Season Two

Episode Eight: Scorn

By Tree

Part Two

Dean hit the ground hard, his shoulder striking the shovel as it became trapped between his body and the damp earth. Dazed, he heard another growl and his body was rocked as something solid came in contact with the left side of his chest. It took every ounce of concentration he could muster just to force another breath of air into his lungs. He struggled to rise back to his knees, but just as he got up to one arm and lifted his head, he spotted the front end of a hiking boot coming straight at his face.

Throwing up a protective arm deflected the attacker but left him vulnerable to yet another and he felt himself lifted off the ground as a separate booted foot contacted his abdomen. Despite the pain, part of Dean was mildly relieved. Boots were good; boots meant human and human was better than what he thought had been connected to the growl he had heard. Well, at least that’s what he was telling himself at the moment.

Lying on the dirt, Dean felt several more blows land on his body but he cut off that part of him that acknowledged the pain. There were three of them judging by the voices and the different angles that the kicks were raining in on him. He marked their positions around him and even timed the volley of their kicks. The bad thing about attacking someone in a group is that each person basically had to take a turn. A rhythm developed and rhythms were predictable.

Dean waited patiently, catching a glimpse of food line “Nathan” in between one round of kicks. He could hear the rich bastard going on about “him learning his place” and how they were going to “teach him a lesson”. Springing up, vertigo threatened to flatten him again, but he fought it down and grabbed the next booted foot that was on its way in.

“School’s in session boys,” Dean announced, pulling back on the boot and the leg it was attached to, dragging down one of the attackers. He immediately spun around and landed a fist directly into the nose of the second and was facing Nathan so fast the young man’s shocked look said it all.

Dean smirked, relishing the fear in the kid’s eyes. He’d seen this dozens of times before. Every time they moved and started a new school, he’d gone through the same thing being the outsider. Never having the right clothes or the latest “in” thing, he had almost always been the outcast. As such, it wasn’t usually too long before someone came looking to teach the “new kid” a lesson. Dean learned early on just how to handle himself in those situations. It was training that had served him well over the years.

As he was about to throw a punch directly at the young man’s face, Dean was spun around by the meaty arm of one of Nathan’s buddies. He took a hit to his jaw that made his ears ring but answered with one of his own that staggered the crony back on his heels. Knowing that the next attack was sure to come from the second of Nathan’s friends, Dean twisted and ducked underneath the fist that flew in over his head from the left. He propelled to his feet using the muscles in his legs to add force to the uppercut that he delivered with his right hand. Dean followed that with a left hook that put the Ridgecrest staffer flat on his backside, dazed and bloodied. Circling back to the first assailant, Dean landed two more punches in rapid succession and capped off his own offensive by a well placed knee to the chin of the muscular counselor. He smiled with satisfaction seeing the blood flowing freely from the man’s nose and mouth.

Before he could turn and advance on Nathan, Dean felt a solid impact across his lower back and he fell forward to his knees. His breath stolen once more, his mind became occupied with the pain that emanated from his spine but not so much that he didn’t comprehend the imminent danger associated with seeing the cocky rich kid standing over him brandishing the forgotten shovel.

“Devon, Sean, let’s go!” Nathan ordered, his eyes fixed on Dean, the shovel poised to strike.

The other two young men slowly climbed up from the ground, both definitely worse for the wear. They looked down at Dean as they walked past but neither made a move to attack the hunter any further. Once they made it past Nathan, the young man took a single step toward Dean and raised the shovel above his head.

“You just remember your place around here,” he threatened. The weapon shaking as he held it high.

Dean met his eyes but glared back defiantly. He knew Nathan wasn’t going to hit him with the shovel, not face to face. The guy didn’t have the guts to do it. People like Nathan had others do their dirty work for them. So when the blow did not immediately fall, Dean sprung to his feet and in a fluid movement had his hands on the handle of the shovel. Nathan surrendered the tool easily and was hurriedly backpedaling to catch up with his buddies as Dean twirled the shovel around in his hand.

For a moment, Dean considered pursuing the spoiled snob, but in truth, the attack was now starting to take its toll as bruises began to make themselves known and his brain began to acknowledge the pain that he had earlier denied attention. Going back to the maintenance shed, he turned off the light and carefully shut and latched the door.

Slowly and painfully, he made his way the short distance back to his quarters, catching sight of Sam standing outside as he approached. His brother was engaged yet again in a conversation with the two girls from dinner but as Dean approached, their discussion abruptly halted as the trio caught sight of his bloodied and discolored face.

The girls looked panicked and Sam immediately rushed over, his long strides quickly closing the short distance between Dean and the group. He reached out to support Dean, but the older sibling waved off the offer of assistance with an irritated grumble.

“What happened?” Sam asked worriedly.

“Oh, just my personal initiation into the Ridgecrest Chess team. No big deal,” Dean answered hotly.

“Nathan Taylor, I’ll bet,” one of the girls suggested. “He’s always trying to be the big man on campus or in this case, big man in camp. Every year, he’s always pushing the townies around. Lots of money, but what a jerk.”

Dean did his best to smile back at her, to reassure her that he was okay and that Nathan’s type was nothing new to him. “It’s all right. I don’t push easy.”

Sam noticed the bloody shovel that Dean was still toting and asked his brother about the item. As Dean was about to explain his find and the rest of the evening's events, he noticed that the two young ladies were still intently listening.

Grabbing Sam by the arm and beginning to draw him off towards his room, Dean turned toward the beautiful young staff members and smiled.

“Ladies, I have to talk to my brother about the archery class he’s teaching, but uh, if you’d like to get together with me later and help me prepare for a class on basic first aid, we can practice some “hands on” assessment skills,” he offered, his eyebrows raised suggestively, his smile every bit as seductive as he intended it to be.

The girls smiled coyly at the offer and the taller of the two glanced over at Sam and asked if he would be helping “teach” the first aid class too, obviously more interested in the younger Winchester than the beaten, bloodied and still less than aromatic Dean.

Sam chuckled, amused at seeing Dean so effectively shot down, so rare an occurrence that he had come to believe it nearly impossible. But then, these weren’t exactly Dean’s normal fare. When you’re used to cheeseburgers, it can be hard to know how to cook filet mignon. Dean shrugged it off. What was another load of crap in a perfectly crap filled day?

Dean led Sam to the door to his room, flipping on the switch to the one and only light within the tiny space. Barely large enough to contain a twin bed, dresser, night stand, small table and a chair, including Sam’s large frame was more than enough to make it feel confining.

“Damn dude,” Sam began, taking in the spartan accommodations with a single glance. “This place is so small you could turn around in here and run into yourself. Rhodes sure doesn’t waste any money behind the scenes.”

“Yeah, well maybe if I’m a real good boy, someday I can make it up to the big house like you,” Dean grumbled back, disappearing into the equally small bathroom. He returned a moment later with a wet washcloth and began to wipe off the drying blood from his head and face. Sam pushed him down into the chair and reached for the cloth to take over but Dean angrily swatted his hand away. Trying to ignore his brother’s continued bad temper, Sam took the half step back to the room’s door and picked up the blood-covered shovel Dean had found.

“So what’s the story with this? I’m assuming that this isn’t your blood?” Sam asked using a nail to scrape at the brownish stain.

“Nah, your counselor buddies apparently prefer using boots to shovels. Hell, I’m not sure Nathan would know what to do with that thing if his life depended on it," Dean replied back sarcastically.

“They’re not my buddies, Dean.”

“Yeah, well whatever. I walked this entire place and there’s no sign of any big animal tracks anywhere. Matter of fact, there’s no sign of anything supernatural going on here. But I came across that shovel in the maintenance shed. That’s a lot of blood on there Sam. Too much for just some sort of accident. So, I’m thinking that maybe our killer really does walk on two feet,” Dean announced.

Sam sighed. “I dunno Dean. Don’t you think if it was a person the police would have been all over that by now? Besides, I’ve been talking with some of the staff and they’re definitely spooked about the whole deal. The night that the two were killed, some of the workers woke to hear the girl screaming at the edge of the woods. They also heard something else, like a growl or screech of a big cat.”

“Yeah, so it’s a mountain lion like everybody says. Big deal! Rhodes has his hunters on it, it’s not our gig! Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean demanded, wincing as the washcloth touched the open wound on the back of his head and fresh blood began to trickle down his neck.

Sam grimaced and moved over behind his older brother, this time ignoring Dean’s stubborn refusal for help and snatching the cloth out of his brother’s hand to dab away the blood and get a better look at the injury.

“I’m telling you Dean, I don’t think it’s something as simple as that going on here. The deaths at this camp, the ones at the other camp last year and the year before. There’s a pattern to all this, I just haven’t figured it out yet,” he stated, then added “And this needs stitches dude!”

Without waiting for his brother’s approval, Sam dug through Dean’s gear bag, still laying unpacked on the edge of the bed. Taking out the necessary first aid supplies, he quickly went to work patching up his brother before Dean could protest. As he began to pull together the edges of the deep laceration, he could feel Dean tense underneath his hands.

“Sam look, I know you want there to be a hunt. But dude, we’re wasting time here. At best, this is a serial killer and at worse, it’s a friggin' wild animal. Either way, we need to be outta here and working on getting your ass free and clear of Haris again.”

“Dean, if you’d focus for just a minute, then you’d see that there really was a job here. Even if you didn’t trust me, you ought to trust Dad. He wouldn’t have sent us here for no reason.”

“He wouldn’t?” Dean questioned. “ 'Cause not like he hasn’t done that before.”

“I’m just saying that we haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. Why are you in such a hurry to ditch and run? It’s just not like you!” Sam commented as he pulled another length of suture through his brother’s scalp.

“Because I have more important things to do, Sam!”

“More important than saving people, hunting things?” Sam taunted, throwing his brother’s words from long ago back at him. There was tangible silence in the tiny room before Dean spoke.

“I only care about saving one person and hunting one thing! I don’t give a damn about anything else Sam,” Dean replied solemnly, his reference to Sam’s deal with Haris blatantly clear.

As Sam tied off the last of the stitches, pulling the knot tightly, Dean flinched and barely stifled a grunt of pain.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you,” Sam mumbled, instantly regretting the comment, knowing that his brother was sure to misunderstand his intent.

“Yeah, well, too late for that isn’t it?”

“Dean, are we gonna start that all over again?” Sam asked exasperated.

“No, we’re not,” Dean replied, rising to his feet and walking to the door. Opening it up, he leaned against the edge for support, not willing to expose any weakness to his brother that might cause Sam to hover one second longer in the small quarters. Sam sighed, taking the hint and heading for the room’s exit.

Dean could feel the mix of anger, desperation, and fear rising back up in his chest. Accompanied by the evening’s physical abuse and fatigue, he knew he was in no shape to debate Sam. So instead, he fired off the one weapon he knew would send his baby brother packing.

“Leave me alone Sam. Go back to your cushy lodge with your rich educated friends. I’ve got two doors to fix first thing, a dozen trash cans, oh and how could I forget, Cabin 4 needs another coat of stain. I’m going to bed.”

Sam started to reply, but before the first syllable came out of his mouth, Dean closed the door. He leaned against the interior wall for a minute, listening as his brother called out to him. As he heard Sam’s retreat, he slowly slid to the floor, his legs unable to hold him up any longer, the room spinning wildly.

He sat there for a long time, angry at Sam for forcing him to concentrate on this hunt, angry at himself for getting the shit beat out of him by a bunch of snot-nosed rich kids, and mostly, angry because the bed was only two feet away, which at the moment, was twenty-three inches too far.

* * * *

Sam was already eating when Dean made it to the cafeteria the next morning. Surrounded by a group of other “counselor” staff, it was abundantly clear that there was no place for Dean.

As he moved up to the food line, he spotted the same petite brunette from the day before. She looked up at him, doing a quick double-take as she spotted the fresh cuts and bruises marring his face. Dean saw her distress and did his best to smile back at her hoping it would reassure her.

“Hi. My name’s Dean. I wanted to thank you for the little snack last night. That was really nice.”

She smiled back at him, but instead of returning his greeting, she merely heaped a mound of bacon on his plate followed by an equally high pile of scrambled eggs. Dean grinned widely. If he couldn’t get her to talk, then this was an acceptable method of communicating as far as he was concerned.

He was just about to thank her for the extra portion when something rammed into his back, pushing him forward and nearly causing him to spill the entire tray. Dean recovered his balance just as Nathan Taylor and three of his cronies strode up to the serving line.

Dean carefully set his tray down on the counter as the other four young men offered up their plates to the girl for food. The brunette’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked over Nathan and his boys and then back at Dean. She could see that Dean had apparently given as good as he had received by the look of the broken nose and the blackened eyes on two of the bigger guys, that knowledge giving her reason to smile again just slightly.

Nathan turned toward Dean, eyes glaring as he attempted to intimidate the young hunter. Dean never flinched, merely met the stare and returned it back with an equally cold gaze.

“Do you need another lesson like last night?” Taylor questioned.

“You better bring more friends,” Dean answered, his fist already clenched and ready to strike.

Nathan was about to tap one of his friends into action when Roderick Rhodes strode into the large cafeteria and up to a podium.

The assembled staff all hushed respectfully as he began to speak, even Nathan and his troops turned their attention away from Dean and toward the camp Director. Nearly everyone in the place was watching and listening to Rhodes except for Dean. His attention was on the brunette who had chosen the distraction to stealthily spit into Nathan Taylor’s scoop of eggs before she placed them on his plate.

She saw Dean watching her, fear instantly flashing in her eyes. But Dean’s quiet laugh, his green eyes brightly winking back at her, quickly put her at ease. He smiled one last time, nodding at her conspiratorially then moved away to find a seat.

As Dean wolfed down the food, Rhodes droned on about the first group of guests arriving later today. Stressing the importance of preparation and decorum, he reinforced his earlier comments to the brothers about not tolerating any discussions on the “unfortunate events” of the week earlier. Rhodes finished by encouraging all the staff to “just be sure the guests have fun” and stepped away from the podium to the cheers and claps of those assembled. Dean merely shoveled in another bite and tried not to let all the pomp and circumstance make him ill.

As Rhodes moved away from the podium and amongst the rows of tables, he chatted with several of the Ridgecrest counselors. Nearing Dean, he frowned with displeasure seeing the obvious bruises and raw cuts across the young man’s face.

“I believe I told you that uncivilized behavior will not be tolerated here at Ridgecrest. I hope that I do not need to repeat myself again,” Rhodes stated.

Dean was about to snap back an angry answer, his patience with Rhodes, Nathan Taylor, and the entire place, worn seriously thin, when Sam dropped into an empty seat next to him. Dean returned to his breakfast as the older man moved off toward the exit nearly running headfirst into two men dressed in camouflage as they entered the cafeteria.

Sam and Dean watched as Rhodes exchanged several heated words with the two hunters before ushering them quickly from the prying eyes and ears of the nosy staff. They continued to watch as the men walked out of the dining hall, curious about the conversation, but sensing that the news had not been good for Rhodes.

“So what do you think that was all about?” Dean asked between bites.

“Hard to say, but I’m guessing Rhodes' hunters have come back empty-handed,” Sam replied. “Not surprising really,” he added after a second.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I talked to this girl, Deidre. She said she couldn’t sleep and was walking out in the woods the night the other two were killed. She actually even ran into them while they were making out. She turned to go back to camp and then heard all the screaming. She took off running, but said she was pretty sure she saw a six foot tall mountain lion or something behind her,” Sam informed.

“Dude, do you think these rich city kids would know a mountain lion from a fuzzy slipper?” Dean asked skeptically.

“She said she could take us out to where she saw it, to where the couple was killed. It's worth a look Dean,” Sam insisted.

Dean sighed, he still wasn’t giving in on his desire to be gone from the place and off onto finding a way to save his brother, but the one thing he’d never found a way to do in the past twenty-seven years of his life was to tell his baby brother “no." Shoving in the last bit of eggs and several pieces of bacon simultaneously, he nodded in agreement, mumbling out a muffled “fine."

Sam smiled eagerly, silently relieved that he wasn’t going to have to fight his brother to investigate this further.

“Great! Let’s meet over by Cumberland Hall in two hours. I have to finish putting together some stuff on deciduous trees for a class tomorrow.”

Dean stopped chewing, staring at his brother in disbelief. “Dude, you’re like in geek heaven aren’t you? You’re taking this camp counselor crap way too serious if you ask me. Fine, two hours. I have a class on waste-removal 101 that I still need to finish too.”

* * * *

Later that morning

Sam walked beside Deidre, his eyes intently focused on the trail while Dean followed a short distance behind, his eyes intently focused on Deidre. It was a relatively quick hike to the kill spot, the noise from the camp still detectable from beyond the rise of the hill.

When they reached the place, Deidre gasped, quickly turning and burying her face into Sam’s chest at the sight of the grisly remains. Although the body had been removed, the clearing was painted in a brownish bath. Ground cover, trees, leaves, nearly everything in the small radius had been splashed with blood during the slaughter of the young maintenance worker. While Sam tried to comfort the shaken young woman, Dean scouted the area, picking up a small bit of bloodstained clothing. Turning it over, he instantly tossed it back down with a disgusted grunt when his fingers sunk into an attached piece of rotting flesh.

Sam ushered Deidre off to the edge of the clearing and rejoined Dean in canvassing the scene. Kneeling down and brushing aside some fallen pine needles, he picked through the debris until his fingers closed on a small tuft of golden fur. Rising back up, he called Dean over to his side.

“What’ve you got?” his brother asked in a hushed tone.

Sam held out the piece of fur in his open palm. Dean nodded then motioned Sam over to another spot in the clearing. Bending down, Sam’s eyes followed to where Dean pointed out several marks in the soft dirt. The tracks were definitely “cat-like” but there the similarity ended. Twice the size of any wild cougar, the markings were nearly larger than Sam’s opened hand. As the reports had said, there were only two prints, side by side, just like a human walking upright.

“I’m suddenly getting flashbacks to New Jersey,” Dean announced, shaking his head. “Okay, so those tracks certainly don’t belong to a normal mountain lion and whatever killed that kid must have ripped him to shreds from the looks of all the blood.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I don’t know what in the world we’re dealing with, but it’s definitely not human either.”

“It might be helpful to see the bodies,” Dean suggested.

“I thought of that, but they’ve already been sent back to their families,” the younger hunter replied, his shoulders shrugging. Sam was about to continue speaking when a sudden noise beyond the clearing startled both brothers.

Dean immediately reached for the concealed .45 that he had tucked inside the “Ridgecrest” issued coveralls, but his hand relaxed as Rhodes’ two hunters appeared. Rifles in hand, the men entered the clearing, obviously surprised to see the threesome there.

“What’re you kids doin' out here?” the bearded one demanded, releasing the tension on the weapon’s trigger.

“We were just curious,” Sam lied. “It was kinda a dare.”

“Well, you better get your asses back to Ridgecrest and stay there,” the second hunter ordered, brandishing several rusted steel traps. “We’re baiting dozens of these traps all over the area. Gonna get that cat and don’t need no more of you city kids turning up dead.”

“Tell me,” Dean asked stubbornly, “have you ever seen anything like these tracks before?”

The burly hunter glanced off-handedly to where the older Winchester was pointing. He tried to hide his surprise and concern, but it was crystal clear to both Sam and Dean that neither of these “hunters” had ever come across prey such as this.

“Don’t you kids worry. There’s nothing that Daryl and I can’t track and kill,” the man responded.

Dean tried to contain his smile, part of him wanting to tell Bubba and his in-bred brother that they were horribly unprepared for hunting this particular creature until he sadly realized that he and Sam really didn’t know what they were up against either. Since there was nothing more to be learned from the scene, Dean nodded toward his brother and they collected the still shaking Deidre and headed back to the compound.

As they broke through the edge of the forest, numerous cars were pulling into the camp entrance, many parking and unloading the first wave of Ridgecrest guests. Dozens of the preteen privileged were emerging from BMWs, Mercedes, and even the occasional Hummer. Walking past the front entrance of the admin building, the threesome couldn’t avoid Rhodes’ supervising gaze.

“You two are late. You were supposed to be available to greet the guests as they arrived,” he reprimanded Sam and Deidre.

“Sorry,” Sam offered, nodding to Dean as he and Deidre scurried off to join their fellow counselor staff.

Rhodes then turned to Dean, and making no attempt to hide the scowl on his face he continued, “There’s a clogged drain in the kitchen. Please remember what it is that we pay you to do here at Ridgecrest.”

“Sure thing Rod,” Dean affirmed, turning away before the red-faced owner could respond.

* * * *

Camp Kitchen – Shortly After

Dean made his way to the rear entrance of the cafeteria, the bustle of activity in response to the newly arriving campers. With his standard issue toolbox in hand, he asked the first worker he came across which drain needed attention and was directed to one of the larger prep sinks. Since plumbing and auto mechanics had very little in common, Dean wasn’t exactly sure where to begin. Large wrench in hand, ducking his head underneath the metal counter, he began to tinker with the main pipe descending from the strainer.

Distracted by his efforts, he jerked backward striking his head on the edge of the counter when a soft hand touched his shoulder. Rolling over to his knees, one hand rubbing at the tender spot on the back of his scalp, through watering eyes he saw the serving-line brunette looking down at him apologetically.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she offered, her voice soft but with just enough southern drawl to make her charming. “My name’s Melissa.”

For the second time today, Dean introduced himself to the attractive young woman. Pushing himself up from the kitchen floor, the room began to spin madly as he fought to maintain his balance, his head reeling from yet another blow in the past twenty-four hours. Dean could feel the trickle of wetness begin to trail down his neck and when his fingers came away bloody, he knew Sam’s handiwork had busted open.

Melissa noticed the fresh crimson line as well and without a moment’s hesitation, she quickly pushed Dean down into a nearby chair. Grabbing a towel, she located the source of the bleeding and pressed the cloth firmly against the wound apologizing when Dean winced in pain. He considered brushing her away, not wanting her to fuss over him, but then reconsidered, deciding that it had been far too long since the last beautiful young woman had graced him with any concern.

“What happened to you? Who did this? Was it Nathan?” Melissa fired off the questions in quick succession, her face registering a concern that Dean found endearing.

“How did you know?” he asked back, suspicious that everyone in the camp seemed to know about Taylor and his antics, yet no one had challenged the spoiled bully.

“I know his type. I’ve worked at summer camps almost all my life. When other kids were going to camp enjoying horseback riding and canoeing, I was cleaning cabins and cooking meals. I knew my family didn’t have the money to send me to camp so I thought it was a fair trade at the time," she explained sullenly. “Now that I’m older, I know that there are two kinds of folks that work at places like Ridgecrest. There are the rich college kids who screw around all summer, working here so they can get in their service hours, and there are the ‘townies’ like me, who do all the work, catch all the crap and get treated like servants or outcasts.”

A quick smile crossed Dean’s face as he silently acknowledged Melissa’s assessment. Like the hard-working young woman, there had been a lot of “Ridgecrests” in his life too. Still, being an outcast, being a hunter, he hadn’t ever really minded it. He’d become accustomed to being different, conforming to only his standard of normal, living behind society’s scenes.

“You seem to have a pretty good feel for things around here. Did you know about the two staffers that got killed here a week or so back?” he chanced the question.

“Yeah, a little. The girl was some attorney’s daughter out of Memphis. But Matt, the guy you replaced, he was from right near here in Monteagle.”

“How’d they end up playing ‘back to nature’ out in the woods if there is such segregation between the staff around here?” Dean asked her.

“Well, the girl was just slumming and Matt was just dumb enough to think he could get himself out of the backwoods of Tennessee by banging some rich chick,” Melissa answered frankly. Her bluntness seemed inconsistent with her soft features and demeanor, her simple beauty not enhanced by make-up or designer clothes.

As a silence fell between them, Melissa came back around to face Dean. The blood-stained towel in her hand, a stray length of brown hair dangled down from underneath her hair net teasing at the corner of her mouth. She swatted at the delinquent strand, blushing as she noticed that Dean seemed entranced by the combination of her hair and lips. She cleared her throat, which snapped him back to the here and now and both smiled and looked away from each other.

“Well, I think those stitches should be okay. The bleeding seems to have stopped,” She stammered out.

“Yeah, I better get back to that drain,” Dean said nearly simultaneously, rising from the chair, the heat of the kitchen suddenly seeming to have risen several degrees. “Um, maybe after dinner, if you’re not busy, you can tell me more about things around here.”

“I might be able to do that,” Melissa replied, as she turned to walk away.

Dean crawled back underneath the sink once again. He watched as the lithe young woman walked away from him, smiling as he saw her peek back over her shoulder to see if he was looking. Turning the wrench on the pipe, Dean grinned broadly, hoping tonight there might be more than just sandwiches and pie waiting for him after dinner.

* * * *

The brothers actually sat together for the first time in days, eating their meal and carrying on a civil conversation and only because for the first time Dean was actually focused more on the hunt than on his self-imposed blame for Sam’s predicament. As they shared their day’s findings, Sam telling his brother that while everyone had nothing but good things to say about the dead girl, no one he’d talked to knew much about the guy she was with.

“I’m not surprised,” Dean answered. “There are some definite class lines that don’t get crossed around here. I dunno Sam, I’m not sure that hanging out here is gonna get us anywhere.”

“Dean, you agreed to give this a little more time. You saw those tracks out there today,” Sam insisted, fearful that his brother was once again trying to escape the hunt in favor of pursuing Haris.

“I’m not saying that Sam. I agree, okay, those tracks, that clearing, yeah, something definitely happened here. But staying here while you babysit a bunch of rich brats and I run around picking up their crap ain’t exactly getting us anywhere. Have you even had a chance to get on the computer, check into those tracks?”

“No, not really,” Sam replied, sighing with relief. “I was going to work a little on it later,” he continued, “but some of the counselors are having a secret campfire later on. I’m gonna see if I can find out anything else.”

“Fine,” Dean shot back. “I’ve got some plans for later too. Besides, somehow I don’t imagine I’m exactly welcome anyway. Just be careful, okay?”

Sam nodded, rising from his seat to dispose of the remains of his dinner. As he walked away from his older brother, he relaxed for the first time since accidentally revealing his deal with Haris to Dean. Having his brother finally committed to this hunt was a coup to say the least. He knew that Dean wouldn’t have given up on trying to get him out of the arrangement he’d made, but at least for now, he wasn’t solely focused on it. Sam knew there was nothing that was going to save him from his deal with the demon and he could only pray that the sooner his brother came to terms with that irrefutable fact the better things would be.

* * * *

Later that evening

Dean finished the remainder of his evening duties and returned to wait by the doors to the cafeteria in hopes of catching Melissa when she finished with the last of hers. The sun had already set behind the edge of Bryant Ridge casting yellow-red hues across the landscape. The mountain air had already begun to cool for the evening and many of the young guests had begun to assemble at the huge Chattanooga Lodge for the evening’s recreation, freeing many of the staff for the remainder of the night.

As he waited, Dean leaned casually against the rough-hewn logs that framed the exterior of the building, chugging down the last of a bottle of water. Having spent the latter part of the afternoon working out in the warm sun, he had unzipped the upper half of his coveralls and they were now pulled down around his waist, leaving only a gray t-shirt to tightly hug the taut muscles of his upper body and arms.

He idly watched as more of the staff and campers headed off toward the hall, everyone chatting, seemingly carefree and happy, oblivious to the fact that two of their ranks had been brutally butchered just several days before right outside the false security of the resort.

His interest piqued more when the two blonde counselors from their arrival yesterday walked past him on their way to the Rec Hall. They smiled as they passed him, but caught in their own conversation, they continued on not noticing when the taller of the two dropped her name tag into the dirt.

Pushing off of the wall, Dean retrieved the badge and quickly caught up to the two young women. Holding out the pin, he returned it to the girl who thanked him graciously. He was about to return to his post and await Melissa when the young women invited him to join them at the secret campfire later that evening. Dean smiled victoriously, imagining the surprise on Sammy’s face when he showed up with the two blondes. He flirted with the two for a few moments more before they excused themselves and Dean returned back to the cafeteria to find Melissa.

By the time he reached the dining hall, the place was quiet and Dean realized that Melissa must have left through the rear exit. Deciding to shower and change before seeking her out, he headed back to his quarters.

After a much needed long, hot shower, Dean stepped out to a steam-filled bathroom that was now seeping out into the bedroom area. He had just pulled on a clean pair of jeans when a knock at the door spun him around. Smiling broadly, he hoped it was Melissa coming to find him and not Sam just coming to gloat before heading out to the super-secret camp fire festivities. Oh well, he was ready for Sam if it was him.

Pulling open the door, he tried to hide his shock and surprise when Nathan Taylor surrounded by his usual entourage stood in the doorway. Completely unarmed, Dean hadn’t the chance to grab anything since just getting out of the shower. He glanced over his shoulder to where his duffle bag lay just a few steps behind him, the .45 loaded and waiting. But no, not like he could shoot his way out of this.

Taylor and his boys pushed their way into the tiny room, backing Dean up until his retreat was stopped by the edge of the bed.

“I saw you earlier talking to Elise and Bethany. Guess you still haven’t learned your lesson about knowing your place around here. Stay away from our women! There’s plenty of townie trash for you to get off on,” he shouted at Dean, stepping aside as one of his larger cohorts moved to the front.

Dean didn’t wait for the fight to come to him. He lowered his head and shoulders and barreled into the nearest of the four men. He managed to stagger that one back, adding a punch to the gut for good measure, but before he could bring his attention back to the remaining three, someone kicked in the back of his right knee dropping him to the floor.

Dean knew he needed to get up off the floor in a hurry but even as the first kick rained in on his chest, lighting him up with another blinding flash of breath-stealing pain, he knew it was too late. He tried to push off of the wood with arms and legs that were fast succumbing to the blows that continued relentlessly. Despite the confining limits of his small room, the three young men took turns pummeling Dean’s body while Nathan sat watching from the nearby chair.

Dean wasn’t sure how long the three of them continued their abuse. Somewhere along the way, the pain, Taylor’s laughter, Sam’s deal, his failure, even the ridiculousness of this place all came together in his fogged brain and he began laughing himself.

Struck by the oddity, the three cronies paused, looking back at their leader for direction. Taylor rose, walking to stand over Dean’s beaten and prone form. Looking down at the bruised and bleeding hunter, he snarled, not amused by whatever Dean had found so humorous. Drawing back, he kicked as viciously as he could muster, the force of it lifting Dean’s body completely off the floor and stealing away any air that Dean might have used for laughter.

“You … kick … like … a … rich … girl!” Dean gasped, putting the last of his energy into the insult before his hazel eyes closed yielding to the painless oblivion his body craved.

* * * *

Melissa walked towards Dean’s quarters a short time later. She had headed in that direction twice already, turning back each time, her face reddened each time she thought about the short-haired young man with the green, sparkling eyes, strong upper body and cocky grin. She knew nothing about him, yet somewhere inside her, she felt a kindred spirit with this young man. Maybe it was the way he stood defiantly against Nathan Taylor and his gang? Or maybe it was just that his smile made her stomach flop nervously?

She turned around again, deciding that she could at least walk past his quarters. No harm in that, right? Timidly, she approached the small set of steps that led to his room. From a few feet away, she noticed that the door was open, finding that strange but not alarming.

As Melissa came closer to the door, she heard a soft moan escape from inside the room. Worried now, she rushed up the steps and through the open door sliding to her knees as she found Dean lying on the floor.

She rolled him over gently, letting his head rest carefully in her lap as she took in all the damage with a gasp. He groaned again, blinking open his right eye, the left already purpled and swollen shut. He tried to smile when he looked up and saw her beautiful brown hair cascading down around her shoulders and nearly tickling his face as she bent close.

Melissa ran her hands over his upper arms and chest, wincing with him when he groaned under her light touch. “I’ll go get the camp nurse. Just stay here, don’t move,” she ordered, starting to rise.

Dean grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving. “No! Just help me up, okay? I’ve had worse than this before,” he tried to reassure her.

It took several attempts, but once Dean managed to get to his knees, Melissa was able to get an arm under his and helped him to the bed where he collapsed again out of breath, eyes closed.

Melissa dashed to the bathroom, returning with a cold wet cloth and began wiping away at the blood once again covering Dean’s face and chest. As she cleaned away the mess, she noticed the myriad of white-line scars and suddenly knew that what Dean had said about not being a stranger to pain had apparently been true. Hardly a portion of his upper body was unmarred by some previous injury, but compared to the already turning bruises, the older wounds seemed less important.

“These look bad,” Melissa announced. “You might have some broken ribs. I really should get the nurse.”

Dean opened his eye, worried because despite only having one eye open he was still seeing two Melissas.

“No, really. I’ll be okay. There’s some stuff in my bag for emergencies. My brother can patch me up if necessary. I was gonna meet up with him at the secret campfire tonight. You wanna go? Would be worth seeing the look on Nathan’s face if I showed up there.”

Melissa blanched. She couldn’t believe that having just been beaten unconscious Dean could seriously consider going back at Nathan and his bunch so soon.

“Dean, I don’t think so. And I don’t think you can even stand up straight much less go after Nathan and his crew tonight. How about I go back to the kitchen and get us something to drink, some snacks maybe. I can bring back some ice for your eye and maybe for your ribs too? Why don’t you just rest? For me? Okay?” she begged, her brown eyes soft and pleading.

Dean looked up at her face, the doe-eyes in full effect. Sammy-eyes, begging, pleading; eyes he could never say “no” to.

“Okay, “he submitted. Besides, he thought, despite getting my ass kicked yet again, staying in with Melissa beats hanging out with snotty rich kids any night.

She checked to make sure he was settled, easing a pillow underneath his head and another underneath his right side that seemed to have taken the worst of the abuse. When she was sure he was as comfortable as she could make him, she coaxed him into closing his eyes, promising to wake him when she returned.

“I’ll be right back” she promised, dashing off. “I won’t be long at all.”

* * * *

Sam walked out into the dark woods along with nearly a dozen of the other counselors. Beer-laden coolers in hand, blankets and even a radio, it was a bad scene from Friday the 13th and all Sam could think of was yelling at the lot of them, telling them how stupid they were being for coming out into the woods to begin with.

Several hundred yards from Ridgecrest the group came to a halt, spreading blankets and popping pull tabs on beer cans as several of the males and females began to pair up. As the music drowned out any of nature’s nighttime sounds, typical conversations began to play out.

Sam listened intently as some of the group began to discuss the newly arrived campers, others talking about college and still others talking about Rhodes and the place. He waited until an appropriate moment and interjected a question about the recent deaths. Several of the group offered speculation, but never anything concrete, a couple of the staff even putting their own urban legend twists on the story.

The young hunter smiled, laughing easily as he listened to the recent account turn to other grisly campfire tales. Stories he had heard hundreds of times before, some even that he knew for certain were born of fact but skewed into fiction.

The fire blazing, giving off warmth to the immediate area, the entire group became instantly silent when the hard crunch of snapping twigs beyond the circle caught their attention. Sam was about to reach for his backpack, when Nathan Taylor and three other young men broke from the trail and into the clearing. Laughing loudly, they quickly plopped down and joined the gathering.

“You should see what we did to that townie tonight,” Taylor bragged. “Taught him a lesson he’ll never forget.”

Immediately worried, Sam rose. He knew that Taylor had to be talking about Dean and knowing his brother, he was certain that Dean would not have gone down easily. Just as he was ready to head back to Ridgecrest and check on his brother, the piercing scream of a wildcat broke through the loud laughter and chatter of the group.

Silence enveloped the crowd, someone even turned off the music as they all shifted about nervously. Another growl sounded, closer this time, and the staffers became frantic as they detected movement in the forest just beyond them in the darkness.

Sam unzipped the backpack, reaching inside for the Glock, knowing that while it might not be of much use, it was better than nothing. Yet another screech and the group panicked. Possessions forgotten, each of the young men and women began to flee in multiple directions.

As Sam looked up, he saw two glowing eyes, but much higher up than he would have expected for an animal. Shouting out to the terrified staff, he tried to round them up and get them to follow him in the opposite direction and away from the creature.

Gun drawn, Sam started to lead several of the counselors back toward the main compound as more growls sounded followed by the sound of the creature crashing through the dense underbrush. Behind him he heard one of the girls scream. Whirling around, he detected no danger but saw that she had fallen. As he helped her back to her feet there was another screech from the front of the group, followed by a deeper scream as one of Nathan’s buddies was grabbed from the trail and pulled into the woods.

Sam rushed up to the spot; blood covered the ground where the young man disappeared. He scanned the woods beyond the trail, but aside from the dense growth and the weakening screams, he could see or hear nothing else.

By now, the remainder of the group was running in every direction, self-preservation the guiding force. Sam looked around anxiously, not sure where to go or who to even try to save at this point. Up ahead in the glow of a flashlight, he spotted Nathan Taylor. Just as he was about to yell at the young man to rejoin the group, Sam saw a flash of yellow and something gigantic leap out of the forest and pounce on top of the young man.

He charged forward, firing the 9mm while simultaneously shouting for the remaining staff to haul ass back to camp. Firing off two more rounds as he approached the creature, the thing remained undeterred as it continued to shred Taylor’s body into ribbons with its razor-like claws. Nathan screamed on and on as the creature tore into his flesh, begging for help as he watched the others fleeing away from him and the monster.

Sam drew closer, still firing uselessly on the beast. He was close enough that he could see that the creature was in fact standing on two feet, not four. As Taylor’s screams ceased and the Glock’s clip emptied, the creature swung around, lashing out with a paw that caught Sam on his left shoulder and sent him flying through the air.

Hitting the ground hard, Sam felt pain in his left arm as he heard the metallic sound of a trap snapping shut. The hunters' traps! He remembered suddenly, pain threatening to subdue him as he heard the creature snarl again nearby.

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The Winchester Chronicles