X-Men/Supernatural Crossover

AN: My first crossover! So, my friend just got me started watching X-Men and I was immediately hooked. I really liked Logan's character (I mean, Hugh Jackman? Who couldn't?) and wondered what would happen if him and Dean happened to meet up one day. So this my attempt at writing that meeting! I just ask you to keep in mind that I'm almost 100% positive that the timelines don't match up correctly between the show and the movies, but hopefully you won't mind too much. This takes place after Logan loses him memory and before he becomes a X-Man for the X-Men movies, and just a few months after Sam leaves for college for Supernatural. Sorry for the long note but I wanted to cover my bases…Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think at the end!

Logan stirred up his fire once again. It was nearing the middle of September and cold breezes were starting to gust through every once and a while. Winter was drawing nearer, and if he got unlucky, the first snowfall probably was not too far around the corner.

He didn't know exactly where he was at the moment. His wanderings were usually restricted to Canada, but lately, he'd been spending quite a bit of time going south. There was a good chance he was in the US by now. It didn't really matter, though. Not like he was staying more than a few days anyways. He'd get back to Canada.

A rustling came from the trees behind him. His enhanced senses alerted him that he was no longer alone. Standing, he allowed his claws to slide slowly from his hands. The pain that always came with them barely even registered. He smelled the air. The wind carried the scent of a young man and quite a bit of blood. Something wasn't right.

Finally, the man he smelled stumbled into Logan's campsite. Putting up a hand, he leaned heavily against the nearest tree and looked directly at Logan, as if he was expecting to see him. He tried to speak but he was so winded it was impossible. Logan decided to break the silence instead.

"Who ya runnin' from, bub?"

The man had gotten his breath back, or at least enough to speak, and straightened slightly. "Can I borrow your fire?"

Logan prided himself in not being easily surprised, but he had to admit, he never could have guessed that'd be the first thing the man would say. Before he had time to figure out an answer, the man pushed himself off the tree and quickly limped to the small fire. Without hesitation, he leaned down, grabbed one of the branches that wasn't completely on fire, and pulled it from the blaze. Then, he turned around to face Logan again.

Great job, Logan, he said to himself. You just let a crazy man walk into your camp, pick up a flaming stick, and you can't even take him down because if he drops that stick the whole forest is gonna go up.

"Just hang on there, bub," Logan held up one of his hands which still had his claws out (he found it odd that the man hadn't even acknowledged them yet). "What the hell – "

"Listen," the man snapped (even though as he looked at him, the man was really barely more than a boy). "I don't have time to give you the speech, so just stay behind me and try not to get yourself killed."

Logan snorted. "You've got no idea who you're dealing with, kid."

The man glared at him for the kid comment, but the glare lost some of its heat when he seemed to see Logan's claws for the first time as they glinted in the moonlight. "What the? What – " The kid cut himself off as more leaves rustled around them. Instantly he fell into a position that Logan recognized. It was a fighting stance, one used to protect oneself. It put Logan on high-alert.

Figuring that asking would reap the same results as before, he simply relaxed himself into his own fighting form that almost mirrored the kid's. Silently, the men stood, each on edge, one not knowing why.

After a few minutes, Logan was starting to feel ridiculous. This guy was probably a class-A nutjob and he'd just spent five minutes of his life indulging in his psycho fantasy. People wondered why he didn't come to the US.

Just as he was about to put his claws away and demand the guy to get lost, he felt something sharp slice through his side. He grunted slightly and glanced down at his side in time to see four gaping wounds stitch themselves back together.

"Damn," the young man muttered. He frowned, seeming to be thinking about something. Then, he shoved the still-flaming stick at Logan. "Here, light up anything that moves." Logan sheathed his claws as he grasped the torch. With that, the kid bent down and started tracing something on the ground.

So maybe the kid was crazy, but there really was something else out in the woods so what was the harm with going along with him for now? "What are ya doin'?"

"Protection symbols," the kid gritted out. Logan refocused on the blood that the kid was covered in. It was from more than one person, that much he could tell. But how much of it, if any, was the kid's was impossible to know. He hoped that the stranger wasn't too badly injured, that would mean having to find some way to help him.

The kid went to straighten up again, but was knocked over with a grunt when something rammed into him. Acting on instinct, Logan thrust the flaming stick at the monstrosity. He only caught a glimpse of whatever it was before it took off again, but he knew for certain whatever it was wasn't human. And he was pretty sure it wasn't a mutant either.

Picking himself up off the ground, the kid hauled himself to the other side of the camp and resumed drawing in the ground. He did this three other times without any other interruptions. Logan watched him the entire time. Finally, the kid collapsed next to the fire. He sat opposite of the young man and watched him with distrust, and some curiosity. "What was that thing?"

Slowly, the kid dragged his gaze to meet Logan's. It was the first time Logan had gotten a good look at him. He was young, probably early twenties, but he already knew that. Striking features probably made him popular with the ladies. His eyes, however, are what Logan noticed the most. They looked old, haunted, like they had seen too for any one man to handle. Logan recognized those eyes, he saw them in the mirror all the time. Unlike Logan's tortured eyes, though, the kid's still seemed to hold a spark of humor, as though he knew he still had something worth fighting for. He probably did.

"It was, uh," the kid rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted, and Logan felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to pursue it. "A wendigo." He must have seen the confused look cross Logan's face, because the kid started to explain. "It's old Native American lore. Basically, someone becomes a cannibal because of hard times, gains some speed and strength, is no longer human. They live for a long time and resurface every once in a while to eat more people." Logan felt himself being scrutinized carefully. "Haven't you heard about the disappearances in these woods?"

Logan grunted, "Just passing through."

The kid looked at him for a moment longer, then seemed to accept his explanation. Logan watched as he peeled his blood-coated shirt away from his skin to reveal four slices curling around his abdomen much like the ones Logan had healed from minutes earlier. Studying the wounds for a minute, the kid looked up at Logan. "Wouldn't happen to have a med-kit with you?"

Logan snorted. There was no reason for him to ever carry a med-kit with him. He shook his head. The kid sighed, "Figures."

The trees behind Logan rustled again. He stood quickly, barely refraining from letting his claws slide out again. "Don't worry," the kid said from behind him. He turned to see that the kid hadn't even stood up. "It can't get past those symbols." Hesitantly, Logan sat again, keeping his ears open for signs of another attack.

He watched as the kid ripped the already torn shirt to strips and wind them around his wounds. It occurred to Logan that he probably shouldn't be just sitting there and maybe should be demanding answers. But, the kid seemed content to sit across the fire from a potentially dangerous stranger so why shouldn't he? Besides, it wasn't like the kid could kill him.

It did seem wrong to continue calling him 'the kid' in his mind, though. "What's your name, kid?"

Instantly, the kid seemed guarded. His body tensed and those haunted eyes got hard. Logan could recognize when someone felt cornered, it was usually when they were at their most dangerous, and this kid looked like he could be pretty damn dangerous. He waited to see what the kid would do. In only a matter of seconds, the kid had seemed to make a decision. His body uncoiled slightly and he straightened up as much as his wounds would allow. "Jim," he responded. No last name was offered.

Logan was almost one hundred percent certain that he was lying, but at least he had something to call him now besides 'the kid' so he didn't push the issue. "What the hell happened to ya?" He had a pretty good idea that wendigo thing had something to do with it, but he wanted the full story anyways.

Jim seemed to fold in on himself. "Wasn't paying attention," he muttered. "Freaking thing caught me off guard. Woke up in its cave all strung up. Guess it missed one of my knives and I got away."

The story was short and obviously lacking on details, but it got the point across. Logan found that he wasn't at all surprised that, according to the story, the kid was carrying at least one knife at the moment. Also, he'd gained some respect for Jim. Judging on what he'd seen of the creature so far, the wendigo couldn't be easy to escape. "How'd ya know about the thing anyways?"

Jim shook his head. "Nope. Sorry sweetheart, but this is a give and take relationship. I've let you ask, now it's my turn. What's with the fancy cutlery, man?"

Logan was a little shocked at Jim's audacity, but it was also refreshing. The fact that Jim wasn't afraid of his claws, or at least didn't show it, made him like the kid a little more. "Don't know," he growled out. Even though Jim might not have been afraid of him, he apparently knew when not to push. The subject dropped.

The only sound in the campfire for almost ten minutes was the crackling of the fire. Occasionally, the trees around them would rustle again, but it was ignored by each party. Both seemed to be deeply in thought. How does this kid know about this stuff? Why am I trusting him anyways? Why is he trusting me? What was he doing out in the woods that he obviously knew people were disappearing in? Logan didn't have answers for any of them.

"Someone!" a cry came from the woods. "Someone help me! Anyone!" Logan jumped to his feet, this time not able to keep his claws from sliding out. He took a step forward before he felt a hand clamp on his arm. He growled and turned, shrugging Jim's hand off.

"Don't," Jim said. His eyes focused on the trees and his voice hard. "It can sound like a person. It's trying to draw us out." Jim turned to face him, his face set in stone. "Besides, if you break that line, I'd have to redraw everything, and we'd both be dead." Logan bristled at the tone in his voice. He didn't like listening to others, it was why he travelled alone, but he glanced down at the ground anyways. His foot was pretty close to one of the weird drawings. Even though he didn't like it, he stepped away. There hadn't been any attacks since Jim had drawn them in, so he figured he wouldn't try and screw them up.

He stepped closer to Jim, lining up so they were just inches apart. It annoyed him that Jim was taller and he had to look up to meet his eyes directly. "How do you know it isn't someone else that escaped from that cave like you, huh? They could need our help." Logan didn't offer help regularly, but he'd be damned if he was going to ignore someone that was yelling for his help either.

"I know because," Jim's flinty eyes wavered for a second. His voice came back quieter, "because there was no one else alive to escape from there."

Jim's voice was laced with guilt, and Logan felt sorry for ever asking. He dropped the matter, listening to the screams for help bouncing off the trees. A question nagged in his mind, and after an hour of silence, Logan finally asked it. "How do we get out of here?"

The question seemed to startle Jim, maybe he had been almost asleep, and he jerked up quickly. The fast movement must have pulled on his fresh wounds because Jim let out a groan. He took a moment to get his breath back, then glanced at Logan, "What?"

Logan repeated his question. "How do we get out of here? How do we get away from this thing?" Although the woods were quiet, Logan was under no impression that the thing had left. Its scent still hung in the air and every once in a while, the leaves would rustle loudly. At least it had stopped screaming. "How far are we from the edge of the woods anyways?"

Jim squinted, as if trying to decipher Logan's question. Logan could smell his pain and fear. It had gotten worse in the last hour. "Um, we are pretty deep in the woods. Maybe ten miles to the nearest paved road? And, uh, we have to wait for daylight and kill it with fire. Only thing that hurts 'em."

Nodding, Logan allowed silence to encompass the camp again. He wasn't normally one to need to be talking to someone, but something about this Jim guy was compelling him. Maybe it was the bonding-in-battle thing like soldiers say happens to them. For some reason Logan felt that he should know something about that. Or maybe it was that Jim seemed to be a decent guy who was hurting and Logan didn't want him to be focusing on that too much. Or maybe it was that when Logan saw Jim's eyes, heard the hurt when he talked about the dead people in the caves, Logan recognized some kind of kindred spirit. A soul that had suffered like his. Or maybe he just wanted some company for once. And so, he asked another question.

"How do you know about this wendigo freak anyways?"

Logan could almost feel Jim's irritation. This time, Jim didn't even look up. "You always this chatty, guy? Because I definitely got more of the strong, silent, brooding type from you." When Logan refused to rise to the bait, Jim sighed. "It's how I grew up, okay? My dad taught me all about it. It's my job."

Another question was on the tip of his tongue, dying to be asked. Part in because he really wanted to know, and part because it was obvious that Jim didn't want to answer another question. However, he was pretty sure that he either wouldn't get any kind of response, which wouldn't be so horrible, or the kid would stab him with the knife he'd mentioned earlier. Even though it wouldn't kill him, it would be an inconvenience. So he didn't ask. Didn't ask what kind of father raised his son that way, to fight a monster he shouldn't even know about. But then, he guessed he couldn't really judge the father. For all he knew, maybe his father had left him in the wilderness for the wolves to raise.

After another hour, Jim finally dropped off to sleep. He'd been losing the battle for the last half-hour, nodding off and then violently shaking himself awake, determined to stay vigilant. In his place, Logan stayed watchful instead. He was used to going days without sleep and he'd gotten a solid five hours the night before. There were only a few hours left until dawn anyways.

Logan looked at Jim. All signs of the fierce warrior that had stood back-to-back with him, facing off a monster, just a few hours before had disappeared. He figured that his previous estimate of early-twenties was probably a fair guess of Jim's age. And even though he didn't really understand how this time worked, he did know that someone Jim's age should probably be at college. Or at least have a job. It's my job. Jim's words rang in Logan's ears. Surely this wasn't Jim's only job. Not that Logan could point any fingers, seeing that he lived the nomadic lifestyle himself, but then again Logan wasn't really normal anyways. How many wendigoes could there be out there anyways?

Why do you even care? He asked himself. You met this guy a few hours ago. You'll never see him again after tomorrow. Let it go. And he did his best to follow his own advice. However, after an hour and a half, when Jim started whimpering in his dream, he couldn't deny the feelings of protectiveness that washed over him. Maybe he'd been an older brother once.

Logan stood and walked over by Jim. The nightmare seemed to be getting bad, and if it continued much longer, he was afraid Jim would thrash and reopen the barely sealed wounds on the abdomen. So, still heeding the thoughts of a knife somewhere on Jim's person, Logan softly kicked Jim's foot. "Hey, kid. Jim. Wake up."

Jim sat up with a gasp and a knife in his hand. He looked around wildly for the source of his panic before settling his eyes on Logan. The kid didn't say anything, simply slid the knife back from wherever it came from. "You should be more careful with who you wake up, pal."

Logan shrugged. "Not afraid of you," he grunted. Turning away from Jim, he walked over to his small pile of stuff and withdrew a canteen. Usually, it would be filled with some form of alcohol, but considering he'd been camping out for a few days, it was just water. Tipping back the container, he sucked in a generous amount of the metallic-tasting liquid. He wiped his mouth and turned back to Jim. It was obvious that Jim was trying not to watch Logan, but it was also perfectly clear that Jim had followed the canteen's movement the entire way. Feeling slightly guilty for not offering the injured man any earlier (it wasn't really his fault, he wasn't used to dealing with injuries that stayed longer than a few minutes), he thrust the canteen at the younger man. For a second Logan thought Jim wouldn't take it, but with only brief hesitation, Jim slowly reached out and closed his hand around the metal container. Jim raised the canteen with measured movements and then only took a few swallows before handing it back. Logan knew that those few sips couldn't have been nearly enough to satisfy the man, but he didn't push, from what he'd gathered from Jim so far, it would only make the young man drink less the next time.

The two men once again settled themselves on their respective sides of the fire. As the hours of night melted into the first signs of dawn, they each busied themselves in their own tasks. Logan tended to the fire and listened to the wendigo rustling the trees around them. Jim sharpened his knife (or knives, Logan wasn't paying close enough attention to know if there were multiple) and checked on his seeping wounds. When the first rays of sunlight cleared the trees, Logan asked another question.

"You have any kind of game plan?"

Jim shifted. He looked uncomfortable. "Uh, not really. I'm working on it."

Logan snorted in disbelief. "Well what was your original plan?"

He could smell the anger coming from the young man. "My original plan was to kill it yesterday with a Molotov cocktail and be home in time for cheeseburgers. It definitely didn't include being captured or spending the night in the woods with a guy that asks too many questions to be healthy. So unless you have the ingredients to make a Molotov cocktail, I suggest shutting it and letting me think."

Instead of being even slightly intimidated, which Logan was sure that was the kid's intention, he started chuckling. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the log."

Jim shot him glare. "Shut up, fuzzy. I'm trying to get your ass out of here alive. You should be thanking me." Logan wasn't concerned for himself. He figured that the wendigo would be no match for the Wolverine. However, a bleeding and significantly weakened young man seemed to be a perfect snack.

"I prefer to save my own ass," Logan walked over and planted himself next to Jim. "How about you tell me what you know about that thing and maybe we can figure something out."

Jim seemed hesitant at first, his eyes flicking to the fire and back to the ground again. "You basically know everything. Fire is the only thing that even tickles them, guns and knives only piss 'em off, and they're too fast to hit by anything less than a bullet."

Logan had to admit, when laid out like that, things seemed pretty grim. "So what was with the torch idea last night?"

The young man shrugged. "Didn't have anything better. Still don't." Jim stood suddenly. "I was hoping it'd at least back off during the night, maybe give us a chance to slip out unseen." He shook his head and gave a slight grin. "Guess we're just gonna have to wing it then."

Jim's own disregard for his own safety startled Logan. He considered tell the kid about his ability to heal and the fact that the wendigo couldn't kill him, maybe volunteer to try and finish it off himself. But he figured that he'd just get shot down, so he stayed silent.

Twenty minutes later, Jim had decided that there was no time like the present. Armed with nothing more than two torches, the men stood at the edge of one of the protection symbols. Logan had all his stuff packed, ready to run like hell when Jim said 'go' even though he'd been bluntly informed it was probably hopeless. When Logan had looked at the kid earlier, he seemed tense, his eyes starting to get panicky. It worried Logan, he didn't want to go through with this with some kid that wasn't going to follow through, even though he hadn't gotten that sense from Jim at all. Then he saw something in the kid's hands. It was one of those cell phone things. Jim was studying it, emotions Logan couldn't hope to read flashing across his face. After a minute, the kid seemed to reach some kind of decision and the cell phone was shoved back into one of his pants' pockets.

The plan was nothing short of suicidal. The entire plan was to run, try to light up the wendigo without burning down the whole forest, and stay on their feet, in no particular order. It became apparent that Jim didn't expect to make it out of this alive and the fact that he'd accepted it tore at Logan.

Jim saw Logan glance at him, and the kid shot him a grin. To someone normal, it might have seemed wild and reckless, without a care. But Logan wasn't normal, and he could easily read the fear in the kid's eyes. He could also read the determination. "Ready, Fuzzy?"

Although Logan bristled at the nickname (since he hadn't given Jim his name, he guessed the kid felt it appropriate to come up with something on his own), he simply answered with a quick nod. Before either of them could hesitate, Jim swept his foot across the protection symbol. Both men took off like a shot, carrying their flaming weapons. The woods shook with the sound of the wendigo's roar, frighteningly close.

Logan relished the feel of the blood pumping through his veins, the trees whipping past him. There was no way that thing could catch him, no matter what the kid said. The kid. His thoughts stopped him so quickly he almost fell. Jim had been injured, had been bleeding most of the night, there was no way he was running at a pace that even resembled fast. The wendigo would have no trouble catching him. Logan turned in a quick circle. Nothing stirred in the forest. The ominous rustling that had plagued the men the night before was gone.

Panic surged through the mutant. Something about Jim had awoken something in Logan he didn't know he possessed. The ability to care. In the hours spent huddled around their fire, Logan had learned a few things about Jim. One, he probably had a family somewhere, maybe a girl. Two, he wanted to get out of this, he had things to live for. And three, he was ready to give that all away for a stranger he couldn't have picked from a lineup the morning before. Logan would be damned if he let that kid die because he didn't turn around.

Logan took off running again, this time back to their campsite. He hadn't gotten too far away during the first run, so he prayed he'd make it back in time. As he got closer, he could once again hear the wendigo's snarls. Slowing, he stayed in the trees, hoping to get a read on the situation before charging in.

Jim was laying on the ground, holding his stomach and sporting some new claw marks running down the length of his cheek. That didn't stop him from staring defiantly up at the monster, though. For the first time, Logan got a good look at their adversary.

It was by far the ugliest creature Logan had ever seen. It was tall, standing over seven feet probably, and everything about it seemed not to scale. A ratty string of hair hung off the back of its almost bald head. Strange markings encircled its withered arms, they might have been tattoos or body painting at some point. The worst part was, it was standing directly over Jim, rearing its arm back in what was obviously the fatal blow.

Without another thought, Logan leapt from the woods with a roar of his own. In one hand, he still carried his torch, but the other hand had sprouted his claws, flashing with deadly intent. He must have caught the wendigo off guard, it probably too intent on its prey to be aware of its surroundings, because he swore he could see a look of shock twist its grotesque face. It didn't have a chance to react, though.

Logan barreled into the monstrosity, carrying it away from Jim. With his clawed hand, he impaled the wendigo through, pinning it firmly to the ground. The thing flailed underneath him, hissing and growling in some freakish mashup of a jungle cat and a wolf. Its claws got in some pretty good swipes up his back and side, but he barely noticed. Taking the torch, he held it against the thing's leathery skin and waited for it to ignite. Once the wendigo's skin finally caught on fire and began making a noise could only be described as screaming, Logan retracted his claws and jumped off. He watched as the creature lay in its death throes, strangely satisfied. A moan of pain tore his attention away.

Jim lay curled on his side, breathing heavily. Every few seconds, he shook as the next wave of pain rocked him. Loan approached slowly, hoping the kid was coherent enough to recognize him as a friend and not an enemy.

"Easy, kid," he said as he dropped into a crouch next to Jim's trembling form. He gently pried the kid's hands away from his stomach. It didn't look like the wendigo had gotten in another swipe (at his midsection at least), but when he'd hit the ground he'd broken open the wounds that had just started to scab. This looked bad.

A trembling voice pulled him from his morose thoughts. "Y – you ok – ay?"

Logan couldn't help the short bark of laughter that escaped. He quickly scanned himself and saw that the marks on him from the wendigo's claws were already fading, except for the damage done to his clothing of course. Yeah. I'm fine. Just like always, he thought bitterly. Aloud he said, "You should spend more time worrying about yourself, kid." He frowned and stripped his top layer to press against Jim's wounds. "How far did ya say it was to the closet road?" Maybe if he could get Jim there, someone would drive by and be able to get them to the hospital.

Jim snorted, then groaned. "For – forget it." With a shaky hand, he reached into his pants pocket and withdrew the cell phone he'd been staring at earlier. "Call Sammy," he whispered. "Tell – tell 'em what h – happened."

"Oh hell no," Logan said. "I don't even know how to use one of those damn things. So if ya wanna give your last requests speech, ya better hang on 'til I get ya somewhere with somebody else. Now," he leaned in closer to the wounded man. "How far to the nearest road?"

For several long seconds, Logan was afraid Jim wouldn't answer and he'd have to try and find the road by himself. Finally, though, Jim replied, though it sounded more like a sigh than anything. "Ten miles."

Logan watched as Jim's eyes started to flutter closed. "Hey. Hey!" Logan snapped and slapped Jim's cheek lightly. "Don't go ta sleep now." He grasped the kid's arm that wasn't clutched around his stomach. "Come on." With one fluid motion, he heaved Jim to his feet. Jim let out a feeble cry of pain before screwing his lips shut.

He carefully pulled Jim's arm over his broad shoulders and turned to the smoldering pile the wendigo had left. Slowly, he hobbled the two of them over and stomped out the ashes. Couldn't be too careful with the dryness of the trees this time of year. They were lucky the blaze from the wendigo hadn't made everything else go up (he didn't know where Jim's torch was, but he didn't smell any other fire so he figured they were safe). With that task complete, he started their long trek back to civilization, and, more importantly, help. Cursing silently the fact that he hadn't asked for a direction, he stopped and glanced at Jim. The kid was still conscious but in obvious pain. His eyes were closed tightly and sweat rolled down his face. He felt bad about bothering him again, but he needed an answer.

Gently, he bumped his shoulders up and down to gain Jim's attention. The kid pried his eyes open. "Which direction?" Jim muttered something and gestured his head to their left. It wasn't entirely clear as to what he'd said, but it was enough to give Logan a starting point at least. Squaring his shoulders in determination, he once again set off, desperate to keep the man relying on him alive.

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The journey to the road was something straight out of nightmares. Jim hung heavily from his shoulders, every ragged breath he took seared into Logan's brain. Logan could feel the kid's blood dripping on to his shirt, a constant reminder of the urgency of their trek. Every noise set Logan's nerves on edge until they were razor thin. Sweat rolled down his back starting at mile eight, the weight of two men beginning to wear on even his enhanced strength.

Finally, the sound of a vehicle disrupted the natural sounds of the forest. He had never heard something so sweet. Gently setting Jim down, he raced the last few yards to the road, desperate to catch someone's attention. He knew Jim's time was running out. The kid hadn't made a noise besides his breathing for over half the trip and after six miles, Logan was pretty much dragging him. If he was going to make it out alive, Logan needed to get him help fast.

Without a thought, Logan dashed onto the road. Jumping almost directly in front of the car that was coming, he started yelling. "Hey! Stop! Hey!" The car's breaks squealed as the driver did their best not to hit him. It was close, the car screeching to a stop within feet of Logan. Before Logan had a chance to explain himself, the car door slammed and Logan found himself faced with a young woman with dark hair.

"What the hell, man?" she screamed at him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Who does stuff like that?"

Logan held up his hands, trying the stop the angry words from flying at him. He was well aware that every second he spent listening to her was seconds Jim's life was bleeding into the forest floor. Unable to get a word in edgewise, Logan finally grabbed the woman's shoulders, forcing her to be quiet. "Please just shut up for a second! Sorry I jumped in front of your car but my friend is dying in the woods back there and I need help!" Logan was surprised by the word 'friend' as it came out of his mouth, but even if it wasn't true, it would make it more believable to her.

The woman looked like she wanted to say something about him grabbing her, but then appeared to focus on his words instead. "Wait, someone's actually dying back there?" she craned her neck, as if trying to catch a glimpse of Jim.

Frustration boiled near the surface for Logan. He didn't understand the ridiculous women in this time. Their first reaction to something like 'he's dying' was not to call for help but get a better look. "Yes," he gritted through his teeth. "Will you call the hospital while I go get him?"

"Oh, coverage sucks out here," the woman informed him, almost cheerfully. "But the hospital is just, like, ten miles down the road if you want me to drive you there."

For a moment, Logan considered walking the ten miles rather than be stuck in a car with this woman, but he thought of the torturous trip he and Jim had already taken and knew they couldn't do it again. He gave a grunt of agreement and turned back to the trees to fetch the young man who, over the course of twelve hours, had somehow managed to become his only friend.

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Logan had been waiting for the past two hours for news on Jim. The drive with the dark-haired woman could have been studied as a method of torture, but Logan almost kissed her when he saw the sign for the hospital come into view. Things moved very quickly after that. Jim was given one look by the emergency bay doctors and was rushed into an operating room. The dark-haired woman, who told him her name was Carly, was apparently quite taken with the stranger she'd almost run over ten minutes before and asked if he wanted her to wait with him. With a firm 'no', he ushered her away and settled himself in the waiting room.

During the time he was waiting, Logan prayed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that in the past twenty-four hours, which was odd. In all the years that he could remember, he'd never prayed. He wasn't sure whether or not he believed in God, but he was certain that he didn't care about a mutant named Logan either way. But now, he found himself begging with the big guy himself that Jim's life be spared.

"Mr. Logan?" Jim's doctor's voice called. She was a woman in her late fifties with gentle eyes and smile lines around her face, someone that could be trusted. Logan stood and sent out a final prayer that the news was good. Dr. Johnson smiled. "He's awake. His injuries were pretty serious, but since you brought him in in time, he should be just fine. Want to see him?"

Logan nodded and followed the doctor back into the maze of the hospital. They finally stopped in front of door E-463. Dr. Johnson opened the door and walked in. Logan trailed close behind.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't have that in here," Dr. Johnson was speaking to Jim and gesturing at the cell phone he had in his hands.

Dean nodded. "Just a sec," he said to whoever he was talking to on the phone. He brought it away from his ear and fixed Dr. Johnson with a smile. "I promise I'll be quick. And then I'll be a model patient," he held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

Her will seemed to waver a bit. "Well, alright, but just another minute." With that, she swept out of the room, most likely to attend to other patients.

"Yeah, Dad, Minnesota. No, no problems, just a little banged up. Yeah. Spirit? Sure, give me a couple days. Please, Dad, I've been dealing with spirits since I was ten. Yep. Check in tomorrow."

Logan listened to Jim's conversation with conflicting emotions. One was embarrassment, as listening in to other people's conversations was considered rude. The other was anger. The man on the other end of the line was Jim's dad, the man that had raised his son to hunt monsters. 'Just a little banged up'? Logan hoped Jim's dad realized how close he'd come to losing his son.

"Thanks for coming back," Jim's voice came from the bed. Logan looked passed the bandages covering the boy's stomach and to his eyes. They were filled with genuine gratitude and a hint of surprise, as if he hadn't expected Logan to turn around and save him. What had happened to this kid that made him think he wasn't worth the effort of saving?

Logan wasn't good with any kind of displays of emotion so he just shrugged and nodded. "Got a girl?"

His question seemed to catch Jim off guard. "What?"

"You wanted me to call someone," Logan said, and took a step forward. "Someone named Sam. Your girl?"

He watched as a flash of pain crossed Jim's face at the name. However, it was gone too quickly for him to really decipher. Then, a small grin tugged at Jim's mouth. "Can you only talk with questions? I swear man, it's like twenty questions with you." Jim seemed to want a reaction from Logan so he could change the subject, but Logan didn't give him any. So, Jim sighed and answered his question. "No. Ah, no. My brother."

Logan just nodded, sensing the topic wasn't up for discussion. The men sat in awkward silence for a minute, neither knowing what to say.

Jim broke the quiet. "Well, I'm gonna be out of here in a few days so you really don't need to hang around." Logan could smell he was lying. Judging by the phone call, Jim would be getting out by tomorrow at the latest, one way or another. He didn't say anything, though.

Sticking out his hand, Jim grasped it and they shook. "Try to avoid hanging out in anymore wendigo-infested woods," Jim said. "I'd hate to have to come and save your ass again.

"Drugs must be messing with ya, bub," Logan snorted. "The only one that did any ass-saving was me." Jim rolled his eyes but didn't protest. Once again the room was silent, but this time the silence was comfortable. "Logan." He watched Jim's head flip up. "Logan is my name. Can't remember the last."

Jim nodded. "Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Logan," he replied and held up his hand again. Logan grabbed it and shook it again, this time as friends, not acquaintances. It might have been cheesy, but it seemed significant. Without another word, Logan walked out the door, certain he'd never see the kid again.

As he walked down the hallway towards the exit, he thought to himself, Dean Winchester. Yeah. That fits much better than Jim.

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AN: So that was my attempt at a crossover! I hope you guys liked it! I have to apologize for any times I might have typed Dean instead of Jim before the ending…I tried to catch them all but I couldn't quite wrap my head around calling him Jim! Also, I hope that Logan was in character enough. Since I haven't had any experience writing him, I wasn't sure I was portraying him accurately or not. I have a lot of more ideas for oneshots like this so let me know if you think it's worth continuing. Thanks again for reading! Also, I apologize that I didn't finish Beware the Jester before posting this, but this has been sitting on my computer for a little while and I just got excited to post it. Sorry!