John really didn't want to leave his son alone in the motel room. Not when Dean was sick. There was no point in denying it – a temperature as high as almost a 104 couldn't mean anything good. But he really wanted to finally have some sort of a break through in this hunt. He couldn't really concentrate on anything but the hunt right now. It was always like that, ever since he learnt the truth of what was really out there. He wanted to be there for his son, he really did. But if he wants to really be there, to really support him and take care of him, he needs to get the hunt out of the way first.

He knew it was messed up that way. His kids have to come first no matter what. And they do. They do come first, he told himself as he walked out of the motel room, careful to close the drapes as he left. They do come first – but in order to take care of his boy, he needs to get over the hunt.

Dean got it. Always have. He never had that disappointed look in his eyes when he left for a couple of days, or weeks or months at a time. Not like Sammy. Sammy would have that sad look in his eyes. Even when he was older and masked his sadness with pure anger – even when he was screaming at the top of his lungs that he hated him, that he was a screw up of a father that was abandoning his sons – even than, John always saw the sadness behind all the anger and hatred.

But not Dean. Dean would look at him and just nod. Silently agreeing that there is a greater purpose. Even now – he just looked at him, with his fever bright, glassy eyes and said that he was on his own. Dean always knew when to let him go.

He figured he could talk to the people in town, maybe head out to the desert again, and back to the motel room in just a few hours. It was summer time and the days were long so he would have no problem heading out to the desert again. He hated the idea of going out there alone with no back up, but he really didn't have a choice. Dean was no longer an option. He couldn't really wait for another hunter to come down here – but by the time another hunter would show up, it will be too late. No, Dean was right. He was on his own.

---

John entered the only bar in the town. It was not even 4 pm in the after noon and the place wasn't really crowded, but it wasn't as empty as he would have thought.

"Can I have a shot of Jack, neat?" He asked as he sat by the bar, rubbing his face.

"Long day?"

"I'm here with my kid. He's sick."

"Sorry to hear that." The bartender said as he placed the glass on the table. "Is it serious?"

"Probably just the flu or something."

"Hope it won't ruin your vacation"

"Ah… no... I'm actually here on business. Dean, my son, is just tagging along." He explained as he downed the drink in one gulp. "Maybe you could help me. I'm a reporter. I'm writing a piece on urban legends from all over the country. I heard the weirdest story regarding the latest killings that took place near by. You know anything about it?"

"I know there is nothing legendary about it." The bartender answered harshly. "People were brutally murdered."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disrespect…" John answered, but the bartender was already serving other customers. And then he did something he rarely ever did while working on a hunt – he decided to share the truth with some stranger. Well, parts of it anyways.

"I'm not really a reporter." He said a little louder so that the bartender will be able to hear him. "I… the fifth victim… ah… he was a good friend". The bartender looked up as he listened to John's confession. "I just need to find out what happened. I need to give his family some sort of a reason. Or at least to tell them what happened."

"Is that the truth?" The bartender asked.

John nod, and singled for another glass.

"And the sick kid thing?"

"That's also true" unfortunately, John thought. "I haven't seen Dean in a while. I thought it would be a good idea to meet him here. I was going to use his help… but now…" He trailed off.

"So, what can you tell me about those killings?" John tried again as he downed his drink.

---

It didn't make any sense. No matter how hard John tried to put all the pieces together – they just didn't end up. If what the bartender told him was true, than the killings go back almost 70 years. But if that was true, how come it didn't show up in any research he had done? Or the other hunter? Or in Dean's research? Well, he'll have to cross Dean's research. The boy was sick and probably wasn't thinking straight. Which means that his research was no good. But how come he missed it?

He had to admit that his head wasn't really in the game ever since Sam took off (or driven off… he thought sadly). He was avoiding Dean as much as possible. He just couldn't handle him, his accusing looks. The silence. The way neither one of them hadn't mentioned Sam to the other. He just needed to get away from him.

The only reason he agreed to meet up with Dean for this hunt was because of the death of his friend. If another hunter couldn't handle it on his own, John surely wasn't going in without back up.

That was why he was so eager to get away from Dean after he had confirmed his suspicions that Dean was indeed sick. He had no back up. He'll have to wrap this one as fast as possible, with minimum injuries and then he'll be able to go back to being on his own. Well, he'll have to make sure that Dean was feeling better first. Because as much as he felt suffocated around the kid, he wasn't going to leave him when he was sick. You don't kick a man down – he had learnt that a long long time ago in the marines.

So now John was driving back to the desert, in the hopes to finish the hunt before it got dark. He knew it was dangerous – to go back out there, with no proper intel and without back up. But he couldn't put it off any longer. This had to be done. It was time to end it.

From what the bartender told him, there were a few deaths every five years or so, over the last 70 years. 21 deaths that the bartender remembered in person. The local residents of the town didn't think much into it, though they did think of themselves as unfortunate. It was a small town in the middle of the desert. Many deaths were explained as dehydration or heat strokes. Other were explained by freak accidents – like this guy, who went to school with him, who fell and hit his head on a rock. His body was discovered three days later, and they were told that had he been found sooner he would have made it.

All the deaths had two things in common. They all happened in the same hiking area in the desert, which was why it was referred to by the locals as "The Cursed Path". Second, all the people that died had evidence of some kind of injury, which was probably caused by some sort of an animal, thought no one was able to tell which animal it was. At that point the bartender leaned over and whispered in John's ear that he had over heard the Sheriff talking once, and that not all of the injuries were post mortem. That one got John's attention.

If he didn't know better he would have sworn that it was a Wendigo – it sure fit the killings. That didn't fit either. But now John had a theory of his own, which he wanted to test. And that's why he was headed to the desert.

As he past by the motel he briefly considered checking on Dean. He was pretty sick when he left him. But he wasn't gone too long, and besides, Dean had always had taken care of himself just fine. Sure he was stubborn and denied even being sick, until the point that he almost dropped. But once he did admit that he was sick (John had always suspected that his son needed his approval of being sick and taking things easy – he usually admitted he was sick after John had stepped his foot and wouldn't allow him to deny it any longer), he usually knew what to do. He kept hydrated and always took his meds on time. So John decided against stopping at the motel and just headed straight out of town.

---

His theory turned out to be right. He did find animal traces along Cursed Path and around the area where the killings actually took place. He also found foot prints – human foot prints, or what resembled human foot prints.

John had heard about this creature only once, and it was told by a regular guy, not a hunter. He was at a local bar once, trying to get as smashed as possible. He had just finished a hunt and decided to stay an extra day or so before he headed back to his boys. Dean was 15 at the time and was more than capable of taking care of himself and an 11 year old Sammy. So, the extra day turned into a week and that week turned into almost a month and a half. It was the longest he ever left his sons alone, but for some reason he wasn't really eager to go back. But then he got a call from Dean. Well it was actually a voice massage, which he heard 3 days after Dean had made the call. Dean explained slowly that he had broken his arm. Something about an accident at school. He had a weak voice and he sounded like he was trying his best not to cry, which really alarmed John. His 15 year old rarely ever cried. So he decided it was time to head back.

He would later find out the Dean had broken his arm in a school fight, while protecting this girl he didn't even know from a bunch of other kids who used to pick on her, and apparently had taken it too far. Neither kid was willing to give much information. Bottom line was that Dean had stepped in the middle and was pushed down the stairs. He had broken his arm, close to the elbow and dislocated his shoulder (which wasn't the first time it had happened). He was taken to the hospital by one of his teachers. He had called John from the emergency room after the teacher and the doctor who set his arm and put his shoulder back in place had already tried to call him and got no answer. They wouldn't let Dean go home without adult supervision and even threatened to call child protection services if no relative would show up. Dean had finally broke and called pastor Jim, but when he had made the call to John he was just terrified that they would take him and his brother from his father's custody and place them into foster homes.

He would find all that later, when he returned home two days after he had heard the massage to find a slightly high on pain medication Dean. Dean was always a little too talkative when he was high and he volunteered most of the information. The rest he found out from Jim and Sam.

But before he drove back to his sons he stopped at the local bar, to get as drunk as possible before he got back to the reality of his life. A guy was at the bar with a bunch of his friends and a girl, whom he seemed to want to impress. So he told the group in a loud drunken voice about a story, which he hear from a friend, who heard it from his friend, who heard it from another friend, who swore it was true.

The guy had gone on and on about this animal who had turned semi human over the years. It hunted and ate like a wild animal but walked and even talked a little like a human being. He said that the friend of the friend of the friend came across it while hiking (he didn't mention if he was hiking in a desert area) and only barely made it out a live in one piece.

John didn't take much interest in that story, but he still made a few notes in his journal. He had learnt a long time ago that most of the urban legends had a factual base. After that he was unable to go back to his drinking binge, so he just paid his bill got in the Impala and drove back to his sons.

Now it all made perfect sense. That was why this creature resembled a Wendigo so much. A Wendigo was once human, this creature (which he liked to refer to as the anti-Wendigo, though he would have to come with a better name), was an animal turned human. It also made sense why it was hunting in the desert. The hunting area of the anti-Wendigo derived from the animal original hunting area. That was why the hunting area of the anti-Wendigo varied from the woods, to lakes, to the desert and even the open seas. This particular anti-Wendigo was probably some sort of an animal which habitant was once the desert.

He traced the original victims' path and decided to wait. It was only half past 5 PM and he still had plenty of day light. And if he was right the anti-Wendigo hasn't eaten in a while, since the locals were too afraid to go out there after the latest killings – it would be hungry and desperate for a pray.

So he just waited.

John waited for another hour or so before that Thing finally made his appearance. John had been prepared, he had his weapons ready and his instincts were sharp, but he wasn't preparing for an attack from two different directions. The anti-Wendigo had a mate.

One of them came from behind John, and he swiftly turned around and shot at it. The creature dodged at the last minute – he missed. It was than that its mate decided to make an appearance – he took a swing at John, its arm long and human like, but his nails were like claws. It dug its claws deep in his back and scratched down, the pain momentarily blinding him. He tried to shoot again but his right hand refused to work right. The other creature also returned. It jumped him and tackled him to the ground, sending him falling on his back. His gun went flying from his hand and John could swear that he heard something break. It was getting difficult to breathe. He could feel them clawing him, but he did not care. All he could think about was to get to his gun and finish them off.

He finally managed to reach his gun and without even thinking about it he pulled the trigger. The anti-Wendigo on top of him sagged against him, squishing the air out of his lungs. The other one just took off, not before John was able to fire at his direction. He thought he heard the creature whimper in pain as if hit, but he wasn't sure.

He gathered all his strength and finally rolled the creature off of him. But he didn't feel the relief he had expected once the heavy weight was lifted from him – it was still hard to breathe, too hard.

He did a quick assessment of his injuries. He definitely had broken ribs and he also felt blood trickling from the gashes on his back. He also had a vicious headache, though he didn't remember hitting his head. He then began to slowly shuffle his way back to the car. He would have to come back to finish the hunt in another time, he was in no shape to be chasing after the creature. Though he wasn't too worried now – one creature was definitely dead and the other one was wounded, which would probably make it easier for him to find.

It took him almost two hours to get back to the car, and by the time he finally reached his beloved classic, it was already dark out and he was ready to drop. The world was spinning around him faster and faster, making him so nauseous he had to stop and throw up a while ago. He also felt light headed and weak, probably due to blood loss. He was in no shape to drive, he knew that much. So he just opened the passenger seat, lowered the seat back so he would be able to lie down and climbed in. He drank some water, which Dean kept in a bottle under the seat, and was pleased that he was able to keep it down.

He thought about calling Dean, to come pick him up, but the kid was in no shape to drive either. So he just decided to rest a little before he drove back. He just closed his eyes for a while. He let himself to relax a little, despite the pain. He felt the consciousness slowly slipping away as his muscles became limp. He tried to fight it for a little longer, suddenly realizing that passing out alone and injured, on the side of the road, when nobody is waiting for him, and wouldn't realize that he was missing, was probably not the best idea. But he couldn't fight it anymore, he tried to sit up but that sent firing hot pain through his back. He also tried to reach for his cell phone, but he couldn't find it. He finally gave up. John lost consciousness almost immediately.

John woke up to a world of pain a few hours later. He noticed that he was out almost 9 hours, and that the sun was just starting to rise. The fact the he was able to sleep (or was he unconscious?) that long alarmed him that maybe something was really wrong with him, and that he maybe needed medical attention.

He painfully sat up and when the world wasn't spinning as he expected it he decided to head back to the motel and patch himself up instead of driving straight to the nearest emergency room.

He got out of the car and went to the driver's seat, instead of shifting places inside the car, avoiding the pain of trying to maneuver himself in the cramped space of the car. He then turned the ignition on and drove to the hotel.

Only when he parked in front of his and Dean's room he realized that he was going on sheer adrenaline. He wasn't able to remember the entire drive back. He seriously had no idea how he got back. He stepped out of the car and almost vomited again when a dizzy spell came over him. He waited for a few seconds for the nauseating feeling to pass before he staggered to the room. He tried to get the key in its whole, but his hands were shaking so bad he couldn't get it right. He dropped the keys and nearly passed out as he tried to retrieve them. Black spots were dancing in front his eyes and his vision was beginning to blur. Finally he felt the door open, though he only slightly registered that he was still holding the keys in has hand. Someone opened the door for him.

"Dad?" He heard Dean asked before he finally collapsed.

---

John woke up some time later. He wasn't really sure what time it was. He remembered vaguely stumbling into the motel room around sunrise, but after that everything was blank.

He couldn't tell what time it was. The room was quite dark, the drapes closed shut and all the lights were out. From how hot the room was he thought that it was probably around noon but he wasn't really sure.

He did know that he had been taken care of. He was lying flat on his stomach, which made breathing quite painful. But he wasn't experiencing the excruciating pain that latterly steals your breath away, which always came with broken ribs. The pain was more of a dull throb, which meant that he took some pain killers, some pretty strong pain killers.

He also noticed that his ribs and back were wrapped up and that he wasn't wearing his torn blood soaked clothes he had on one he came back from the desert. He was wearing an old pair of sweat pants and a light t-shirt.

The motel room also seemed clean and tidy. The salt lines were visible against the window and the front door. Not that he was able to see much from his position on the bed. Dean had obviously patched him up and cleaned after him.

Dean.

He suddenly had flashes of his son taking care of him. He couldn't really remember it all, but he had different images of Dean. The heat radiating off his body as he laid his hand on him. his son's glassy fever bright and slightly unfocused eyes staring at him.

John suddenly had a sense that something was wrong, very wrong. The room was too quiet. He turned his head towards Dean's bed. The bed was unmade but Dean wasn't there. It made that feeling in the pit of his stomach intensify. He tried to calm down but the dread was increasing by the seconds. He had to see that his son was fine and he had to see it now.

With a great effort he pushed himself off the bed, trying not to get up too fast so he wouldn't jar his ribs or tear the stitches he could now clearly felt on his back.

He noticed that the bathroom door was open. He slowly shuffled towards the bathroom, using the wall for support.

The first thing that he noticed was the strong suffocating smell of vomit which clung in the air, which made him gag. He than registered the sight of his son lying on the floor, his head resting in small puddle of his own sickness. He dropped to his knees as fast as his injuries allowed him, calling out his son's name.

"Dean… Dean… Hey… wake up…" John slightly shook him, terrified of the heat radiating off his son, clearly evident, even through the shirt he was wearing. Dean was burning up. His fever was higher than before, John was sure of that, and his fever was quite high before. He was also shaking violently, his teeth chattering as the tremors racked his body. His fever was still climbing up.

Dean stirred a little and his eyes fluttered open, though he wasn't really seeing his father.

"Hey kid…" John said softly. "What are you doing on the floor? Lets get you back to bed." He swung Dean's arm around his neck and tried to pull him up. Bad idea. Hot pain flared through his back and he felt some of the stitches tear open. Blood was slowly oozing through the gashes, slightly tickling him. John dropped Dean back on the floor.

"Jesus".

"Dean… Dean. Hey, you can't go back to sleep yet, okay kid?" He shook him again as he noticed Dean's eyes closing. He slightly pinched Dean's Delta muscle. Dean tried to pull away, but his eyes shot open again.

"Good boy. Now. You have to help me here Dean. I can't do it alone, okay?"

Dean tried, he really did – John could clearly see his efforts. Dean managed to weakly push him self back into a sitting position, leaning heavily against the wall, shutting his eyes for a second as the room span dangerously around him. John squeezed his Delta muscle again to keep his son from falling asleep. He was met with Dean's fever bright pained eyes.

John then realized with a scared understanding that he will not be able to get Dean off the floor. That he will not be able to get his son the medical attention he clearly needed. He painfully stretched up. He rubbed the back of his hand on his forehead, noticing for the first time the bandage there. He tried to weigh his options, when he suddenly saw something, which made his blood run cold.

Dean's right ear was bleeding. The blood slowly trickling down the side of his face. Oh god.

He then knew he had no other choice. He went back to the living room, grabbed Dean's cell phone and dialed 911.

"My son is sick… really sick…" He nearly shouted as soon as someone answered the phone after long 6 rings. She sounded young, but he really didn't care.

"Can you describe his symptoms?"

"He's got a really high fever, over 104. Sensitivity to light…. He's unconscious… his ears are bleeding….. " He rambled, talking so fast he felt slightly out of breath. "Just get here….."

"Where are you staying?"

"The Desert Motel down 5th road, room 14. Hurry." He didn't even wait for a response. He hung up unlocked the front door so that the paramedics will be able to get in and went back to the bathroom, grabbing one of the pillows of the bed.

He kneeled down by Dean, and slowly eased him back on his side, placing the pillow under his head, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Just as he was lying back down he started retching violently again. John turned him on his side and rubbed soothing circles on his back, noticing that Dean's shirt was soaked in sweat, mumbling that everything is going to be okay. He was too hot. He had to cool him somehow.

John grabbed a towel of the floor and put it in the sink, soaking it in cool tap water. He then placed the towel on Dean's torso noticing that the shaking got much worse the minute he had placed the towel on him. Dean tried to pull the towel away, but John grabbed his hands.

"Don't, Dean. You're burning up. I need to get your temprature down. Don't worry. Everything is going to be fine. Help is on its way. Everything will be fine…." He whispered.

John then sat down and leaned heavily against the wall, not feeling any pain as his torn back made contact with the wall. He looked at his son. Dean was pale, too pale. Except for a slight flush from the fever, spread across his cheeks. Dean's freckles were visible against his pale skin, making him look younger than his 22 years of age. Almost 23, John thought. Where the hell were the paramedics?

As if on cue, there was a loud nock on the door.

"Sir… are you there?" the paramedic yelled as he opened the door.

"In here" He called.

"Hey I'm Jack" one of the paramedics introduced him self. "And that's Matt".

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"I don't know… he's just really sick…." John said quietly.

"What's his name?"

"Dean."

One of the paramedics, he believed was called Jack,, kneeled besides him, shining a pen light in his eyes.

"I'm fine…." He brushed him off. "Just take care of my son."

"Dean. Dean, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me. Dean!"

"Pulse 115. Blood pressuer 90 over 50. Breathing's a little fast 28." John heard the other paramedic say.

"His temperature is through the roof 105.6."

"Jesus" John and the paramedic said simultaneously.

"He's dehydrated. I'm starting a line." The paramedic informed as he grabbed a saline bag from his bag and quickly and efficiently inserted the needle in Dean's left arm. When he was done, he placed an oxygen mask on his face, which John could see that was fogging and clearing and fogging again in a too fast rhythm.

"How long has he been like this?"

"I don't know. He's been sick for the last couple of days. But I wasn't really in touch with him for the last month or so, so it could be longer." He said sadly.

"What were his symptoms?"

"He had a fever. Was throwing up. He complained that the light hurt his eyes… and now… his ear's bleeding…" He described again. As he mentioned the bleeding the paramedic slightly turned Dean's head to see if he was bleeding in both ears.

"Okay, we're taking him to the hospital." The first paramedic said.

They both placed Dean on the gurney, just as he started vomiting again. "Turn him on his side, before he aspirates."

John heard Dean's quite moans as he was turned on his right side. He got up and had to grab the wall for support as the room tilted.

"Sir. Are you okay?" The paramedic asked. John did not answer. "Are you hurt? You're bleeding…."

"What? No…. 'm fine…." John answered slightly slurring his words.

"Sir. You need to come with us. You need to get checked up at the hospital."

"I've told you already. 'm fine. Just take care of Dean."

"Dean is being taken care of." He tried to assure him, though John noticed he did not say that Dean was fine. He was obviously not fine.

"Come on. We'll get you both to the hospital."

John couldn't argue that it was probably a good idea. He also knew that he will not be able to drive to the hospital on his own. He needed to catch a ride with them. He quickly grabbed his cell phone and his wallet, the one with all the fake IDs. He was then escorted to the ambulance by one of the paramedic, as the other paramedic was telling the hospital over the radio their condition and what to expect as he pushed Dean's gurney. John only made out a few of the words.

"Severely high fever, sensitivity to light, stiffness around the neck, bleeding ears, extensive vomiting. possible meningitis, possible encephalitis. Yeah I know, it doesn't look good. His father is injured I don't know what the story there. Jack is with him now. We are evacuating the both of them." He then loaded the gurney in the back of the ambulance and went to the driver's seat, still talking over the radio.

ETA around 12 minutes."