A/N - Ok, firstly, major major major apologies for the length of time between postings. I suck, I realise this, but I really am sorry. Hopefully, this chapter will soften the kicking y'all want to give me.

A huge thanks to everyone who is still reading, and reviewing. I really appreciate your comments and the fact you are reading still. Thanks to Leigh, who beta'd this in record timing, and for making me realise that I've not lost my mojo.

As always, this is dedicated to my good friend, Jenilee. I hope you are still enjoying this tale.

Chapter 15

Thursday 14 March 1996, Pre-Dawn

John didn't hesitate. His gun was already in his hand, his eyes narrowing as he honed in on his target. He raised the weapon and fired. He barely saw the beast move but, before he'd even got off one shot, it had melted back into the trees. John scanned the dense woodland for any sign of movement, but nothing stirred.

“Where in the hell did it go?” Russell's sharp southern twang snapped through the silence like a cracking whip.

John ignored him, straining to listen. All he could hear was his own laboured breathing and his heart pounding in his ears.

“I can't see a goddamn thing,” Joshua muttered, his eyes sweeping the area frantically. The stillness was unnerving.

John risked pulling his eyes from the woods and slid a gaze towards his boys. Dean was practically on top of his younger brother, shielding the hurt teen with his own body. His worry was etched across his face as he met John's eyes.

Dean was tough, tougher than any seventeen-year-old had the right to be. In public, John blamed his son's attitude on the hunters they had met over the years, but he knew Dean's personality was all his doing. He had moulded his eldest into the perfect soldier. He’d drawn from his years of military training when raising his boys. He had ceased being their father the moment Mary died. He was their drill sergeant and Dean fell into line like the perfect recruit because John had demanded it. Even when the shit hit the fan, Dean never dropped the tough façade. Not for anything...apart from Sam. And John shouldn't have been surprised by Dean's need to protect his brother; he had practically seared that order into his eldest son’s brain.

Tearing his gaze from Dean, John moved towards the spot where the wolf had appeared moments before, keeping watch as he fumbled in his jeans pocket for more rounds. He'd hit the thing, of that he was sure, but he needed proof. Slamming a new magazine home, his gaze dropped from the tree line to the snow. As he expected, blood marred the blanket of white. There was a small pool near his feet and a trail led into the undergrowth ahead of him. John crouched down, peering into the tangle of leaves and branches. It wouldn't have gone far, not with sunrise approaching. It would want to finish its hunt and, unfortunately for their small group, they were an easy target.

“Johnny?” Joshua's voice held a note of uncertainty that had John glancing over his shoulder. The twenty-six year old was on his feet but he hovered close to the makeshift litter Caleb was lying on.

“I hit the bastard,” John replied, straightening from his crouch, shifting his grip on his gun, his fingers circling tightly around the metal. The wolf was bleeding badly, but John was cynical as hell; he knew the wound was unlikely to slow the thing down or stop it. His luck had never been that good.

His gaze strayed back to his sons. The father in him wanted to bundle the pair of them up and take off at record speed towards civilisation, but the hunter in him knew that was a sure-fire way to get them all killed. Caution was the only chance they had to survive this.

“You think the son of a bitch'll come back?” Russ demanded.

John shrugged, not wanting to admit that he knew it would. Everyone was on their last string as it was; he didn't want to be the one to break the rope. Besides, there was no point in inducing panic. He needed Russ and Josh to keep it together long enough to get back to town. His lack of response had the opposite effect, however.

“You ain't exactly fillin' me with comfort, Winchester,” Russell snapped.

“I'm not here to hold your hand, Russell,” John growled back. The older hunter's attitude was grating on John's already frayed nerves. He was tired of explaining himself, of explaining his actions – especially considering he was only here because of Russell.

“You two think you can hold off you pissing contest till we hit civilisation?” Joshua’s patience was wearing thin, his exhausted eyes hard.

John sighed and resumed scanning the trees. He couldn't see it, but he sensed it was close. Gun still in hand, John trudged through the deep snow back towards his boys. Dean climbed awkwardly to his feet, mindful of his dislocated shoulder.

“What's going on?” Dean asked, sliding his eyes back towards his brother. Sam was drifting, his heavy eyes shuttering slowly as he tried to fight the urge to sleep. John could tell it was a battle his youngest was doomed to lose, and he wasn't surprised when Sam's eyes closed and didn't reopen.

“It's not going to stop following us, Dean. We've got to keep moving.” John glanced up through the skeletal at the steadily lightening sky. “If we can stay ahead of it for a while longer...”

“…we make sunrise and we won't have to worry about it following us,” Dean finished his thought.

John nodded. The wolf would change back into human form once the sun rose; they just had to survive that long. John would come back once his sons were safe and finish off the beast but, for now, his priority was getting Dean and Sam out of there.

“Johnny!Look out!” Joshua's panicked yell snared John's attention. He twisted his head to glance over his shoulder, his gun following his gaze, but he was not quick enough. A crushing blow caught him squarely in the chest, the air forced from his lungs. Then, there was nothing beneath his feet but the rush of air as he was flung bodily across the clearing. John braced himself for the pain he knew was going to come when he landed. He wasn't disappointed. He slammed into something hard and lightning agony raced up his spine, blooming across his shoulders. The 'something hard' yelped.

Dazed, he blinked sluggishly at the trees looming above him, his entire body numb from the strike. He was on the ground, the snow cold beneath him, his back tingling with pain. There were voices screaming around him but they sounded dulled to his ringing ears.

“DAD!” Dean's voice broke through the cotton balls stuffed into his ears, and it was enough to get John moving again, fighting his uncooperative body. He rolled over, blinking against the dizziness playing with his vision.

Russell was lying next to him, groaning, and clutching his side, but he was already attempting to move. John realized he must have hit Russ when the wolf had thrown him.

“Christ, Winchester,” Russell moaned.

But John wasn't listening. He could see his sons across the clearing. John was sure he had been standing next to his sons only moments before. As John pushed up onto shaky elbows, he saw the beast stalking towards his boys.

Dean had picked up a large branch and was waving it one-handed in front of him and Sam, trying to protect himself and his younger sibling. John moved to raise his gun but it was no longer in his hand. It wasn't even on the ground near him. He scanned the snow desperately for the weapon, his eyes cutting between his search and the werewolf. His heart leapt into his throat as his gaze froze on Dean.

The wolf darted forwards and slammed into his eldest with the force of a wrecking ball. Dean twisted his body, enough to avoid hitting his brother, but he slammed into the ground hard. Looming over his boys, the beast twisted its head to meet John's eyes, its own filled with hate, it's lips twisted upwards in a snarl. It was playing with him.

Son of a bitch!

Gun forgotten, John was moving before he even thought about it, powering through the snow desperately. It was like trying to run through wet cement, his feet sinking into the deep drifts. He pushed through, ignoring the pain in his legs, ignoring his blurred vision, his eyes locked on his sons. He'd die before he let anything touch his sons, but he'd broken his own rule. Panic had overtaken his senses and the hunter in him had given way to the parent, but he was terrified, more scared than he had ever been of anything in his life.

Dean seemed to freeze for a second, fear overwhelming him momentarily before he was scrabbling backwards on his ass and right elbow, his eyes wide with fear as the wolf stalked closer. He made a desperate lurch to his knees, throwing himself protectively in front of Sam. John felt a hand close around his heart as he saw the terror in his eldest son's eyes.

Goddamn it, Winchester, move your fucking ass!

But the snow was too deep. He seemed to be moving in slow motion as the wolf, snarling and howling, closed in on his boys.

Joshua was closer, and the younger hunter barrelled into the wolf. They went down hard, the wolf's howl of frustration mixing with Joshua's pain-filled yell. Through the tangle of limbs, John couldn't see Joshua, but he could hear him, and that was worse.

John closed the gap between them in a few strides, but it felt like a thousand. Weaponless, he did the only thing his frayed brain could think of. He threw himself on the wolf's back, his arms circling around its torso, dragging it off Joshua. It thrashed wildly at being restrained, sharp claws raking John's arms, cutting through his shirt like a knife through butter. The wolf was strong, and it took every ounce of strength John possessed to pull the animal off Joshua. He could hear it snarling and hissing as it bucked against his grip but John maintained his hold.

The wolf pushed backwards, its spine pressing painfully against John's torso. The weight was crushing; John’s ribs creaked, pushing against abused lungs, forcing the air out of his chest. He managed to keep a hold on the beast, but he couldn't stop them both crashing to the ground. The snow softened the fall, but the impact still reverberated through his back, the pain shooting up his spine. A moan escaped his lips as the wolf landed on top of him, but he kept his grip. To let go of the wolf now was death. The creature was pissed, and John had no intention of letting it unleash that anger on the already battered group.

Warm blood ran down his arms, his skin exposed through the tattered material as the beast continued to maul him. John pushed through the pain and held firm. He could hear Dean screaming his name, could hear Joshua yelling something, but he focused on his attacker.

Instinct guiding action, he released his grip on the wolf's torso and, in one fluid motion, grabbed its neck and twisted. He felt cartilage and muscles tear beneath his hands, then bones snap followed by a strangled whimper before there was silence. The wolf’s dead weight was crushing John, but the beast was still.

“Johnny!” mixed with a petrified “Dad!” as both Dean and Joshua appeared at his side. Russell took a moment longer to arrive, but the grizzled older hunter wore an awed expression.

“Holy shit, Winchester,” Russell breathed, “are you off your damn meds?”

John wondered the same thing himself. “Get this fucking thing off me,” he growled as he shoved weakly at the heavy creature, his energy spent. He'd put every last ounce of strength into holding the wolf still and his limbs felt like jelly.

Joshua moved instantly, grabbing hold of the beast's arms and, with Russell's help, they dragged it off John. With the weight removed, John felt the blood rush back to his limbs but he didn't attempt to move.

“You OK?” Dean asked, worry etched into his face as he dropped onto the ground next to John, his eyes roving his face before focusing on his the blood staining his ripped shirt sleeve. “Shit, Dad, what the hell were you thinking? Wrestling with the flesh-eating monster isn't your best idea to date. You're not Crocodile Dundee!”

John frowned at Dean's reproof but didn't respond; he was too tired to argue with the kid. But one look at the fearful look in his eyes and John knew it had been the right move – even if it was insane to wrestle a werewolf.

Joshua dropped next to them both and began to gently peel back the shredded sleeve to get a look at the injury. It looked ghastly, John thought with a clinical detachment born from years of dealing with ghastly. Long, angry gashes ran the length of both arms, but his left was worse. Blood was dripping liberally from the limb, staining the white snow beneath him.

“Where's the first aid kit?” Dean demanded, pulling his wide-eyed gaze from John's arm. Joshua frowned at him.

“We used all the gauze on Caleb and your brother.”

“It needs binding,” Dean insisted.

“Dean, I'm fine,” John assured him.

His son gave him an incredulous glare. “Your arm looks like it went through a meat grinder, Dad.” Dean shook his head, glancing back up at Russell and Joshua. “What the hell is left in the first aid kit? I don't think a couple of frigging band aids and a kiss better are going to fix this!”

Russell dropped his pack onto the ground and crouched down to pull the zipper back. “Untwist your panties, Dean. They're ugly as hell, but your Daddy ain't gonna kiss the ground from it.” He rooted around inside the knapsack and, after a moment, pulled out a plain white t-shirt which he handed to Joshua, ignoring the daggers Dean was shooting at him.

“Hope you ain't too attached to this shirt, Russell,” Joshua murmured, not giving the older hunter a chance to respond as he ripped the garment down the seam. Now, with two pieces of material, he wrapped both John's arms, tying them off at the crook of his elbows to keep pressure on the wounds.

John pressed his hand against the left arm, hoping a little added pressure would stop blood from bleeding through the material, and winced at the touch. His arms burned, but John pushed his pain aside, refusing to give into it. He still had to get his boys out of The Hills, and nothing was going to stop him from doing so.

Unsteadily, he climbed to his feet, Joshua and Dean both hovering closely in case he needed assistance. John gave them both a dark glare, his left arm wrapped around his middle. He didn't need help. He wasn't that badly injured. His arms hurt but he was perfectly capable of walking, perfectly capable of carrying his youngest out of there. Perfectly capable of...

Whoa.

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he staggered a little. He felt a hand hooked under his elbow.

“Dad?” Forcing his eyes open, he was met with Dean's green eyes, searching his face.

“I'm OK, Dean,” John snapped, pulling out of Dean's grip. He felt a pang of guilt at the crestfallen look that briefly flickered on his eldest son's face before the stony walls appeared. John tried to soften his expression. “I'm OK,” he repeated before turning to study Joshua. “What about you?”

Joshua's jacket was slashed, and even in the pre-dawn light, John could see there was some blood staining his t-shirt beneath.

“I'll live, Johnny,” Joshua said, his left hand automatically reaching for his bloodied chest.

John stared at him, testing the weight of the statement. He needed Joshua to help him, and if he wasn't able to do it...well, John had no idea how the hell they would get out of the stinking mountains.

“Really, John, I'm fine,” Joshua said, his words firm. “The bastard cut me up, but ain't nothin' stoppin' me getting out of this goddamn hell hole.”

Without waiting for permission, John grabbed the hem of Joshua's shirt and pushed it up till it was bunched under his armpits. Josh tried to bat him away, shivering as the cold air hit his bare skin.

“Christ, Winchester!” He scowled, pushing John's hands back. “I said I was friggin' fine. You wanna grope me, at least buy me dinner first.”

Joshua’s chest was a messy canvas of blood and gashes but they looked mostly superficial. He had, somehow, managed to keep the wolf from doing too much damage – which John was profoundly grateful for. John raised questioning eyes to the younger hunter.

“Guess that membership at the gym kinda paid off, huh?” Joshua pushed dark hair behind his ears, leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. John wasn't sure whose blood it was.

“And I thought the only reason you went was to meet girls,” John said with a weak smile. Joshua shifted his shoulders.

“At sixty-five dollars a session?” Josh raised a brow. “I love the ladies as much as the next guy, Johnny, but I ain't made of money.”

John snorted and let his gaze fall on the werewolf. The body was laid out on the ground, the white skin stark against the snow. John wasn't sure if it was because the sun had finally risen, or because the wolf was now dead, but the creature had changed back into human form. There was no sign of teeth, nor the rabid beast that had tried to drag his eldest off. Neck broken, his head was turned to the side, a sliver of blood trailed from his mouth. The still creature appeared peaceful and so different from the snarling monster that had attacked them moments ago.

As John studied him, he realised the wolf was no more than a kid – probably about the same age as Dean. Guilt gnawed at him. He was someone's son, possibly someone's brother, and John had killed him without a second thought. He briefly wondered whether his family would be searching for him, and then pushed the thought out of his head. It sucked that John had been forced to kill the kid but he was a killer. John had no doubt that the werewolf would have killed more innocent people if he'd let him go. No, he had ceased being someone's child, someone's sibling the moment he had been bitten. Now, he was a monster, a murderer, and John knew he had done the right thing.

He turned back to the small group and tightened his jaw. “Gather the gear together; let's get the hell out of this goddamn place.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean was exhausted. He stumbled over a tree-root hidden beneath the snow but managed to catch himself. Falling over was not an option. His dislocated shoulder was already aching fiercely without hitting the ground like a dart. Besides, if he fell down now, Dean wasn't sure that he had the strength to get back up again.

Joshua and Russell were carrying the litter with the wounded Caleb; John, despite his own wounds, was carrying Sam in his arms, seemingly unperturbed by the weight of the twelve year old. John was the ultimate machine, and Dean admired that strength in his father; the will to keep going no matter what was thrown at him, the dogged determination to never give in, no matter what crap was flung at them.

Dean frowned. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Seeing his brother hurt was painful, but his father had hit a deeper chord. He was used to seeing his father bruised and cut up, but this was a whole other ball game. Dean couldn't describe the panic he'd felt watching his father taking on the wolf bare-handed. It was nothing short of a miracle he was still in one piece. Dean couldn't lose Sam, and he couldn't lose John. It struck him how close he had come to losing them both in the last twenty-four hours. Not that Sam was out of the woods yet, but at least they had a better chance of surviving now there was nothing on their tails.

The sun was rising on the eastern horizon, reds and oranges melting into pale yellow and finally a perfect azure. The trees were starting to thin out, but they were still in the thick of the forest. Dean was just grateful he could see patches of sky. He had felt claustrophobic under the trees and yet he'd also felt extremely exposed in spite of that. It had been difficult to see both the wolf and the Black Annis in the tightly packed woodland – especially in the dark. The blossoming dawn put the ghosts of last night firmly to rest and gave Dean hope that they would all get out of this mess more or less in one piece. It seemed unjust that they should survive both Annis and wolf, only to fall in the last few miles. Dean had never been much for God or religion, but he'd pray his ass off if it meant they would all be OK.

Continuing forward, Dean cut his gaze to his father, and his brother. Sam hadn't come round since the wolf had attacked them in the clearing, since John had been mauled, and that was worrying Dean. He knew his brother had been through hell, but he didn't like the fact he was playing Mr McSnoozy. John was cradling Sam in his arms, his son’s head buried against his chest. Sam's face was pallid, stark against the snow. Dean wondered how much longer he could survive, how much longer they could all survive. The sun had brought a milder morning, but there was still a biting chill in the air. Dean could no longer feel any part of his body.

“I'll be damned.” Russell came to a stop, shifting the litter poles in his hands. The older hunter looked exhausted, weaving a little on his feet, his eyes a little rheumy, but there was a smile gracing his weather-beaten face now. “Didn't think you'd actually get us out of this damn mess, John.”

Dean followed his gaze. Between the thinning trees, there was a scattering of cabins and beyond that, nestled deeper in the valley was a sprawling town. Dean let out a relieved breath, more grateful than he would ever admit that civilisation was within reach. He was so tired, he had no idea how he was still standing.

“Your faith in me, Russell, is overwhelming,” John replied quietly, shifting his grip on Sam's lax body.

Russell snorted, but didn't offer the sarcastic response Dean had been expecting.

It was a testament to how exhausted the group were that no one heard the man approach until he stepped out of the trees. He was short, stocky, and had a shock of white hair. His face was hidden behind a trimmed beard but his eyes were suspicious. The guy was suited and booted for the weather, but it was the dawn-sun glinting off the barrel of the rifle aiming at John's back that made Dean freeze.

John twisted his neck to glance over his shoulder, his gaze hard.

“You want to point that gun somewhere else?” John's voice was steady but there was a bite in his tone that was colder than the snow.

Dean had no idea who the hell this crazy son of a bitch was, or even why he was up in The Hills, but the rifle pointing at his father was making him twitchy. The urge to hurl himself bodily in front of Sam and John was overwhelming. His gaze cut between his family and the stranger, his fear mounting at this unknown danger. Like the wolf and the Annis weren't enough; now, they had to deal with this guy. Dean was starting to wonder if his brother's claim that they were cursed was correct.

The man merely shifted his eyes towards Sam, the rifle still aimed at John and the unconscious Sam. The stare he fixed on his brother made Dean’s skin crawl.

“You've got some bad injuries between you.”

“Bear,” John replied without missing a beat. “One caught us in the night.”

“We were lucky as hell to escape it,” Russell added to the lie. The stranger slid his gaze around the group, his expression laced with unveiled scepticism.

“Must have been one hell of a big bear.”

“King Kong huge,” Dean murmured, eyeing the rifle still aimed at his father and brother.

“I've lived up here my whole life, and I ain't never seen a bear.” The man gave him a tight-lipped smile, but he finally lowered his rifle, his stance less threatening.

John held Sam closer to his chest, shielding the younger boy with his own body, as his stare remained locked on the stranger.

“She caught up with you folk last night – didn't she?” the man continued when John didn't offer a reply. He leaned on the butt of his rifle, his expression knowing.

“She?”

Dean had to admire his father's poker-face. He didn't let a single emotion slide onto his face as he said the word.

“The hag.”

Dean barely managed to hide his surprise at the statement, but John's features were still perfectly schooled.

“The hag?”

“The Annis,” the man answered.

“You know what it is?” Russell asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Well, it sure as hell isn't a bear stalking The Black Hills.” The man fixed him with a toothy grin that faded just as quickly as it appeared. “I've seen some strange things happen up here in the past. People going missing, disappearing as if they never existed. Animals completely gutted and picked clean of everything apart from the bones.

“Then, about six months ago, there was a string of disappearances all around the same time every month. Hikers, tourists – like yourselves – people who wouldn't be missed, if you catch my drift. Never locals.” He glanced up at the sky, his expression ominous when he spoke again. “There's an evil in these woods, an evil that's older than even the trees. It's stalked this place for as long as I can remember.”

“Well, you don't need to worry about that any more,” Dean muttered. “Grandma's no longer in the land of the living.”

He nodded. “I heard her die.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Russell demanded abruptly. “I mean, no offence, but it ain't exactly a bustlin' community out here.”

“I've got a cabin not far from here.” The man smiled but Dean felt anything but assured by it. “I saw flares in the sky last night, heard the gunshots and figured some folk had gotten themselves into trouble.”

Dean wasn't sure he bought this guy's story, and he suspected his father didn't either. John's expression had remained impassive throughout the exchange but Dean recognised the slight tightening around his eyes as suspicion. John didn't trust this guy and that made Dean wary as hell. He sidled closer towards his father and brother.

“You got a phone in this cabin of yours?” John asked. “We need a doctor.”

“No - no phone,” the man said quietly. “But I got a radio – and a well-stocked first aid kit. You look like you need it.”

“The radio - it work?” Joshua asked.

“Enough to call the sheriff’s department in Deadwood,” the man replied.

John glanced down at Sam, who was still in his arms, his dark bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“Can we use it?”

The stranger nodded. “Follow me.”

Dean frowned at the man as he turned his back on the group, glancing at his father. John looked bemused. When no one made to move, the man glanced over his shoulder. “'Course, you could always stay here and freeze your asses off.”

John sighed and, with some hesitation, followed the man. Dean and the rest of the group did the same.

“How do you know so much about these creatures?” John asked after a moment.

The man tilted his head to the side and considered him. “I could ask you the same question.”

John gave him a tight smile. “Let's just say our line of work is...unusual.”

The man nodded but didn't reply. He picked his way around a clump of underbrush and jagged rocks partially hidden underneath the snow. Once he was clear, he stopped and turned back to the group, helping Russell and Joshua with the stretcher.

Dean was almost surprised when the trees thinned out and a battered-looking cabin appeared. He hadn't wanted to trust this guy, but it appeared he had been telling the truth – at least about having a house nearby. The building was well-maintained and almost homey. The outside was clad in thick wooden slats, and a long porch ran the length of the building. There was an old station wagon parked on the dirt driveway in front of the house and a large shed around the side. It didn't scream serial killer, but then Dean was well aware that evil didn't always come wrapped and packaged with a flashing sign. John paused at the steps up to the porch and shot a glance at Joshua. The southern man gave a slight inclination of his head, and followed John up the stairs.

The stranger entered first, pushing the screen door back to open the front door. It swung open with a creak that could have woken the dead. Dean shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold. John entered first, Sam still in his arms, Dean close behind him, pushing his fatigued body to stay alert. If this guy was going to try anything, Dean would be ready.

As he stepped into the cabin, Dean took a moment to study the surroundings. There were two threadbare armchairs by an open hearth and an overly large sofa on the opposite side of the room. A long sideboard hosted an arrangement of photographs and there was a cabinet above it with a number of liquor bottles peeking from behind the glass door. Two small lamps lit the room and the orange glow from the fire made the room seem warmer.

Dean subconsciously strayed towards the flames, his body seeking the heat radiating from the crackling logs, but his eyes continued to scan the room, noting the exits and searching for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't find anything, however.

Joshua and Russell carefully lowered the litter onto the floor, the former kneeling beside Caleb to examine him.

“I'll grab the first aid kit, then see about getting some help up here,” the man said, watching as John gently placed Sam on the couch.

“Thanks, uh -” he gestured with his hand.

“Ethan – Ethan Solomon,” the stranger offered his hand. John took it without hesitation but Dean noticed the slight tension in the gesture.

“John Winchester.”

“Shame we're not meeting under better circumstances, John.” Ethan let out a long breath. “I'll be back in a moment.”

John watched the stranger move through the double doors into the adjacent room.

“Here's hopin' this guy does have a radio and ain't a friggin' nutcase,” Russell said quietly.

“You never did trust people, Russ,” Joshua said with a weary smile, glancing up from his examination of the unconscious Caleb.

The older hunter grunted. “Never had much reason to, kid. Besides, call me a cynical bastard, but the guy came out of nowhere, brandishing a rifle. That ain't exactly pullin' at my trust strings.”

“Yeah, well, as long as he calls for help first, I couldn't give a shit if he's Annie Wilkes.”

Dean moved over to his father and brother, keeping close enough to the fire to soak in the warmth. His entire body felt like a block of ice.

“He OK?” Dean asked, glancing down at his unconscious brother. Underneath the blood, bruises and cuts, Sam's skin was paler than the snow outside.

“He'll be fine,” John said a little too quickly, and Dean wasn't sure who his father was trying to reassure – himself or Dean.

“Wish I had your optimism, Johnny,” Russell said. He winced as Joshua pulled back the sleeping bag and the gauze covering Caleb's leg. Even from his stance, Dean could see it was messy and, beneath the blood, it was obvious that infection was setting in. The limb had ballooned and was oddly distorted, and the skin was puffy and red. “Christ...Caleb is a goddamn mess.”

Carefully, Joshua replaced the gauze and rose to his feet. It didn't look good for Caleb, and everyone in the room knew it. Dean was no doctor, but even he realised it was quite possible that Caleb's leg might not survive this ordeal. If the break was too bad, or the infection too deep...amputation might be the only option. It was a chilling thought, and Dean suddenly understood the lessons his father had drilled into him about being prepared on a hunt. There was too much that could go wrong, as this gig had proven, and the consequences of screwing up were colossal.

“Six weeks in traction, six months physical therapy...He's gonna bitch-slap your ass when he comes round, Russ,” Joshua said, slapping his father's shoulder. He gave him a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. The banter was forced, and Dean knew it. He didn't need his little brother's brains to see they were trying to make light of the situation.

“Yeah, well, he's got to come round first,” Dean muttered.

Ethan chose that moment to reappear, first aid kit in hand. He handed a stack of clean towels to Joshua and then opened the kit on the sideboard.

“There's alcohol, and some clean gauze. Take what you need.”

“The radio?” John questioned.

“It's in the kitchen,” Ethan said, gesturing over his shoulder with a slight flick of his head. “We'll see if we can get in touch with anyone down in Deadwood. If not, Central City isn't much further out; we can raise the local authorities there.”

John nodded, shooting a glance at Dean. “I'll be back in a second. Take care of your brother.”

Dean didn't need to be told, but he got the underlying meaning in John's words; his father still wasn't sure whether to trust this guy or not. Russell, it seemed, wasn't the only one with trust issues.

Dean watched his father's retreating back for a moment before turning to his brother. Kneeling beside him, Dean carefully brushed his blood-stained hair off Sam's face and sighed. His brother had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last hour or so, but he'd been out of it since the wolf attacked. The sleeping routine was worrying him and he hoped it wasn't indicative of something more sinister. The wounds he could see were bad enough, but it was the internal damage that was more worrying. He'd feel better when the kid was under the supervision of a doctor, and he just hoped this guy, Ethan, would come through for them. Dean wasn't sure he could withstand round three; the first two rounds had been hard enough.

“You better be OK, Sammy,” Dean murmured, studying his brother for any sign that he was going to awaken. Sam remained stubbornly still, his chest rising and falling as he took shallow gulps of air. Dean winced. He wished he could fix his brother, take his pain away, but Dean could do nothing but wait and pray.

“How you doing, kid?”

Dean glanced up from his brother as Joshua moved towards the couch, his eyes roving over Sam for a moment before sliding his gaze back to Dean.

“I'm fine,” Dean replied quietly. He was anything but fine, but he wasn't about to whine about his own injuries, not when his brother was out cold and Caleb was one step from checking out.

“Well, when we get to the hospital they'll hook you up with some of the good stuff. It'll take the edge off that shoulder of yours.” Joshua obviously didn't believe his assurances.

Dean glanced back towards his brother. “You think we can trust this Ethan guy?”

Joshua shrugged. “The guy seems harmless enough – a little odd maybe – but I don't think he's hiding the bodies of hikers under the floorboards.” He gave him a wry smile. “Not everything in the world is evil, Dean.”

Dean disagreed. The world was full of evil, and sometimes Dean felt like he was drowning in it. Most people didn't have a clue what dwelt in the darkness, didn't know that monsters existed, but Dean couldn't escape it. He'd seen too much over the years, he'd faced too many creatures hell-bent on revenge, willing to murder innocent people to gain closure on their own pain to say evil didn't exist.

And then there were things like the Black Annis.

She wasn't seeking revenge or closure for crimes committed against her; she enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the eventual kill. She was a predator through-and-through, and her only thought was satisfying her blood-lust. She was carnal evil, the worst side of nature. Dean was well aware of the fact that there were hundreds, possibly thousands, of supernatural species like her who acted on the primal instinct to hunt. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and humans weren't as high up the food chain as they liked to think. Worse than that, Dean had seen those same qualities in many people he'd met over the years, people who cared only about their own survival and didn't mind trampling anyone to get what they wanted in life. They weren't as open about it as the Annis, but it was there nevertheless. People could be just as evil as the monsters and demons, more so, in fact, because humans had consciences.

Sometimes, Dean wished he could have his innocence back, that he could just be a naïve seventeen-year-old, but that ship had well and truly sailed. It pained him to admit it, but he could never go back to normal; John would never allow it anyway, but Dean himself knew too much about the supernatural world to pretend it didn't exist. Still, he had tried to protect Sam from it, and so had John.

Since Sam had found out that monsters and demons were real, Dean had tried so hard to shield him from the harsh reality of their lives. It was one thing doing a little research here and there, but John wouldn't allow Sam to hunt with them, and Dean agreed with his father. For nearly four years, the supernatural world had only been legends and myths for his brother, but the Annis had changed all that. Sam had faced two creatures tonight – two dangerous predators – and Dean knew there was no going back.

This was definitely not the kind of hunt Dean had wanted for Sam's first. Dean had wanted back-up, a host of preparation and several well-trained hunters watching his brother's ass. He hadn't wanted his little brother scared, alone and almost flayed while freezing to death.

“Good news,” John said as he strode back into the room, Ethan on his heels. “Sheriff's sending a chopper to take us to Lead-Deadwood Hospital.”

Joshua flashed Dean a 'told-you-so' look before straightening from the floor beside the couch. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes or so – as long as the weather holds out anyway,” Ethan replied, scratching absently at his cheek. “Won't be able to fly that bird if there's a blizzard coming down, but sky looks clear so it should be fine.”

Dean let out a relieved sigh, thankful that this nightmare was almost over. He hadn't realised how wrong he was.

A/N 2 - well, this is the penultimate chapter folks. Last chapter should, hopefully, be up soon. Hope you enjoyed.