my glare as he tilted his head toward me. I wiggled my fingers in a timid wave and hurriedly ducked behind the trunk. "So we okay?" Dean asked Haley.

"Yeah, okay," she replied, a smile in her voice.

"And what do you mean I didn't pack provisions?" Dean asked. The distinct sound of thick plastic crinkling piqued my curiosity and made me look once again. Dean held a bright yellow bag of peanut M&Ms.

"Those are provisions?" Haley asked, dumbfounded.

"'Couse they are." He grabbed a handful and walked over to me, popping a few in his mouth. "Want some, Eavesdropper ?" Dean asked teasingly, offering up the bag of multicolored candy.

"I don't know," I grimaced, looking up at him from the neon plastic. "Where have they been?"

"My jacket."

"And how long have they been in your jacket?"

Dean pursed his lips in thought. "Since this morning," he said.

"Yeah, I'll pass," I laughed lightly, tucking my hands into my back pockets. "And I wasn't eavesdropping, by the way," I insisted as we began walking again.

"Oh, yeah? So, you enjoy hiding behind trees?" Dean questioned, arching an eyebrow. "It's nice, you know? That we can still learn new things about each other."

"Shut up," I complained but did nothing to hide my smile. "I was making sure you were safe and not getting your ankles snapped in any beartraps," I jibed, playfully hitting his chest.

"Eh, I knew it was there," Dean claimed, waving it off. He rolled up the bag of candy and stuffed it into his pocket again.

"Yeah, you would've," I teased.

Dean flashed an eyebrow, surrendering his cocky attitude. "God, if Dad were here, he would've rocked my shit for that one," he said. I almost told him I thought the same, but the amusement had begun to slip from his face, eyes growing sullen as he mentally tumbled into the large void created by his father's absence.

"Hold on," I requested, taking his hand and bringing us both to a halt. Being vulnerable wasn't always easy for him, and not while surrounded by prying eyes. Probably sensing we needed a minute, Haley hurriedly moved forward to give us space. "We're gonna find him. You know that, right?" I asked once we were alone.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, forcing his carefree demeanor to bounce back into place. "I know we will."

When we caught up with the rest of the group, Sam silently asked if everything was okay. Dean responded with a nod to tell him yes. Sam looked unconvinced and waited for me to get close enough to ask me. "Everything's fine," I told him. Unlike last night, it was true. After that, we re-formed our line at the behest of Roy, who was upfront with Sam this time—probably in an attempt by the latter to avoid another confrontation between the short-tempered man and Sam's almost equally short-tempered brother. Ben and Haley stayed with each other, leaving Dean and me in the back.

"This is it," Roy announced as we approached a section free of trees but still overrun with other shrubbery and tall grass. "Blackwater Ridge."

Sam headed right past Roy and into the clearing. "What coordinates are we at?" he inquired.

Roy pulled out his GPS. "Thirty-five and minus one-eleven," he read aloud.

Nodding for me to follow, Dean met up with Sam, keeping his voice hushed as we huddled. "You guys hear that?" he asked. We paused, tuning into the sounds around us, or lack thereof. Except for our breathing, there was nothing but complete silence, not even a rustle of a leaf or buzz of a bug.

"Nothing," I whispered. Even in this wilderness, it felt like it'd be far too loud if I spoke at a regular volume.

"Yeah. Not even crickets," Sam added.

"I'm gonna go take a look around," Roy announced, pushing his GPS back into an interior pocket on his jacket.

"That's probably not a great idea," I told him, "going out alone."

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," Roy said smugly.

The moment that word left Roy's lips, I knew it would get under Dean's skin, and held out a precautionary hand. "Not with it," I said.

Behind closed lips, Dean ran his tongue across his teeth, staring after Roy. "Right," he said, finally addressing the bewildered Collins' siblings. "All right, everybody stays together. Let's go."

After another God-knows how long of hiking and finding nothing but the gigantic stump of a knocked-over tree, Roy called for Haley a few yards ahead of us. She and Ben took off sprinting after him, the three of us following close behind, coming to a crashing halt at the mouth of a slightly more extensive clearing where the torn remains of a campsite sat. All of the campers' supplies littered the ground, coolers tipped over and emptied. Each tent and all the bedding inside were ripped to shreds—smeared with streaks of now-dried blood.

"Oh my God," Haley gasped, chest heaving in panic.

"Looks like a grizzly," Roy concluded.

With each step through the camp, each slash of crimson marring the tent's fabric, Haley's breathing became increasingly shallow. "Tommy?" she suddenly called out into the trees, unbuckling and dropping her backpack onto the ground so she could move more freely and rush to the other end of the site, where she shouted louder, "Tommy?!"

I hurried over and shushed her. "Wait a second, Haley."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Something might still be out there," Sam explained, watching the trees.

"Guys?" Dean called from a small clearing, nodding behind him before disappearing into the brush. Sam took the initiative to follow him while I stayed. They weren't totally out of my sight. A tiny break in the thick moss allowed me to see Dean crouched on the ground, Sam standing over him, inspecting whatever his brother was pointing at.

Eventually, they returned, and I met up with them at the edge of the campsite. "What happened?" I asked.

"The bodies were dragged from the campsite, but back there, the tracks just vanish," Dean explained quietly.

"Like something picked up their bodies?"

"That's what it looks like. I'll tell you what, that's no skinwalker or black dog," he said. Something over my shoulder caught Dean's eye. He touched my shoulder on his way to Haley. She was bent down, sorting through a pile of gear and shredded nylon, and holding a shattered cell phone covered in blood. "He could still be alive," Dean told her. Haley's lip quivered—she resigned herself to the worst possible outcome. In her mind, Tommy was already gone.

An abrupt and desperate cry for help echoed through the woods, scaring every bird and bug into stopping their chirps. The voice sounded torn and frayed, like whoever it came from used their last bit of energy. Roy bolted into the woods, the rest of us following behind in the vague direction it had come from. It could be Tommy or one of his friends. Perhaps they heard us and gave receiving help one last shot. In a more extensive, totally empty clearing, we came to a halt. There were no signs of... anyone anywhere. No trampled grass in the shape of boot prints, no overturned rocks or fallen bark. There weren't even any more screams—nothing but eerie silence.

"It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?" Haley asked me.

"Yeah, it did," I said.

"Everybody back to camp," Sam announced abruptly, an urgent tone in his voice that no one, not even Roy, argued with him. When we returned, everything we'd put down was gone. Save for whatever weapons were on our person—we were left defenseless.

Haley threw her hands into her hair. "Our packs!" she exclaimed.

Roy huffed, propping his shotgun over his shoulder. "So much for my GPS and my satellite phone."

"What the hell is going on?"

"It's smart," Sam said, keeping his eyes on the surrounding trees. "It wants to cut us off, so we can't call for help."

"You mean someone," Roy clarified. It amazed me how confident he was in his cluelessness. "Some nutjob out there just stole all our gear."

I wanted to ask him if he thought one person could clear out this huge space alone, but bit my tongue. Sam tapped my shoulder, silently asking me to follow him, and on the other side of the desecrated campsite, he spoke to me and Dean in a hushed tone. "I need to speak with you two… in private," he said.

Ignoring the question-filled look from Haley as we separated from the group, and headed a decent distance away. Far enough to be out of earshot. "What's up?" I asked.

"I think I might know what we're up against," Sam said, extending a hand toward his brother. "Let me see Dad's journal," he requested. Dean took the book from his jacket and gave it to him. He purposefully flipped through the pages until he landed on a spread of two covered in sprawls of black marker and pen. "All right, check that out."

The first was titled Wendigo, accompanied by a stick-figure-like drawing of a thin creature with a squared ribcage and lanky, bony arms that ended with giant claws for fingers. It resided smack in the middle of John's scribbled handwritten information about the creature. On the second page were two lines of symbols drawn in the same black marker, the details of what each one did beside it.

"Oh, come on," Dean scoffed, smiling tightly. "Wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west."

"Think about it, Dean," Sam began, then ticking off similarities between what we'd witnessed and the characteristics of a Wendigo. "The claws, the way it can mimic a human voice. It's all there."

"That's true," I said, folding my arms and wishing it weren't. Facing a Wendigo is one thing, but facing a Wendigo without any supplies and a group of civilians tagging along is another beast entirely.

"Great," Dean grumbled and lifted his pistol pointedly, "well, this is useless then."

"Yeah, pretty much everything we've got is useless," I complained, "I highly doubt our lighters are enough."

"Yeah, definitely not." Sam returned the journal to Dean and headed back for camp. "We gotta get these people to safety," he ordered and left.

"We should've talked her out of it," Dean said, eyes chock-full of guilt that weighed his entire body down. There was no use in dwelling on what we couldn't change now. He didn't need to be harder on himself than he already was.

I bumped my shoulder into his arm. "Are you saying that I was… right?" I recalled his words from last night with a lighthearted smile.

Dean's lips upturned into a half smile, doing the same to me as he said, "Well, I'm not saying that."

Beyond a wall of shrubbery, Sam addressed the remaining three in our group. "All right, listen up–"

"Come on," I urged Dean. "Let's go."

"Things have gotten… more complicated," Sam explained, words deepening the confusion and fear on the Collins' faces. Roy appeared otherwise preoccupied, kicking around a mound of dirt where his backpack used to be.

"What does that mean?" Haley asked, brows furrowed.

Roy paused his exploration of the ransacked tents and butted in. "Kid, don't worry," he told Sam flippantly. "Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Sam insisted. "If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now."

"One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders!" he gritted, angry to be undermined by someone he deemed less than.

"Relax," Dean barked at Roy.

Sam attempted to make everyone, but especially the confrontational man, understand. "We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right ? I'm trying to protect you."

"You protect me?" Roy laughed condescendingly, stepping up to Sam. He was a head shorter, but his anger issues made up for his lack of height. "I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you goodnight."

"Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter," Sam said with a tilted, sardonic smile. Never before had he acted so superior—not when it came to hunting, anyway. School, maybe. It was a strange sight, but the person it was directed toward deserved every last bit of it. "It's smarter than you," Sam paused to punctuate the insult, allowing it to fester before continuing. "And it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid, sorry ass out of here."

Roy scowled, nostrils flared. "You know you're crazy, right?" he snapped and grabbed Sam's jacket.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, fiercely pushing Roy's grasp off him before Dean or I could react. Seemingly, all the wrath he'd bottled up came out. "You ever hunt a Wen–"

When the word hunt left Sam's lips, my feet moved—loose dirt kicked up beneath my boots and Dean's as he started for his brother at the same time I did. Using his speed to his advantage, Dean reached Sam before he could finish, effectively pushing him away from Roy with little effort and putting himself between the two. "Chill out," Dean warned his brother.

Sam's chest heaved with heavy breaths. This seemed to be the moment he was waiting for—an excuse to unleash every last drop of fury he'd been bottling since Jessica's death. Maybe it could happen with some jackass in a bar, but here? In front of a terrified and grieving family? It wasn't the time or place. "Calm down," I instructed Sam, looking back at Roy with fridged eyes. "He's not worth it."

"Everybody, just stop," Haley demanded with desperate urgency. All she wanted to do was find her brother; now it'd turned into a battle for supremacy. None of this was how it was supposed to go. "Look. Tommy might still be alive," she continued, her steadfast voice finally cracking. "And I'm not leaving here without him."

"It's getting late," Dean said. Even if we wanted to drag her and Ben out of here kicking and screaming, we didn't have the time. "This thing is a good hunter in the day but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves."

Haley's brow creased. "How?"

"We have our ways," I said. Roy scoffed, but I ignored him. "Listen, why don't we get some wood and build a fire?" I offered Haley. It'd be crucial to our survival, and I'm sure she could use a break, no matter how short.

Just a few feet from the former campsite, we collected stray pieces of dry wood while Sam and Dean drew the appropriate warding symbols into the dirt surrounding the area we'd be occupying until morning. Thankfully, Roy kept to himself and stayed near Ben. The boy hadn't spoken a word since we arrived. Why did Haley bring him at all? Then, I remembered her stubbornness and realized it probably ran in the family.

You'd think being outside—underneath a nearly cloudless, deepening amber sky—would make it impossible for tension to linger in the air, but it was almost the exact opposite. It stuck to the tall trees hovering above us and dug into the soil beneath us. There was no shaking it, even after the dust had settled.

After a brief silence, Haley spoke again as she followed me. "So, how do you guys know about this stuff?"

"Uh—" I paused, debating how much information I should divulge. With no reason to go into the gory details, I kept it sparse. "It's just what we do," I said. Haley stared blankly. "You probably think we're crazy, huh?"

"Yeah…" she uttered. "But, I believe you so, what does that make me?"

"More open-minded than most," I told her.

Haley nodded slowly, thinking something over. "So, that thing Dean said about his father–"

"Oh, that's true. Yeah, no, he wasn't lying about that."

"How long has he been gone?" she asked, then thought better of it. "Sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"No, it's okay," I insisted. Lingering on the length of time John had been missing, the smile slipped from my face. "It's been a couple of months. Which, realistically, isn't a long time," I quickly added the latter half upon realizing how stupid it must sound to her that I was worried for a grown man who'd only been gone a short amount of time. "It's just that he usually would have called us by now—checked in."

"I get it," Haley said. Melancholy waves radiated off of her. "Trust me."

An hour later, the sun had set entirely, plunging us into near-total darkness, except for the slimmest beam of moonlight peering out behind puffy, sullen clouds. The temperature had dropped considerably, and cold air waved through the fire that Haley, Ben, and I were crouched around. Sam planted himself toward the edge of the camp. His arms were draped over his knees, and his hands fidgeted with a stray stick. The fire's deep orange embers flickered. I poked it with a stick and tossed another log in for good measure. Considering how much was already stacked against us, we didn't need any mishaps.

"One more time," Haley began, "that's–"

"Anasazi symbols," Dean repeated, passing by us to scrape the last symbol into the dirt with a stick. "It's for protection. The wendigo can't cross over them," he explained. Roy let out an arrogant bray. Dean didn't move his eyes from the soil. "Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy."

"So, I'm just supposed to believe those cute little doodles are gonna keep the big, bad wolf at bay?" Roy doubted.

"Trust me, I wish that's all it was," I said. He laughed and shook his head, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, constantly crunching leaves beneath his feet. "You wanna keep it down?"

"Why, because the monster will get me?"

No, it's because I'm going to shoot you, I almost said until Dean broke away, heading for his brother. Giving the stick to Ben, I pushed upright, careful not to move too abruptly to not disturb the flickering fire on my way to the boys. Dean sat down on Sam's left, clasping his hands before him. "You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?" he asked.

Sam barely even looked up. "Dean–"

"No," Dean interjected, knowing precisely what he was about to say. "You're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man. It's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?" he joked.

Sam didn't even crack the smallest of smiles, keeping his eyes downcast. "Dad's not here," he mumbled, jaw clenching. Taking the empty space beside him, I threaded my arm through his. Sam sighed and continued, looking at me, then Dean. "I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?"

"Yeah, you're probably. Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek," Dean said. His admittance completely floored me.

"Really?" I asked, peering around Sam. If he knew that, why didn't he say so? It could've saved us a lot of time, not to mention we wouldn't be stuck out here right now.

"Yeah, really," Dean replied apologetically for not telling me sooner.

"Then let's get these people back to town, and let's hit the road. Go find Dad," Sam said, tossing down the stick he'd been snapping into pieces. "I mean, why are we still even here?"

Dean moved from his perch and crouched before his brother, holding John's journal as proof. "This is why," he said. "This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things—the family business."

"That makes no sense," Sam argued. The despair he'd been trying so hard to hide over John's absence and Jessica's death nearly bubbled to the surface of his sea foam gaze, but it was quickly cut by fury. "Why doesn't he call? Why doesn't he tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?" he questioned John steadfastly.

"I don't know." Dean shrugged, but his determination fortified. "But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it," he said adamantly, without wondering what the other options might be. At this point, I was too deep into it to care what they were. If following a trail eventually led to answer, it it didn't matter how long it took.

"Dean… no. I gotta find Dad. Now." Sam worked himself into a tailspin—thick tears building in his eyes. "I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about."

"We will find him, Sam, and we'll find whatever it was that took Jess from you, too," I said, tightening my grip on his arm. "But you have to relax."

"Relax?" he repeated incredulously. "How the hell can I?"

"Listen," Dean said sternly, to capture his brother's attention. "You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man."

Staring at the ground, Sam mulled over what he'd been told. "How do you guys do it?" he asked. "How does Dad do it?"

"Well, for one—them." Dean pointed to Haley and Ben. Through the haze of the fire, the eldest Collins' sibling present held the youngest's hand, clutching it tightly. Neither of them spoke; they didn't have to. They just simply needed to be together, and that was enough. "I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable. Wanna know what else helps?"

Catching the mischievous look in his eyes, I rolled mine. "Oh, this should be good," I said.

"Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can," Dean said, a broad smile taking over his face. The ghost of a smile tugged at Sam's mouth. It didn't meet his eyes, but it was a start.

One second of peaceful silence was all we got before twigs snapped like breaking bones in the dense brush. Their echo was quickly overtaken by the same voice as before, crying out for help again; only this time, it sounded more wretched, more excruciating. It sounded so believable that if I didn't know better, I would run out to try and find whoever it belonged to. The boys searched the perimeter while I tried to calm Haley and Ben, the latter of whom clutched onto his sister, face stricken with fear.

"It's gonna be okay," I reassured.

"Help!" The voice screamed bloody murder. Sam flicked on his flashlight, scanning the trees.

"He's trying to draw us out," Dean told everyone. "Just stay cool, stay put."

"Inside the magic circle?" Roy mocked.

Any filter previously present left me. I was done with his sour, holier-than-thou attitude. "Why don't you quit being a jackass?" I snapped.

Before he could arrive at a decent comeback, another shout reverberated through the trees, shaking them. "Help! Help me!"

If there was any doubt about what we were dealing with, the guttural growl that resonated from deep within the treeline confirmed it. That was one of the most immobilizing sounds I'd ever heard. Goosebumps raised across my skin, making me shiver. Dean's eyes met mine in another apologetic look like this was all his fault.

"Okay, that's no grizzly," Roy said, pointing his gun in the direction the sound came from.

"You think?" I questioned.

"It's okay. You'll be all right, I promise," Haley tried to convince Ben, who was mere seconds from hyperventilating.

"Just sit down, okay?" I instructed gently, helping Haley lower her brother to his knees.

Gone were the snaps of twigs and rustles of leaves, and in its place was nothing. The silence was arguably worse than the noise. There were no indicators of where it was—how close or far—and my paranoid mind wandered, imagining a small woodland creature, frightened in its own right, running through one of the carefully drawn symbols and breaking our protective barrier. Would any of us be fast enough to fix it in time? Most likely not. Lost in my own thoughts, Haley's unexpected shriek and the whirling howl of wind and bristling leaves as the Wendigo's silhouette sped past the campsite skyrocketed my heart into my throat. The ground shook, and each stomp grew more violent than the last as the monster realized there was no way of getting in.

"It's here," Sam announced. I jumped, not because of the large branch the Wendigo had just snapped, but because Roy shot a round blindly into the trees, following it up with a few more. The Wendigo yelped in gurgling pain.

"I hit it!" Roy exclaimed, darting into the woods.

"Roy, no!" Dean yelled after him, rushing to the edge of the camp, stopping just before he took one step too far. "Shit."

The look between Dean and Sam turned my heart into one of those rides that slowly lifts you higher and higher and then suddenly lets you freefall. "Stay here," I gently but sternly told the Collins'. Haley nodded, dunking a long stick into the fire to create a makeshift torch while clutching her brother. I reached the boys just as they were about to leave the circle.

"No, no," Dean said, pointing his finger at me. "You're staying here."

"While you two risk your lives to chase down that idiot?" I tossed a hand out in the direction Roy had gone. "No way."

"Someone's gotta stay with them," he said.

"They're safe–"

"I can't be worried about you and Sam out there," Dean stated firmly. He was right. I didn't like it and certainly wouldn't tell him, but he was right. "You're staying."

"You better come back," I said relentingly.

"You know it," Dean answered with a wink, giving me an encouraging smile. Leaves trembled as they pushed branches aside to exit our protective circle.

My standing here wasn't doing anyone any good. Returned to the fire, I sat cross-legged on the opposite side of where Haley and Ben stood. "You two should relax," I suggested, watching the flames. "We're safe."

Haley rested the stick she'd been clutching back into the fire and sank onto the ground beside me. Ben followed soon after. Are you okay?" Haley asked me.

Bringing a deep breath, I held it in my expanded lungs for a second or two. Sam and Dean could take care of themselves; they'd done it long before I ever came along. Regardless, this wasn't just a ghost or werewolf—it was a big, fast, and frankly… scary thing. My job here wasn't to worsen an innocent family's fear. "Yeah. I'm fine," I lied.

Haley placed a comforting hand on my arm like I'd done for her before. We stayed like that for an eternity, and I debated going into the woods to search for the boys when a rustling behind us caught my attention. My mind made up a scenario in which Sam stumbled through the trees, dragging a blood-covered Dean behind him or vice versa. Needless to say, I was more than relieved when they arrived in near-perfect condition, save for a few scratches here and there.

"Oh, thank god," I breathed, hurrying to hug Dean tightly.

"Told you I'd be back," he said, the smugness in his voice contrasting the sweet smile he wore when our eyes met.

"Yeah, you did." We parted ways, and I wrapped an arm around Sam. "Are you okay?"

Sam patted my back reassuringly. "Yeah, I'm good," he said, looking anything but.

"Where's Roy?" Haley asked tentatively.

"I don't know," Dean said, looking back into the trees. "Couldn't find him."

"So, it, what, killed him?"

"We don't know," Sam said. Sure, Roy was a jerk, but he didn't deserve whatever the Wendigo might do to him.

A heavy sigh escaped Haley's lips. "I don't– I mean, these types of things, they aren't supposed to be real."

"I wish I could tell you different," Dean said.

"So, what do we do?" she asked in a constricted voice.

"Stick to the plan; wait 'til morning."

"How do we know it's not out there watching us?"

"We don't," I told her honestly, much to her dismay.

"But we're safe as long as we stay put," Dean added, tucking his gun back into his belt. "Get comfy."

Waiting for daylight to come had never been so tedious. Yes, we were safe, but that didn't altogether remove the fear. Every little sound had me looking over my shoulder and inspecting the treetops. The sky remained opaque, with no streaks of light coming through. You couldn't see a single star. The darkness seemed never-ending. And if that's how I felt, I couldn't imagine how Haley and Ben did. They stayed by the fire most of the time, keeping close to each other. Dean and I rested against a large tree stump about a foot away from them. On the other side of the campsite, Sam's hunched form obsessively through John's journal, absentmindedly playing with the rosary that hung from it.

From the moment we met, I knew the goal: find the thing that killed Mary. Revenge was practically the only thing John focused on. Over time, it spiraled into something else; this life became less about vengeance and more about helping people, but the desire for it was always lying in wait, lurking in the shadows. We told ourselves each job pushed us closer to it, even though it seemed to drift further away. That never mattered; we kept trying. Somehow, now it seemed closer than ever before, and maybe that was because Sam was on board. It should be a relief that he finally wanted in so badly, but his all-or-nothing attitude toward it scared me. None of us knew what John was like before Mary's death, not really. Dean remembered little things here and there, but he was only a small child when it all happened. Certainly too young to understand the depths of someone's personality. B

John wasn't the same man that he is today. I knew that because there were moments when I could see glimpses into the person he once was before the vengeance he set out to achieve scarred him from the inside out. Watching the same thing happen to Sam in real time was terrifying. He faded away from himself more and more with each passing day.

"We're okay," Dean said, playing with the ends of my ponytail, assuming my unease was due to the Wendigo. He wasn't wrong.

"I hope so," I replied. Maybe it was for the best that Dean thought I was speaking of our current, current situation and not his brother. With us unable to have an actual conversation with the subject of said conversation within earshot, there'd be no point in bringing anything up right now.

"You should try and get some sleep."

"Oh, yeah, all this just screams naptime. No, I'm good. Why don't you ?"

"Nah, I'm all right ."

"It's not a good idea for all of us to be sleep-deprived."

"I'll catch up on it later."

I shook my head. "You can't catch up on sleep."

"Maybe not, but I can try," he joked, running his fingers through my hair. "Anything you wanna talk about?" Dean fished.

With everything else serving as a distraction, there hadn't been time for me to worry about my personal issues. Now, waiting on the daylight, they were free to run rampant. The forest slowly closed in on me. Each tree, each source of oxygen, was suddenly suffocating, looming over me menacingly. "Can we not do this here?" I asked quietly. "Please?"

Seeing the fear in my eyes, Dean immediately gave in. "Yeah, okay," he said, shifting so I could rest comfortably against his chest. He tucked my head under his chin. Once the impending conversation was pushed off, my chest expanded with a full breath.

Minutes passed so slowly that each one felt like an hour. Being afraid to sleep was an excellent motivator when you needed to stay awake. Almost every time I blinked, images of my last nightmare flashed behind my eyelids. Dean noticed my sporadic, hitched breathing, and embraced me a bit tighter each time, but didn't say anything. The twilight appeared neverending, and when the sun finally began to rise, casting deep orange hues over the steady-lightening sky, I almost thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Thankfully, it wasn't, and we were okay to head out, something Dean announced to the siblings while Sam did a once-over of the campsite parameter.

"And we'll be safe out there?" Haley asked from her spot in front of Tommy's destroyed tent.

"Safer," Dean clarified.

"We won't let anything happen to you guys," I said. Now, look who was the one making outlandish promises?

Leaves crushed behind me, and I turned to find Sam approaching. "So, we've got half a chance in the daylight," he said. "And I, for one, want to kill this evil son of a bitch."

A slight look of surprise crossed Dean's features before settling into a small smile. "Well, hell, you know I'm in," he said.

"But we have to get them out first," I said, nodding to Haley and Ben.

"We won't have the time," Sam said.

"Then we make it."

"Wait," Haley called. "That thing took Tommy. We need to be here."

"Haley–"

"Please," she pleaded, eyes brimming with pain. If I were in her shoes, I'd want to do whatever I could, no matter the risk. Thinking about it that way made it exponentially more challenging to say no. I couldn't do it.

"Okay," I nodded, albeit reluctantly. "But you gotta listen to everything we say."

"Deal."

"What are these things, exactly?" Ben asked, speaking in our presence for the first time since we came to this god-forsaken forest.

"Well," Sam took the journal tucked under his arm and flipped to the two pages dedicated to Wendigos, showing the Collins, "Wendigo is a Cree Indian word. It means evil that devours."

"They're hundreds of years old," Dean said, moving some clutter on the ground with his boot. "Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter."

"How's a man turn into one of those things?" Haley asked with curious eyes. She was handling this a lot better than expected.

"Well, it's always the same." Dean bent down to pick up a stray glass bottle and cloth. "During some harsh winter, a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp."

"Like the Donner Party," Ben said.

"Yeah, exactly like that," I told him.

"Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities," Sam continued. "Speed, strength, immortality."

"The more you eat, the more you want," I added. "And over time, it takes away your humanity, and you become this ravenous… thing. You can get never get enough."

Haley's intrigue slipped. "So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?" she asked hesitantly.

Dean slipped the rag between his fingers. "You're not gonna like it," he said.

"Tell me."

"More than anything, a Wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake, it keeps its victims alive. It stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants," he said. Haley's lips tightened. She tried to keep a tough exterior for Ben's benefit, but her despair was evident. "If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there."

Haley pulled in a deep breath and squared off her shoulders. "And then, how do we stop it?"

"Well, guns are useless—so are knives. Basically," Dean lifted the items in his hands, "we gotta torch the sucker."

"You're joking."

"Not joking," I replied.

"That means you have to get close."

"You guys can still go," I gently nudged, hoping she'd give in. The Collins' sibling shared a look familiar to me—one I'd seen Sam and Dean exchange on multiple occasions, and, in fact, just yesterday. It was clear there was no changing their minds.

Despite my frenzied nerves, they didn't stop me from spotting deep, bloody claw marks marring the mid-section of trees spaced out every few feet, starting about half a mile from our camp. Each one spotted, I made it a point to show the boys and vice versa. The section of woods we happened upon—while looking like every other part of the forest—somehow bore a striking resemblance to the one from my nightmare. My stomach filled with bricks, sinking me into the loose soil below. A voice in my head said that when if I were to shut my eyes, everyone would disappear. Almost as if to test my sanity, I blinked, letting my eyelids linger shut an extra millisecond or two. Everyone was still here, but the jarring, panicked hum didn't go away.

"I'll never forgive you for this, you know," I told Dean teasingly, trying to take my mind off its imminent spiral.

"Can't say I blame you," he chuckled, fiddling with the Molotov he made.

"Good thing you know what you're doing." I nodded to the bottle.

"Yeah, we'll see."

Unlike all the other slashed trees, the one Sam stopped in front of was cut deep—extra layers of bark taken out and replaced with vicious blood. "You know, I was thinking," he started as we got close. "These claw prints are so clear and distinct. They're almost too easy to follow."

"So, you think it's trying to trap us?" I asked, tensing.

"It's smart. It could."

"Great," I huffed, drumming my fingers on my thighs. "Just what we need."

A rumbling growl rattled the thicket behind us, almost as if on cue. Leaves trembled throughout the immediate area—a shape too fast to make out dashed by and out of sight. Branches creaked, a few of them falling to the ground. Roy's lifeless body slipped from the top of a particularly tall tree. Haley, who had been standing underneath, jumped out of the way just in time and fell to the ground at the same time Roy did. He landed with a sickening crack and a puff of dirt flying around him. Helping Haley to her feet, she gripped my arm tightly.

Taking the initiative to inspect Roy's body, Dean grimaced and righted himself. "His neck's broken," he announced. Another much closer growl bounced off the trees. "Okay," Dean took my arm, "run, go!"

The rugged terrain would be difficult to traverse on any given day, but navigating it while fleeing a creature twenty times faster than you was grueling. My calves burned, and jagged branches made up a particularly compact section of the woods, cutting and scraping any exposed skin in their path. I shielded my eyes but couldn't do the same for my face and hands. Behind me was an abrupt bustle of leaves followed by a grunt. Ben was on the forest floor, foot tangled in bunched vines. I skidded to a stop, hurrying back to help Sam pick the scared teenager up from the dirt floor.

"You okay?" I asked him. Ben simply nodded in response and clutched his jacket, seemingly unable to find his voice. "Come on, we–" I paused, shocked not to find Dean and Haley anywhere in sight. "Where did they go?"

"I don't know, I–" Sam's reply was interrupted by a piercing scream in the distance.

Ben's eyes widened frantically. "Haley?!" he shouted, taking off toward the wail. We bolted after him and reached a short hill overlooking a surprisingly sparse area. Without thickets of bushes, leaves, and trees to obstruct our vision, I scanned the immediate area, hoping to find anything that told me where they'd gone but came up empty-handed.

"Tori," Sam called. I turned, discovering him holding a shard of the broken Molotov. My chest clenched, air rushing out of my lungs fast, yet strained. Sam chucked the glass to the ground and

"What do we do?" Ben questioned nervously, fiddling with the lanyard hanging around his neck.

Everything in me said to panic but now wasn't the time to give in to that. It wouldn't make locating them any easier. "We gotta find its hideout," I said.

Sam agreed with a nod. "But stay close," he added to Ben. "This thing wants us separated and scared," he said, leading the charge. I kept my eyes peeled for any signs of Dean and Haley or where the Wendigo could have taken them. Supposing it did take them somewhere and had not done what it did to Roy. Whenever my mind drifted to those dark spaces, I had to reach within and pull myself out. Dean was still out there; he had to be.

"If it keeps its victims alive, why would it kill Roy?" Ben wondered.

"Honestly? I think because Roy shot at it, pissed it off." Sam replied, matching the boy's stride. My legs wouldn't allow me to slow down. Any moment wasted could be their last.

While searching the ground for tracks, something unnaturally orange in the neutral surroundings caught my eye. Its rounded shape rolled between my fingers, staining them with dye. "You've got to be kidding me," I uttered in disbelief.

"What is it?" Sam asked, coming up behind me. It took a moment to register why I'd just handed him an M&M. "Dean."

"Yeah," I smiled.

"It's better than breadcrumbs," he said, tossing the candy aside.

We followed the brightly colored trail for a good mile up an incline of sharp, moss-covered rocks, through overgrown vines, and down a steep hill. How Dean had the wherewithal to do this while being dragged or carried by that thing, I'd never know. The final marker, a blue M&M, led us to the mouth of a long-abandoned mineshaft. Above its entryway hung a dirty, rusted sign reading:

WARNING! DANGER!
DO NOT ENTER EXTREMELY TOXIC MATERIAL

The threat of a Wendigo far outweighed toxic material, though neither made a difference. One way or another, I was going in there. It was pitch-black, except for the entrance and a few cracks at the start of the tunnel that allowed in the budding sunlight. Sam's flashlight lit the rest of the way as we began our descent into the mineshaft. What little oxygen left down here had been tainted by the sickening scent of decay. Each step on the damp wooden tracks only worsened the horrendous smell. Halfway down the first shaft, a guttural moan echoed down one of the adjacent tunnels, reverberating off the walls. Sam shut his flashlight, and I grabbed Ben's arm as we fled to the nearest passage, flattening ourselves against the wall for cover.

Heavy footsteps stomped closer and closer. Highlighted by the light shining through the entrance, the Wendigo appeared, illuminated just enough to make out its scarred-over flesh. It lumbered by, long limbs nearly dragging along the dirt as it went. Ben panted, a scream threatening to bubble from his lips. Sam clamped a hand over his mouth to silence him. The monster retreated down a different tunnel, disappearing from view. I released the breath I'd been holding, swallowing to coat my dry and crackled throat. Sam was the first to step out of our hiding spot, tentatively turning his light back on; he looked both ways like he was crossing the street before nodding for Ben and me to follow. The boards beneath our feet began creaking loudly, straining to hold our weight. In a massive puff of dust and onslaught of splitters, we crashed through the floor, landing on the hard ground below.

When I hit the ground, the back of my head smacked into the compacted dirt. A groan escaped my lips, and the pang propelled me onto my side. Mere inches from my face sat a pile of bones and a skull, the latter of which had a chunk of rotten flesh dangling from it. Out of instinct, I jerked away, and the room spun. Ben desperately skittered away from another set of discarded remains.

"Hey," Sam held the teenager still, "it's okay, it's okay," he reassured. Ben nodded weakly, keeping his eyes locked on the ground in favor of meeting the hollow eyes of another skull. "You okay?" Sam asked me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, pushing to my knees, then my feet. About a foot away were the faint outlines of bodies hanging from the ceiling by their wrists. The thudding in my chest escalated, clopping in my ears like the hooves of a running horse. The closer to the figures, the clearer they became. Retaining enough sense not to attract the attention of the patrolling Wendigo, I kept my mouth shut. My hands fluttered around Dean frantically, unsure where to make contact. Save for the dirt he was covered in and the scrapes filled with drying blood, he didn't look injured, but I had no way of knowing for sure. Finally, I settled my hand on his chest, where a shallow breath came and went.

"He's alive," I announced to Sam as he rushed over. Ben zoomed past us both to his sister, trying to wake her.

Sam grasped the front of his brother's jacket, jerking him forward. "Dean!" he called, getting no response.

We didn't have the time to wait for him to wake on his own, and we couldn't carry him out, not if he were unconscious. I gently moved Sam aside to take his place. I didn't love what I was about to do, but there was no other solution. "Sorry, babe," I apologized to Dean, though he couldn't hear me.

The sharp thwip of my palm connecting to his cheek bounced off the cavern walls, propelling Dean's eyes open, wide and confused. His pupils jumped to a normal size, adjusting to the shadows. "What the—"

"Are you okay, baby?" I asked, gently stroking the spot I struck.

"Did– did you just hit me?" Dean slurred in a gravel-filled voice, still dazed.

"What? No! Maybe," I sputtered, pulling my hand away. "But that's not important. You're alive; that's what matters." Even in his disoriented state, he narrowed his eyes at me. "Let's get you down," I said.

Flicking open my knife, I reached up to cut the ropes secured around his wrists while Sam supported his weight. "Kinky, huh?" Dean asked weakly when my chest brushed against the length of his torso. Sam let out an audible grunt of disgust, and I pulled back to stare at Dean's scratched-up face in disbelief. Even with the injuries he sustained, he couldn't help himself.

"You're unbelievable," I laughed. Severing the last bit of rope, Dean was freed and safely on the ground. Kneeling beside him, I searched more thoroughly for any severe wounds.

"You sure you're all right ?" Sam asked his brother.

"Yeah," Dean grimaced, adjusting himself against the wall, "I'm fine."

"Can you walk?" I asked.

Dean shook his head. "I'll be able to in a minute. Son of a bitch whacked me pretty good," he paused to breathe. "Speaking of, where is he?"

"I don't know. It left, I think. Probably not for long, though."

While we were busy tending to Dean, Ben had gotten a groggy Haley down. Her boots shuffled as she scrambled to her feet, approaching another body hanging on the other side of the cavern. "Tommy…?" He didn't respond; a quiet sob escaped her lips. Dean uttered a muffled curse under his breath. All that we went through—all that they went through—just to find their brother wasn't alive? It isn't fair.

Haley reached up to brush her fingertips across her brother's cheek, and as soon as her skin came in contact with his, Tommy jolted awake, startling all of us. "Cut him down!" she demanded, clutching the front of his t-shirt.

"I got him," Sam said, taking the knife I offered and assisting Ben in getting Tommy down.

"We're gonna get you home," Haley told him. It didn't take long for the joy of watching the Collins siblings reunite to dissipate, with the realization that the most challenging part was yet to come. We still had to get the hell out of here. Tommy was weak, and he could barely stand on his own. Running wasn't an option, and fighting back would be, well, impossible.

Although my thoughts were racing, Dean was eying something in the corner. "What is it?" I asked, following his line of sight.

"What's in that?" he asked, nodding to a beat-up backpack underneath some debris. I dragged the bag over and unzipped it so Dean could rummage through. "Well, I'll be dammed," he smiled slyly, pulling out a flair gun.

I lifted an eyebrow. "And that'll work?"

"Worth a shot," he shrugged, attempting to stand.

"Wait, Dean–" I protested, reaching out to stop him.

"What?"

"Let me help you."

"I don't–" he protested until he saw the agitated look I sported and promptly stopped. "All right, all right. Don't slap me again."

"Don't give me a reason to," I grumbled, not bothering to dust the soot off my jeans, knowing they'd only get dirty again. Putting an arm underneath Dean's, I tightened my legs and supported him to his feet. He didn't put nearly as much weight on me as he could've, but at least he let me help. Once stable, he returned to the bag and took out the other flare gun.

"Check it out," Dean announced to the group, holding up and twirling the guns.

Sam smiled, taking one. "These'll work."

Fortunately, there was a tunnel out of the small section of cave we'd fallen into, so we didn't have to climb out. Unfortunately, it brought us through a portion of the mine we hadn't covered. Even though it looked the same, the layout was wildly different. It would've comforted me to retrace our steps, but we didn't have the luxury—not with Tommy in the condition he was; his siblings supported his weight almost entirely with his arms slung over their shoulders. Of course, Dean took the lead, not listening to Sam or me when we said it'd be best for him to hang back just in case he was hurt more than we could see on the surface. The only sounds that could be heard reverberating off the walls were our shuffled footsteps along the old tracks and Tommy's labored breathing. We reached an intersection of tunnels—one in front and one to our right—but before we could even think about deciding which one to go down, that same warning growl from before echoed through the shaft in front of us, growing closer by the second.

Holding a hand behind himself that told us to stop, Dean halted at the mouth of the mine, craning his neck to look down the trench. "Looks like someone's home for supper," he said as he righted himself.

"We'll never outrun it," Haley said, voice shaking.

A calculating look crossed Dean's eyes as they passed from mine to Sam's, silently exchanging his plan with us. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean asked. I adamantly shook my head. Never in a million years would I think he should use himself as bait, but it was always the first thing on his damn mind.

"Yeah," Sam answered with a nod. "I think so."

My eyes widened. "No way," I declined. "Dean, you're not doing that."

"We don't have a choice," Dean argued.

"Yes, we do!"

"What are you gonna do?" Haley asked.

"Listen to me," Dean addressed her and her brothers, "you stay with Sam and Tori. They're gonna get you guys out of here."

"Dean–" I warned.

"It's gonna be fine," he told me.

"And if it's not?" I questioned, trying to hold my fearful emotions at bay. Dean didn't reply with words; instead, he closed the small gap between us and intertwined his fingers through my hair, bringing my lips to his in a kiss that said everything we couldn't at this moment—everything we both secretly worried we might not get to say again. He pulled back before I was ready to part ways and winked at me, backing up toward the passage.

"Chow time, you freaky bastard!" Dean yelled. "Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good!" He waved for us to go and disappeared from view.

Sam scoped out the shaft to our right to ensure it was safe. "All right, come on," Sam coaxed forcefully, "hurry!"

Somehow, I unstuck my feet and moved in the opposite direction Dean had gone, despite everything screaming otherwise. It wasn't long before the growling returned, growing louder. Behind us, the tall, thin shadow of the Wendigo crept across the wall, looming closer. Sam came to a halt, pointing his flare gun at it. The moment he looked over his shoulder at me with that same stupid, self-sacrificing look his brother wore only minutes before, I knew exactly what was on his mind.

"Take them out of here," he told me.

"Sam, no," I insisted. There's no way I'd allow both of them out of sight.

"I'll hold it off–"

"You can't!"

"I'll be close; just go now!" Sam demanded. A glint of stubbornness appeared in his eyes, eerily similar to the look I'd grown accustomed to seeing John sport. Unless I dragged him out, there'd no way he'd leave, so I corraled the frightened siblings to the end of the tunnel. Ben exited first, helping Haley and me lift Tommy out onto the grass and behind on some rocks a little ways away from the entrance.

Haley's understanding eyes were all the confirmation needed to know that I wasn't hiding my panic well. Everything about this situation was wrong: before, Sam had been the one to usher people away, the one to be sheltered from the things that went bump in the night. It was ingrained in me for the past ten years to watch out for and protect him. And now, I was the one waiting in the wings. It didn't matter that he was an adult; it didn't matter that he was more than capable—if there was danger, it should be me facing it.

The flare's orange and yellow yellow blazed through the mineshaft. Leaving the Collins' wasn't part of my job description, but it wasn't anything new. I had a history of not doing what I was told. They'd be far safer out in the open than inside with the Wendigos. Halfway through the shaft, rushed footsteps approached me, and Sam broke through the haze.

"Did you get it?" I asked.

"Uh…" he replied briskly, grabbing my arm, "I think so!"

"You think so?" I repeated. A deep rumble reverberated off the walls surrounding us, confirming that he did, in fact, miss. "Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry!" Sam said rapidly as we picked up speed, and he pulled me down an adjacent shaft. In an effort to lure the creature away from the siblings waiting outside, we stomped on every loose board until we reached the end of the tunnel.

"Get behind me," Sam instructed, not giving me much choice as he sandwiched me between his back and the rock wall. Neither of us took a breath; we didn't move an inch. In a momentary lapse of judgment, I assumed the Wendigo had gone, but any hope dashed away with the monster's sickeningly labored panting and stomping across the gravel that littered the compact dirt. It came into view, lumbering closer.

"Hey!" Dean shouted. "Come get me, you ugly son of a bitch!"

The Wendigo stopped and turned at the unexpected noise. Dean took the shot, the flare making a sharp flimp! as it sailed through the air before lodging into the creature's stomach. It screamed and writhed in pain as the flames tore through its thin flesh, rendering it a pile of ash on the ground.

"Holy crap, that actually worked," I said in awe.

"Yeah, not bad, huh?" Dean boasted with a big smile, lowering his gun.

I smiled through a shaky laugh. "What took you so long?"

Nightfall was well on its way by the time we reached the edge of the woods; golden orange whisps filled the sky. While the Collins siblings took the back seat, the boys and I shared the front. Much to Dean's dismay, I insisted on driving and wouldn't take no for an answer, leaving him squished between me and his brother. At the Ranger's station, where proper authorities were called, paramedics had already checked Ben, Sam, and me out. Determining that we were okay, two police officers interviewed us, while a few feet away, Dean leaned on the trunk of the Impala—all cuts and scrapes patched up—talking to Haley.

"And the bear came back again after you yelled at it?" the Officer asked, jotting down our statements in his notepad.

"That's when it circled the campsite," Ben said. "I mean, this grizzly must have weighed eight hundred—nine hundred pounds," he added animatedly. Sam and I nodded along to his story.

Unsurprisingly, the officer bought it hook, line, and sinker. "All right, we'll go after it first thing," he said, tucking the pad into his back pocket. I excused myself then, slowly approaching Dean. He smiled at me over Haley's shoulder.

"So… I don't know how to thank you," Haley said. Dean smirked lasciviously at her, and she scoffed. "Must you cheapen the moment?" she wondered with a smile.

"Yeah!" he replied with playful enthusiasm.

Haley folded her arms. "And what does Tori think about that?"

"She thinks he doesn't stand a chance," I said.

Haley smiled. "You know, you better take good care of that girl," she told Dean. "Not everyone would put up with you, I'm sure."

"Oh, don't I know it?" Dean said.

"Here," Haley handed me a small piece of paper, "call me sometime, okay? Just to talk about whatever. I won't mind. I know it's hard always being around… boys," she finished in jest.

Keeping in contact was something I couldn't do. Still, it was a sweet gesture all the same. She didn't have to know that she would never hear from me again. "Thanks, Haley," I said, stuffing the paper into my pocket and hugging her. She squeezed me tight.

"Take care."

"You too," I replied as we parted. One of the paramedics tending to Tommy exited the ambulance and asked Haley if she'd be riding with her family to the hospital. She told him yes, waiting for Ben to arrive—with Sam in tow—to take her little brother's hand.

"Thank you, guys, so much," Haley told us. "I hope you find your father."

Elation swirled with despair, with no way to tell which would win. Neither of the boys said anything; they just nodded. Haley meant well, so I forced a small, thankful smile that dropped once she and Ben left. Just before the ambulance doors shut, Haley hugged Tommy, and for a moment, any bleakness filling my chest washed away; all the hardships didn't seem so dreadful anymore.

"Man, I hate camping," Dean complained.

"Me too." Sam agreed, sitting on the bumper beside us.

"One good thing came from it," I began, trying to lighten the mood with a teasing smirk aimed at Dean, "I got her number," I waved the small piece of paper.

"What happened when me and Sam were gone?" Dean's shoulders dropped dejectedly, shaking his frame. "Don't tell me I missed something good."

"We rolled around naked by the fire," I said with faux seriousness. Dean's eyes grew so wide that his eyelashes nearly touched his eyebrows. His belief in my sarcasm could only be chalked up to getting knocked around in the woods. Thank God, his head was hard enough to resist any permanent damage. "Yeah. Right in front of her baby brother," I added pointedly.

"Jesus," Dean breathed, clutching his chest, "don't do that to me."

"You're a moron," Sam laughed at his brother's expense.

Dean smacked his shoulder hard enough for the sound to echo through the night. "Who asked you?"

"All right, all right," I put a hand between them before somebody got shoved, "enough."

By now, most of the police officer had driven away, no doubt off to wait around for their shift to be over. This was the most exciting thing to happen in a town this small. "Sam, you know we're gonna find Dad, right?" Dean asked abruptly.

"Yeah, I know," Sam replied. A slight grin tugged on his lips. "But in the meantime? I'm driving."

Even more surprising than his sudden shift in demeanor, was Dean's reaction. He took out the keys, staring at the glimmering metal pensively before deciding to toss them to his brother. Sam snatched them out of the air with excitement. A light bulb went off above Dean's head."You know what that means, right?" he asked me.

"What?" I wondered.

"We can sit in the back. Together," Dean said suggestively, biting his lip while he stared at mine.

"If you guys pull anything, I will drive the car into a ditch," Sam threatened from the driver's door.

Dean's head snapped up so comically fast that he risked whiplash and I had to battle away my laughter. "Like hell, you will," he spat. Sam simply shrugged and sunk into the Impala.

"You know," I fixed Dean's collar, "as tempting as your offer is, I think you should get some sleep."

"I'm fine," he said. "I was out of it before–"

"Knocked out," I clarified.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Same thing," he said nonchalantly.

"So not the same thing," I said, letting my hands slide from his collar to his chest. "You really should rest up because we're long overdue for some alone time, and–"

"What are we waiting for?" he asked, eager. Gently, but hastily, Dean moved me back by my hips so he could hop down off the Impala. Gone was his frenzied behavior, replaced with slow and tender movements as he bent down to kiss me, and then lead me to the car when I was too dazed to do it myself.

Once on the road, it wasn't long before Dean softly snored in the backseat. In the peaceful safety of the Imala, my head lulled against the window.

Clawing dagger-tipped fingers tried to force their way down my throat. I stumbled, and the center of my back hit a tree. The brittle bark cracked, crumbling to the ground beneath my feet. I used the trunk to support myself and regain footing. The wind howled, whipping my hair into my face and obstructing my diminished vision. Discarded twigs poked my bare feet, and offshoots from tangled vines scraped my exposed legs and arms, but I didn't stop. If I did, it would get me; I knew it. With each frantic, unsteady stride, the figure-like smog followed just close enough to keep me paranoid. It appeared behind every tree, within every bush. My lungs burned, begging for a more significant breath than I could muster while trudging through the mossy dirt. Thunder boomed above, shaking the land below. Somehow, the sky was growing even darker by the second; I could no longer see my hand in front of my face.

Just as I neared a break in the thicket, my foot caught on a tree root, and I flew to the ground, bracing myself for impact on the dry soil. Instead, I landed in a large, warm puddle. A sickeningly bitter and rotten scent filled my nose—coating the back of my throat. It filled me with nausea I was barely able to contain. My fear of the fog stalking me evaded my mind as my eyes focused on the thick, deep red liquid drenching the front of my body. A tremor wracked my body, quaking through my already cracked and anxious mind. I should have wondered whose blood this was… but I already knew. Arising out of the pool's depths, a blood-soaked hand grabbed my forearm, erupting an inhuman exclamation of horror from my lips. The disembodied extremity dug its nails into my skin, ripping my flesh as it jerked me forward.

A gasp of air forced its way into my lungs, jolting me from a sleep I had no memory of falling into. My hands frantically patted my arms and chest, coming up with dry, clean palms. From the corner of my eye, Sam darted his eyes from the slick blacktop beneath the Impala and over to me, and I finally registered where I was.

"Bad dream?" he inquired.

I gulped down the build-up in my throat. "Uh… no. No, it was just, uh– it was nothing," I said. Sam nodded, unconvinced. Before he could say anything else, I changed the subject. "How's Dean been?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder to see that he was still sound asleep, lying in the backseat with his jacket over him.

"Fine," Sam said, knowing exactly what I was doing because he'd done it countless times himself.

"You want me to take over?" I nodded to the steering wheel.

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm good," he said. Though far less urgent now, traces of the stubborn Sam who came out before could still be seen.

"Listen, I know things have been tough lately, but I just wanted to say that you did really good today," I told him. "You figured out what we were against and how you stayed behind to protect them. And me."

"Anybody would've done it," he dismissed.

"No, they wouldn't. Not anybody."

"Well, you did it for a long time," he said warmly, "I'm just trying to return the favor."

"Sometimes it's hard for me to accept that you're not the same little kid," I muttered, fidgeting with my jacket's sleeve. "You can take care of yourself; you don't need me anymore."

"That's not true," Sam argued without a second thought, looking over at me as he stopped at a light, its red tint filling the car. "I mean, yeah, I can take care of myself. But I'll always need you."

In the dim light of the Impala, he looked strikingly similar to the young boy I met all those years ago. One that was full of hope and kindness. "If you need to talk about whatever is going on… I'm here. I know a thing or two about nightmares," Sam admitted, a somber look bouncing back into his eyes. He seemed relieved when the light changed, and he could pull his gaze away from mine.

"Thanks, Sam," I told him sincerely. He had changed, yes. But perhaps not so much—not yet. And maybe, just maybe, we could achieve what was needed before he reached the point of no return like his father. I'd be damned if I let this consume Sam and eradicate that part of him—no matter how small of it left—that held out hope.

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