Disclaimer: I don't own them and make not profit from anything Winchester. Kripke and the CW hold title to the Winchesters, lucky ducks.
Beta'd: By TraSan, thanks for all your help. I played after she worked her magic.
A BIG THANK YOU to TraSan for a look into the Magical Creature Encyclopedia!
"Dean, I think I've found something we can hunt. In the past three weeks six hikers have gotten lost in the northern woods of Minnesota."
"So what makes you think it's something we want to get involved with?"
"From all reports, the adults that find their way back are pretty addled, unable to concentrate. But it's worse for the kids, Dean. It says here that the children never seemed quite right after their foray into the woods. Dr. Charles Winston reported that one of his clients became hysterical, thrashing and screaming when he was tickled. 'I observed a play exercise where the subject appeared to be fighting for his very life when his father attempted to tickle him.' The article goes on to say that they tested most of the kids who had gotten lost that spring had all displayed hysterical behavior when tickled."
"So, I still don't see why we're interested in hikers with no sense of direction."
"Dean, its spring, hikers are missing, including children and we're in the north woods of Minnesota. Remember the Leshii you and dad went after, before that spring you and I went camping with Pastor Jim and the church youth group? I checked the reports from that spring and found it all points to the Leshii. It looks like the cycle has started again and so far six hikers have gone missing this spring."
"Ok, so let's go out in the north woods with our clothes on backwards and hope we don't run into some hot chicks in hiking boots, short shorts and flannel."
"See, you do remember that spring. Now here it says that the Leshii like offerings of suet, bread, salt and blini – that's like blintz with sour cream and fruit filling. We can order the blini at the diner on the way out of town. We'll hit the grocery store for bread and salt. We might be able to get one of those suet bird feeders at the grocery store too."
"So now you're telling me we're packing a lunch for the Leshii with our clothes on backwards."
"Yeah, but Dean here's the part you'll like, they're shape shifters so you can kill it with a silver bullet or you can tell it jokes and try to get it to laugh."
"So what kind of jokes do you tell a Leshii?"
"I'm not sure but don't try 'there was a priest, a rabbi and minister'. The legend says if they like your jokes they might befriend you and teach you their magic."
"Magic, I don't need their stinking magic," Dean aped after the well known line from the old western Sierra Madre. Rifling through his duffle bag he pulled out the colt, loaded the clip with silver bullets and snapped it into place. "You ready, Sam?"
Deciding the best way to find the Leshii would be to join the search party for the missing hikers, Dean loaded Metallica into the cassette player and cranked the volume, maintaining the beat on the steering wheel.
Driving out highway 14 to the Itasca Wilderness area gave Sam a blurred view of verdant green meadows filled with the promise of spring.
Spring, the time of renewal, when animals woke from their winter slumber, the time when Leshii emerge full of wildness and lured campers and hikers from the trail.
Gazing out the side window Sam remembered the spring of '92, the first spring he was aware of what was out there.
"Hey, Dean, do you remember that guy Scott?"
"Oh, yeah, he was a pain in my ass that summer," chuckling at the next thought that came skittering through his mind. "He sure wasn't a problem that next summer."
"No, 'cause wasn't that the year that you grew five or six inches." Sam's grin reached from ear to ear, dimples etched deeply into his cheeks as the picture from the past took root in his minds eye. "I remember you wearing high water pants most of that year at school. By the way, that was not a good look for you, dude."
"Sammy, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. It was two or three years that you sported that look. Every time dad bought you more than two pair of jeans you immediately shot up three or four inches. I'm pretty sure you went through another growth spurt while you were at college."
"Yeah, but poor Scott was still the same height that second summer. You and dad had been working on hand to hand combat all winter and weren't you lifting weights then too?"
"Oh, yeah that's when I developed this fine physique," Dean said running a hand across his six pack abs.
"Ok," Pastor Jim explained, "the rules to this competition are, as we pass the bag around stick one marshmallow into your mouth and say the number of marshmallows in your mouth and the words 'Chubby Bunnies.' You must not bite or chew the marshmallows, you can't spit or swallow." Jim demonstrated by putting the marshmallow into his mouth, tucked it next to a back molar and said, "One chubby bunny," and passed the bag to Ryan sitting to his right. "Remember, young men speak clearly and don't spit or swallow."
Round after round the boys stuck marshmallows into their cheeks and uttered the words chubby bunnies, which by the fourth round was sounding more like chawee wanies. Ryan, sitting next to Pastor Jim stuck the fifth marshmallow in straight back, touched his uvula and gagged. Forcing the marshmallow out of his mouth, stepping toward the fire he spit the blob of goo and watched as it caught fire, puffed up and burned quickly.
As the field narrowed the laughter coming from the fallen increased.
During round seven, Shawn, no longer able to contain the sticky goo began to gag and spit the mess into the fire. The sound effects were enough to topple two more players, who tried to force the goo back into their mouths, gag reflexes took over and they too succumbed to the chubby bunny.
Sam, having stuck the eighth marshmallow into his mouth then immediately spit his wad into the fire and watched it burn. Glancing over at his big brother he mouthed the word, "Sorry," as he wiped his sticky mouth on his sleeve.
The cocky grin that came back from Dean was framed by a glistening stream of marshmallow goo. Giving Sam thumbs up he turned his attention to the final competitor, Scott. Not one to back down from the challenge Dean continued to stuff his mouth with marshmallows, now looking like a golden mantle chipmunk and drooling out as much goo as he could manage.
It was round ten, the competition was down to the final two combatants, Dean, and Scott the loud mouthed punk who had been a pain in Dean's butt since they met at church last fall.
Scott was on a Rotary sponsored wrestling team and was always trying his moves on the smaller kids. Scott was more like a WWF wrestler trying to body slam seven and eight year olds, the fact that he was almost fourteen and out weighed most kids his own age by thirty pounds or more.
Just yesterday, before they piled into the church bus, Scott had cornered Sam and had him in a choke hold. Nine year old Sam was no match for the bigger kid, he tried but couldn't break the hold. Sam's eyes had made the journey to the back of his skull as
Dean came around the end of the bus. Seeing Sam lose consciousness spurred Dean into action. Without thinking he launched a flying tackle at Scott.
Using his momentum he knocked Scott down and dragged him away from a prostate Sam. Rolling across the graveled church parking lot the boys grappled for position, first Dean was on top, and then their positions reversed. Scott wrapped his hands around Dean's throat and started to squeeze. As dark spots clouded his vision Dean heard the smack of flesh meeting flesh, the constriction of his windpipe was released as he coughed trying to bring oxygen back into his lungs in great heaving gasps.
Just then Pastor Jim came around the back of bus, putting himself between Scott and Sam. "You boys knock it off. Dean, are you okay?" Jim asked as Dean gained his feet.
"Dean, are you okay?" Scott mimicked as fury leaped from his eyes. "Pastor Jim, Sam hit me."
"Then I would suggest Scott that you turn the other cheek. Now, all of you get on the bus so we can head out to the camp." As the other boys reluctantly headed for the bus Jim put a restraining hand out to both Dean and Sam.
"Now boys I know that this isn't what you expected when your dad dropped you off yesterday but you've got to make the most of it. I was able to make room for you on this trip and the others have been waiting a long time to go into the woods. Please keep the fighting to a minimum."
"But Pastor Jim, Scott started it," Sam's voice plaintive as he tried to explain.
"Sam, I don't care who started it. You know more than most boys your age about fighting and I don't need to take these guys home to their folks all battered and bruised because the Winchester's were allowed on this trip. Now go get on the bus so we can get camp set up while it's still light out."
Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder and led the way to the bus door, "It's okay, Sammy. He didn't hurt you did he?" concern wrapped around every syllable.
"No, he didn't it just scared me when I woke up and he was choking you. I wanted him to stop so I hit him as hard as I could."
"You did good, Sam, you're my hero." Dean said as he ruffled Sam's shaggy mop of hair. "Let's try to stay out of Scott's way this weekend."
"You're not afraid of him are you?" incredulity seeped into Sam's voice.
"Nope, Sam, I'm not. But by the end of this trip he won't be messing with the Winchesters."
Sticking the thirteenth marshmallow into his mouth Scott managed again to say chawee wanies but started to gag as he passed the marshmallows to Dean.
Dean watched as Scott continued to gag and formulated his plan. Dean stuffed the thirteenth marshmallow in gagged and let the marshmallow fall from his mouth. Catching the falling debris in his hands Dean looked to Pastor Jim and said, "I didn't spit or swallow can I put it back in?"
Pastor Jim scratched his head saying, "Well, the rules don't say anything about taking it out and putting it back as long as you can say chubby bunny."
Before putting the mess back into his mouth he made a gagging noise then started pushing the partially melted goo back into his mouth. Each time he got the goo in he would gag again letting it fall into his hand.
Each time Dean gagged, both Sam and Scott gagged, finally getting all the marshmallow into his mouth with a supreme effort but the look on Scott's face told him the plan was working. "frteeen chawee wanies," came muffled out of Dean's mouth and again he gagged.
Scott continued to gag as he tried to stuff another marshmallow into his distended cheeks. As Scott attempted to force the words, "fourteen chubby bunnies," past his lips Sam doubled over and heaved his supper onto the ground between his feet.
No longer able to control his gag reflex Scott too heaved his stomach contents into the fire ring.
Dean smiled as he pushed yet another marshmallow into his mouth and quickly uttered "ifteen schawee wanies" in Scott's direction and smiled as Pastor Jim declared him the winner.
Sam went over to congratulate his brother, slapping Dean on the back as Dean spit the remaining sugary substance into the fire.
"Thanks for your help Sam," Dean said after cleared his throat and spit the coalesced phlegm into the fire.
"What do you mean Dean? How did I help?" Sam said with a quizzical look on his brow.
"Dude, you know you puke anytime you hear someone gag. I'm just sorry it took you so long to blow chunks. I almost lost it when I had to force all that stuff back into my mouth."
They laughed as the other boys came around to tell what they found funniest about the contest and congratulate the winner.
After the laughter died down the boys decided to tell scary stories, it was full dark and the new moon had just crested the horizon.
Old classics like The Golden Hand, the legend of a man who met and courted a woman after catching a glimpse of her golden hand. After they were married he slowly poisoned her and on the night of her funeral he put the golden hand beneath his pillow and slept. Later awaked when the bedroom door crashed open and the green misty specter of his deceased wife swirling into the room on a mighty gust of wind.
He heard the specter of his wife screaming above the sound of the wind, "Where is my golden hand? Give me back my golden hand." Ryan screamed as his hand was caught in a crushing grip.
The second story was told by Scott. The story he told was of the Black Aggie a life-sized bronze of a shrouded angel. As the story goes, pregnant women who passed through the shadow of the angel soon miscarried, if you rested on the lap of the angel she would come to life and crush you to death in her dark embrace.
Scott told of the initiation rite he had heard his older brother talking about, of the overcast night with just a sliver of a moon the night during pledge week that all pledges dreaded. The pledges were challenged to spend the night crouched at the base of the Black Aggie with their backs to the grave of her husband. Around midnight two of fraternity brothers sent to witness the act of courage called out as they saw the shrouded angel turn her head towards the crouching young man. Her eyes glowed red as her arms reached towards the cowering figure.
The fraternity brothers leapt forward to save the pledge but it was too late. One horrified scream from the pledge and his body disappeared into her embrace. Turning from the statue the fraternity brother ran screaming from the cemetery.
The night watchman heard the screams and searched the area, finding the young man dead. It appeared he died from fright.
Dean glanced at Sam, wriggled his eyebrows and laughed as Scott finished his story.
Scott glared as Dean laughed, "You think you can do any better, Winchester?" his tone derisive.
"Any day of the week, with one tonsil tied behind my tongue," Dean's eyes glittering in the dark.
"Now, Dean keep in mind we've got young Sam here." Pastor Jim cautioned, knowing the 'stories' Dean could tell about the things that go bump in the night.
Dropping his voice he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees Dean began his story. "It happened on a night much like tonight, a family camping in the north woods were settling in for the night.
Crickets chirped and overhead you could hear the quiet beat of an owls wings as it left its burrow for the nights hunt. Small nocturnal animals scurried furtively through the campground attempting to elude the owls notice. The owl hooted from a distance as something large parted the bushes near the tent.
A voice called out softly, "Johnny you've got to see this."
Johnny rolled out of his sleeping bag, crept to the door and slid the zipper just far enough to climb through.
"Johnny, over here," the voice whispered as the bush parted and a small boy passed through.
Johnny followed quickly but every time he got close the boy would dart just out of reach.
"There it is," the boy whispered as he pointed towards a darkened cavern.
Johnny crept to the opening of the cavern, inside the red glow of eyes startled him. A fetid smell emanating from the opening roiled his stomach. The red glowing eyes continued to watch as Johnny turned from the opening to relieve his stomach of its contents.
Johnny felt rather than saw that the boy was no longer there. In his place was a giant of a man, legs the size of tree trunks, shoulders broad, blocking the moons meager light. Curiosity drew Johnny's gaze from the towering shoulders down to the broad chest covered in brown sack cloth, down to the massive feet. The feet looked deformed in the pale moonlight until Johnny realized the shoes were on the wrong feet.
Slowly Johnny shifted to the right of the giant, looking for a chance to dart past him to return to his family. The man followed Johnny's move with his eyes. When Johnny was sure he could get by the man he darted toward, only to run into the solid wall of the giant's chest. Looking up again, the giants face bathed in the pale light revealed a long flowing beard with moss and twigs woven in. Turning again Johnny ran to the left and again he ran into the man. Everywhere he turned the man was there in front of him. Cries of frustration escaped Johnny.
The giant man reached slowly for Johnny curling his fingers convulsively till his fingers dug into the soft flesh of his sides.
Sam sat listening to the beginnings of Dean's story, once he was sure Dean was talking about the Leshii he slipped back from his place at the fire ring. Snaking through the underbrush surrounding the camp he made his way around to where Scott was sitting.
Laying in the bushes behind the ring of campers Sam listened as the crickets chirped and the story built. Deeper and deeper into the woods and away from his family Johnny traveled. Dean's voice had captured everyone's attention, even Pastor Jim was listening intently as the story unfurled.
'Wait,' Sam thought as he edged closer to Scott. 'Wait, be quiet and don't let him hear you.'
Now crouching Sam waited patiently, Dean's voice washing over him, calming him as he waited for just the right moment.
Finally Dean's voice rose to say, "The giant man reached slowly for Johnny, curling his fingers convulsively till his fingers dug into…"
Sam's timing was perfect when he chose that moment to dig his fingers into Scott's sides.
Scott let out a blood curdling scream and nearly jumped into the fire pit.
Sam ran for the tent, diving through the opening and under the sleeping bag. Peering out to the campfire he watched as Scott jumped up to pursue his attacker. Dean leapt across the fire pit to get between Scott and Sam effectively cutting the pursuit short.
Pastor Jim stepped between Dean and Scott but not before Scott let loose a roundhouse punch that deflected off Pastor Jim's shoulder before clipping Dean's chin.
Addressing the boys still sitting around the fire Pastor Jim firmly stated, "Boys, I think its time everyone heads to bed. Be sure to brush your teeth before you hit the sack. Move along, young men."
Grumbling about being sent to bed the boys grabbed their toothbrushes and headed as a group to the water spigot to brush and spit before heading for their tents.
Jim held Dean and Scott back as they too had headed for their tents. Shaking his head in disbelief, "Dean, Scott I don't know who started this battle between the two of you but it has to stop! The other boys are looking up to both of you and hero worship is not far behind. I can't have you dividing the camp by the turf war you two roosters have started strutting around, flapping your feathers at each other. Somebody is bound to get hurt and you don't want me to have to explain to your folks what happened."
Pinning Scott with a steely glare Jim continued, "Now, I'm going to forget that you took a swing at Dean and that I got caught in the crossfire."
"Dean, it's your turn to turn the other cheek."
"I'm just guessing here, but you don't mean that I should drop my pants so Scott can kiss my …"
"Dean," Pastor Jim's voice exploded, "that is enough! You two stay clear of each other the rest of the weekend. Scott, you stay away from Dean and his brother and he'll stay clear of you," exasperation woven through every syllable. "Now you two go on and brush your teeth and get to bed!"
"Yes, sir," Dean said respectfully as he turned towards his tent.
"Yes, sir," Scott mimicked in a snotty tone. "You stay out of my way Winchester or it's going to be you and me behind the bus and I'm not going to let you off as easy as I did your precious brother."
With his jaw clenched Dean's voice hissed, "Don't touch my brother! Don't even look at him cross-eyed or I'll be all over your ass!"
"You talk really big, little man," Scott sneered.
Straightening to his full height of 5'3" Dean replied, "I can back it up, asshole. Don't push me.
After parking the Impala at the trailhead Dean grabbed the duffel with the needed supplies as Sam checked in with the search command center.
"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean. We'd like to help with the search."
"Thanks for coming out, we're happy to have you. I'll need to see your ID and have you sign a release. We are using walkie talkies to maintain contact and GPS to pinpoint the location of our searchers. Here's a map of the search area, the shaded areas have been assigned a team. You're being assigned sector C-7."
Looking at the name tag pinned to her shirt Sam asked, "Teresa, could you tell us if there are any caves or mines in the area?"
"Not in grid C-7," studying the map Teresa pointed to grid F-12, "there are caves in this sector. We sent the sheriff's Search and Rescue team in there about 2 ½ hours ago. It's quite a hike in and in pretty rugged terrain."
Dean walked up flashing a mega watt smile at Teresa and asked, "Are you ready to go, Sam?"
"Sir I'll need to see your ID and have you sign the waiver."
"What's that for?"
"The waiver releases the county from any liability if you get hurt while you're helping with the search. The county is not responsible if you injure yourself or die while you're here."
"That seems pretty cold hearted if you ask me," Dean said as he handed over the ID for both he and Sam.
"Sir, if you want to search these woods you'll need to sign the release. We'll provide you with a GPS locator beacon so we can find you if you get lost or injured. We ask that you check in hourly so we know you are okay. Do you have plenty of water with you? We've got coolers over under the tree with water, be sure to help yourself."
"We want everyone out of the woods by dark and we'll start again tomorrow if we don't find the hikers today. Do you have any questions?"
"None, thanks for your help, Teresa." Gathering the GPS and map in one hand Sam headed for the cooler. "Come on Dean, daylight's burning."
As they entered the woods Sam recited a prayer of protection. Dean checked the map for sector F-12 and headed out on a northwest heading.
After jogging about an hour they stopped, checking the ground for any signs of recent travelers. Dean took the time to stash the GPS before both he and Sam stripped down to their boxers. After turning their clothing inside out and putting everything on backwards. They headed out again without the tracking device
Leshii were like pixies in that respect, neither could bewitch you if you were wearing your clothes inside out and backwards.
Now fully prepared Sam and Dean continued at a more sedate pace as they came closer to the area they believed the Leshii had been hibernating. Now that it had awakened for the spring it would be moving farther away from its lair.
Contacting the search center was bothersome, originally Dean had ignored the request to check in but the radio chatter that followed a missed check in time forced his hand. He had just made his sixth contact with Teresa, with no sign of the missing hikers.
Sam continued to search through the northwest portion of sector F12, while Dean worked the southwest. Working quickly they were about to clear the sector when Dean found traces of sack cloth fiber caught in the bark of a tree.
Startled by the howl of a wolf, I looked around to see where I was. A dank fetid smell hung in the air, as my eyes traveled around the confined area. I'm in a cave, but I'm not sure how I got here.
Running through the events of the last few hours he remembered.
Megan and I had just passed through the meadow and started into the woods. She was holding my hand and laughing as she skipped through the tree line.
"Where are we going? Somewhere secluded, I hope."
She just laughed, let go of my hand and ran deeper into the woods.
"Meg, honey, wait for me." Out the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of her, her hair tangled wildly and then she was gone again.
I ran after her, "Meg, wait."
She laughed and darted away.
I stopped to catch my bearing and figure out where she was headed.
"Baby, over here." It sounded like she was deeper into the woods and to my left.
I ran towards her voice, caught another look at her as she headed towards the caves.
The sunny yellow dress she was wearing somehow seemed ragged, the color dingy. I followed as quickly as I could but she darted away just as I caught up.
As I neared the caves I heard her call from inside, "I'm waiting for you."
I heard her laughing, as though she were being tickled. The laughing continued, as I got closer the sound of merriment had changed to hysteria as she gasped for breath.
Running up the incline to the mouth of the cave I stumbled over Megan as I entered the darkened cavern. I crawled to her side, checked her pulse and pulled her into my arms when I found there wasn't one.
Contacting the search base camp was bothersome. Originally Dean had ignored the request to check in but the radio chatter that followed a missed check in time forced his hand. He had just made his sixth contact with Teresa, no one had reported seeing the missing hikers.
Sam continued to search through the northwest portion of sector F-12, while Dean worked the southwest. Working quickly they were about to clear the sector when Dean found traces of sack cloth fiber caught in the bark of the tree.
"Sam, over here," Dean's hushed voice called, not wanting his voice to carry in the woods.
The fetid air around him became more pungent. Turning towards the back of the cave the glowing red eyes of his tormentor pierced the dark.
Slowly a memory washed over him as he recalled a long forgotten story told around a spring campfire.
Shucking off his clothes he fought to turn them inside out and put them on backwards.
The glowing eyes came towards him out of the darkness. Questing fingers convulsed as the "man creature" began to reach for him.
Scrambling backward towards the opening he threw handfuls of debris towards the creature. It hadn't looked very far to the mouth of the cavern but it seemed to take it far longer than it should.
Cresting the mouth of the cave he tumbled backwards and rolled down the hill. As he tumbled his hand came into contact with a firm but forgiving surface just before he came to a sudden stop. The air in his lungs whooshed out as he slammed into a tree. Black spots danced before his eyes as darkness closed in and he lost consciousness.
Sam saw something rolling down the incline towards him. He barely had time to get out of the way, but not before a flailing fist caught him on the upper thigh. Wincing from the blow Sam watched as the tumbling body came to an abrupt halt. Signaling to Dean they approached the cave opening.
Dean reached into the duffel for the suet and bread to have the offerings at hand.
Edging into the cave Dean stopped to check the body of a woman, finding none he worked to the left side allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark before moving deeper into the cave. Seeing the glowing eyes at the back of the cave Dean gently tossed the suet and bread near the feet of the creature.
The Leshii bent a considerable distance to pick up the offering. Eating the suet first he began to hum his approval, finishing the bread the Leshii asked, "Blini?" his voice full of hope as he sniffed the air.
"Damn," Dean muttered he had had hopes of eating the Blini himself. Reaching into the duffel he took the Blini out and passed it to the Leshii, who had stepped closer, to receive the offering.
Reaching behind his back Dean grabbed his colt, aimed at the chest of the Leshii and fired. The explosion that followed reverberated in the small confines of the cavern.
Something close to disbelief crossed the Leshii's face as he dropped the blini, then fell across it.
"Son of a bitch," Dean exclaimed as he thought of the lost Blini. Checking the cave for evidence of other hikers he found instead a backpack and an assortment of shoes, jackets, hats and sunglasses, "Hey Sam, looks like this Leshii has some fashion sense. There is a collection of hiking gear here. From the size of this guy nothing here would fit him."
"Yeah, we've got bigger problems than Leshii fashion. We've go to get the tumbleweed up and out of here. Hopefully he won't be fully aware of what's happened, otherwise he may put up quite a fight."
"Sam, you take care of the one outside. I'll get this mess cleaned up enough that we can call Teresa and get Search and Rescue to haul them both out."
After carrying the woman outside Dean covered her with a jacket found in the cave. "Damn it, Sam she's not even cold. If only we had gotten here sooner."
Returning to the cave Dean cleared the farthest corners of hiking gear then worked on moving the Leshii to the back then scattered the gear in front of it.
It wasn't a great job of camouflage but hopefully it would do.
Kneeling down next to the body Sam checked for a pulse, finding one he also checked the guys' eyes and found them equal and reactive.
Sam was careful not to move the hiker until he had checked for broken bones. Afraid there might be internal injuries he gently palpated the hikers torso.
No reaction to the palpation gave Sam the encouragement to gently turn the guy onto his back. In a brief moment Sam recognized the lost hiker, flashing back to the summer of '92 and the bully who had towered above him.
The bully, still unconscious moaned softly as he settled into the new position on his back. Stretched out on the ground it didn't look like the guy was much over 5'9".
The smile that split Sam's face sent sparks from his eyes. "Dean, is going to have a fit over this."
Walking over to Sam and the hiker Dean said, "I've called the base camp. Teresa is sending a chopper out with Search and Rescue to help take them out of here."
As he looked down into the face of the hiker, Dean's face blanched, "Son of a bitch, Sam, that's Scott! I've changed my mind we're not taking this guy out of here."
"Dean, we can't leave him here. You've already called Teresa which means the chopper will be here in a few minutes. We need to get our clothes turned right and get ready to travel."
"Son of a bitch," Dean exclaimed as he dragged his hand through his hair, "if it isn't my buddy Scott."
Scott struggled to sit up to reduce the height advantage Dean had over him. "What are you doing here Winchester and where is Pastor Jim?"
"Isn't it obvious, I'm saving your sorry ass and Pastor Jim died a couple years ago."
"Sam," he said tossing the walkie talkie to his brother, "Call Teresa back, tell her we don't need the chopper. We'll just leave Scott out here."
"You can't leave me out here!"
Dean leaned down until he was in Scott's face, "Don't push me, Scott."
"Dean, you know we can't do that, besides we've got the get the girl out of here. She doesn't deserve this."
"Are you saying that I do? What do you mean Pastor Jim died? He was here last night," confusion crept into Scott's voice. Trying to stand up he leaned heavily on the tree, "Where's Megan? I want to see her."
"Megan's over there," Dean answered, pointing to a shady area about twenty feet from the cave.
"What is she doing here? I thought it was just supposed to be us guys this weekend."
"Scott, I'm telling you we found her over there. How many fingers am I holding up?"
Sam asked as he looked closely at Scott's eyes.
"Scott, you found her over there and fell backwards from there. See the trail you left." Sam explained it a tone well suited for a first grader.
"I don't know what you two are trying to pull but I'm not going to fall for it. Wait till I tell Pastor Jim what you're doing."
"That's fine. We'll go and leave you here. You tell Pastor Jim what we did and we'll see you next summer," turning away Dean muttered, "sucker."
"Sam," Dean said around a gigantic mouthful of pancake, "Bobby called while you were in the shower. He needs our help out on Mackinaw Island.
"Okay, hey, Dean, you didn't put itching powder in my clothes did you?" Sam asked over his half eaten plate of ham and eggs.
"No, why?" Dean asked as he squirmed on the vinyl seat of the banquette.
"Because the backs of my legs are itching like crazy."
"I didn't do it," holding his hands up in a defensive manner. "But now that you mention it," digging at the back of his thighs. "I'm pretty itchy too."
"Poison ivy," they said in unison.