A/N: Sorry guys, don't usually give yall a short chapter but, its hard to write when I ain't motivated too. LOL but, after I finish this fic, I will break the chapters down so they ain't so short.

hope you enjoy ^^

"Sam!" Dean's voice echoed throughout the woods and went unanswered just like he knew it would. "Son of a..." He muttered angrily, kicking something hard on the ground.

"What the hell was that." Haley was behind him now, along with her brother, Ben. They must have followed after him.

Dean could tell, by the way her voice was heavily laced with disbelief, that she finally got a clear look at what it was that had taken her older brother, what had now taken HIS brother. They were ugly, and unlike anything anyone has ever seen. Getting a close up of them was enough to tell you it wasn't the normal kind of animal. Then again, usually no one lived long enough to comprehend what it was or to tell the tail because you'd realize that it wasn't an animal at all. More like a beast with a thirst that couldn't be quenched and monster straight out of the books. Literally.

Dean bit his lip, hard. Watching that, thing, take his brother sent every fiber in him in overdrive. With both worry and anger being the main conductors in his rising notches. Topside, was that Wendigos liked to keep their prey alive for a good amount of time. He just hoped that was the case until he could get to Sam.

He spotted something laying on the ground and realized it was the Journal. Sam must have dropped it in his struggle with the Wendigo.

Ignoring the sick twist of concern in the pit of his stomach, he walked over to it and picked it up.

"What the hell is that thing? Is that what took Tommy?" Haley threw the question at him with mild frustration, wanted answers to questions she dreaded to ask.

Dean looked up, hoping that Sam would just fall out of thin air and hadn't been carried off. Wishful thinking. He rubbed a hand down his face and stood back up. He turned to the two dumbstruck siblings. Haley was eyeing him expectantly, waiting for him to answer her question, and Ben stood behind her with his mouth slightly agape. The kid looked horrified.

Dean felt a pinch of sympathy for them. He knew what it was like to not know if your brother was dead or alive. For years, that was the same thought process that Dean himself had. Sam was at school and being the pain in ass brother he was, didn't call him, not even once a year. So, being the awesome big brother he was, Dean would sometimes visit Stanford to see how Sam was and being careful to not let Sam know he was there. Of course, his dad was always dead against it anytime Dean brought it up and told him;

"Sam made his bed, let him lay in it."

The reply always got under his skin. It was rare Dean ever disobeyed John but this was Sammy they were talking about here. So once every few months he made time to go all the way to Stanford and check up on Sam no matter how hurt he really was that his brother wouldn't even pick up the phone, not even when he called.

Maybe Sam thought that if he answered the phone that he would get sucked into the very thing he hated.

Him and Sam hadn't spoken for so long. He knew his brother hated hunting, hated going from hotel to hotel, town to different town and always having to transfer from multiple schools right when Sam finally got used to it. He always bumped heads with John on a regular basis, fighting with him about how they should be 'normal' kids. It ended up leading to Sam wanting to leave for College and John telling him to never come back.

Dean had never felt so torn.

He was struck between wanting to take Sam's side and listening to their father. He understood what Sam wanted, got why he wanted out of the hunting gig. Who wouldn't want to live a safe, happy life without worrying about what could possibly be under your bed at night? So he got where Sam was coming from, but he always knew John was right, too. Hunting things, saving people, it may have been their family motto, yet it felt right on a normal day. There are people out there that are blind to the supernatural monsters straight out of folk lure and because of that, they don't know what's coming or how to protect themselves.

Someone had to do this job, as sucky as it may be.

"It's a Wendigo." Dean answered simply, opening the journal and flipping through the pages to find a certain entry.

Her brows came together in confusion. "A what?" Haley gave him a look of insanity.

Dean was about to turn the page when he found what he was looking for. Words were written to cover the entire page, save for the middle where a stick figure like creature was drawn. "First of all, they are hundreds of years old. They are specifically known as 'Evil that devours'."

Haley was holding the sides of het face, trying to understand what she was hearing. "Wait. Wendigo?" She sounded skeptical.

"It's a Cree Indian word. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian or other times a frontiersmen, miner or hunter." Dean explained, closing the journal and tucking it away in his jacket.

Haley looked away from him, letting his words sink in and understanding some of what it means. "How does a man turn into one of those." She didn't think she wanted to know, but there was another question forming in the back of her mind, one that involved her possibly dead brother.

"Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter, guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe." Dean continued the explanation while walking back to the camp, Haley and Ben following him.

He hears Ben mumble something but couldn't quite understand what. He concentrated on finding the materials he would need to send the Wendigo to hell. Dean felt nothing but an undeniable wrath rising with every step he took. Thoughts of Sam being hurt or worse, killed, fueled the burning fire raging in him. He wanted to hunt it down and kill it until there was nothing left to destroy.

"So, how does it become something like that. The way it looked?" Haley asked, uncertain about it all.

After getting what he needed, including a beer bottle, he bent down for the last piece of the puzzle. Fabric. He split it does the side until it was two separate materials. "Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality and if you eat enough of it," Dean met Haley's intense gaze, "over the years you become this, less than human thing. You're always hungry." He stated matter of fact and watched her eyes widen in realization.

She swallowed, a large lump stuck in her throat making it hard to even breath. What he was saying, what the creature does, there was nothing but 'hows' in her thoughts. How was Tommy alive then? How could they find him? How can they kill it? Too many questions so she asked the one that she feared the most. "So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "The same reason why Sam is still alive. Doesn't mean you'll like it though. I sure in the hell don't."

"Tell me."

He nodded. "More than anything, Wendigo's know how to last long winters without food. Hibernates for years without it. When it's awake, it keeps it's victims alive. It stores them. So it can feed whenever it wants." Dean shivered at the thought of Sam being in it's grasp.

Even if a Wendigo didn't kill its prey, it would no doubt toy with them. If anything, a monster loves torture and if hurting their victim ain't killing them than it's fair play. The very thought of it putting it's filthy claws on Sam made him nauseous. It didn't triumph over the anger he was feeling though.

"If your brother is alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden and safe. We have to track it back there."

Sam had a better chance at being alive considering he was just taken. He didn't know about Tommy, though. He hoped for their sake that it hadn't killed him instead.

"How exactly do we stop it." She wanted to know.

Dean looked down at the handmade Molotov in his hands. There was only one way to kill it. That was to forth the son of a bitch until he was ash on the ground. Extra crispy. "Guns are useless. So are knifes." He held up the bottle, the cloth securely half way into it and half soaked in gas.

She eyed it, knowing what it meant. "So, we got to set it on fire?"

"Yeah. Torch the sucker. First, we have to track it which won't be easier."